Hello Hello my buds, bobs and babes. We are back at it again with the end of Human Trauma book two. In this one Martinez gets grilled by Ivorn of all people. and when the calm caring man decides you messed up enough that he is yelling at you. lord you must have messed up.
Let's get this bread.
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Snow drifted lazily around Martinez, the first snowfall this year in Draun. Celna had been under snowpack for weeks, but in this massive city, this was untimely late. Each fresh flake glowed like embers in the evening light, burning just like the Human's ragged breath.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Martinez barked at a group of aliens, ordering them to make a hole or get barreled through.
This group took the warning of the two-meter-tall man to hearty and skittered away like rats, allowing him to pass.
Those were the smart ones; not all had that many survival instincts. Martinez had crashed through a group of Ruqaura, their flabby builds jiggling as they fell to the duracreet and cursed his existence.
Fuck them; they did not matter, nor did the abject panic Martinez was stirring up in his wake. The Human certainly was causing a scene in the otherwise serene city. Whether the aliens thought he was being chased, was a crazy nutter on the loose, or that he was a deranged rapist, he did not care.
They could think he was a serial killer or a terrorist for all he cared. All Martinez cared about was reaching Shiksie and ensuring she had not done the unthinkable.
By the time Martinez had reached Shiksies posh neighborhood, sweat was flooding off his brow; on her front lawn, he nearly collapsed from vomiting, having just run the fastest he had done in years. Fuck even Raliegh could not hold a candle to the show of speed and athletics Martinez had demonstrated, and that man ran ultra marathons.
Through blurry vision, Martinez looked up at Shiksie’s house. It was as spartan as the last time he was here. The house showed off the owner's simple, straightforward personality, a bold defiance of the bright pastels and gaudily decorated homes of her neighbors.
At least the house had not changed.
Pounding on the door with hammer-like fists, Martinez roared into the gloom. “Shiksie, are you there?”
The milliseconds dragged out into hours; each breath dagged into eternity. With each passing eon, Martinez repeated the process with more desperation, beating the door as if it owed him money.
Each repetition drew on more of the same. A silence so deafening it crushed Martinez’s soul like an ant.
“Please, if you are in there, answer the door,” Martinez barked, punching the door hard enough that his knuckles bled. “I need to know you are alive.”
With no answer coming from inside, Martinez changed tactics. Between savage attacks on the door, he sent texts to everyone both he and Shiksie knew, trying to get any sitrep on her.
No one had any answers for him. They did not know if Shiksie was alright, nor had they seen her in well over a week. That only compounded his worry. Did they not care about her?
` Therein—Nothing, he did not even want to talk to anyone.
Sursee—Nothing other than word that she did not know.
Harsnis, of all people, also had no answers, and that man kept tight tabs on his workers.
What in God's name was going on?
The only one who gave Martinez more than sorrowful nothingness was Ivorn.
Ivorn: Come over to my place; we need to talk.
Considering that beating Shiksies' door was getting him nowhere, and Martinez was not about to break in, he hurried out of Shiksies' neighborhood, destined for Ivorn and Sursees' place in old town.
Martinez glanced over his shoulder, hoping to see Shiksie at her door, but no. All he saw were the neighbors peering from behind curtains at him. He ignored them.
—-
“Henry, it’s great to see you,” Sursee purred after opening the door to her and Ivorns' place.
Sursee was a Prinoral, a small feline-like species that was sociable beyond belief. Like many of her species, Sursee stood only as tall as Martinez’s chest and had traits that made her as cute as a button.
Sursee wore a long, draping dress held loosely around her dainty form. Its bright white color made her golden fur and amber hair stand out boldly. Her radar dish-like cat ears and long flicking tail made her the picturesque housecat-like woman.
“Please, come on in,” Sursee said, stepping abreast of the door and bidding his entry.
“Thanks, Sursee,” Martinez replied, entering and taking stock of their home, having never been here before.
Their apartment was quaint and comforting. Most surfaces and furnishings were colors like autumn, oranges, yellows, and browns, giving the space an overwhelmingly comfortable vibe. That matched with what smelled like freshly baked pumpkin pie, making the entire local breathtaking.
A menagerie of plushies was staged on shelves across the astel, adding splashes of vibrant summer to the otherwise warm home.
Martinez had no doubt the plushies were Sursee’s. She was a little ball of sunshine, and they fit her personality and aesthetic to a T.
“So, Henry, can I get a hug?” Sursee asked, her tail swaying happily behind her while she smiled as bright as sunlight.
“Not now. Where is Ivorn,” Martinez replied instantly.
Sursee pouted, her ears folding flat and tail tucking away. Any semblance of joy that overflowed from her died instantly.
Martinez appreciated that Sursee was listening to Ivorn's advice and not latching onto him like a heat leech, asking first. But he had not registered the sorrow in her—-this was the only time she had been told no to a hung from him. She expected it at this point, even if she was being polite.
“Ive is in his office,” Sursee said, pointing down the hallway.
Before Sursee registered that Martinez had moved, she turned around and picked up a plate of steaming cookies off the coffee table, hoping to help Maetinez feel better. While she did not know the man intimately, she was flawless at gauging emotions, and Martinez oozed sorrow.
“Would you want some—” Sursee trailed off, realizing the Human had already left her alone in the living room.
If pouting harder could be done, she did so. His leaving her like that felt like ice to the soul. She baked the cookies for him once Ivorn had told her Martinez was coming over. But the Human did not care about that or Sursee’s feelings.
Opening the indicated door, Martinez found Ivorn lounging behind a desk, reading a book with a massive smile across his face.
“What do we need to talk about?” Martinez asked.
Ivorn jumped at the intrusion and squirreled the book away. Not having expected Martinez for several hours. “Do you not know how to knock?”
“Where is she?” Martinez asked, ignoring everything but Shiksie.
Ivorn sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Not even a hello, huh? I get it.” Ivorn said. “Sit,” he finished by gesturing at a seat across from him.
Martinez was about to argue and tell Ivorn to get to the point, but the alien man could read him like a book and beat him to the punch.
“I get you are likely upset, but can I please explain,” Ivorn insisted.
“Fine,” Martinez grumbled and sat down, knowing this was the only way he would get any answers.
Over the next few minutes, Ivorn calmly explained what had happened with Shiksie after he head left. According to Ivorn, once Martinez had left Shiksie in her house, she drank; drank to the point it was nearly lethal.
By the time Ivorn had arrived, she was three beers deep and was about to have liver failure. If not for Martinez telling Ivorn she would have died. Following that, Shiksie spent several days in the ICU, needing it to not die.
After Shiksie was out of the ICU, she vanished, never showing up to work again. The director also told Ivorn not to mention anything that happened between Martinez and Shiksie to anyone, along with instructions to funnel the human to the Director once he returned.
“So you don’t know where she is?” Martinez said.
“No, I don’t,” Ivorn admitted.
“Then why the fuck am I here? I need to find her,” Martinez replied, standing up and heading toward the door.
“No, you are not,” Ivorn barked, stopping Martinez. “The director made it clear. The only reason you were not fired, and she was not in jail, was because Shiksie left.”
Martinez turned around and glared at Ivorn, knowing damn well what the director had pulled his friend into—a cover-up. Things like that were all to common in the Military and large corporations. It was easier to hush things up than face the reality of what happened. ;
“So for your own sake. Forget about her,” Ivorn sighed.
“Forget her! What the fuck are you on about. She is my friend; I have to help her,” Martinez argued, stepping forward and leaning on the desk with both hands. “She needs help.”
“Oh, does she? I dont think she does. You just want to feel better after having made her nearly kill herself.” Ivorne challenged with a growl—the last two weeks of having to hold his emotions overflowing.
Ivorn might like Martinez as a friend, but Shiksie deserved more than this. She was kind, a bit aloof, but for Kilera’s sake, why did she have to fall in love with a detestable asshole who thought he could solve everything alone.
Martinez paused and was taken aback by the challenge. Of course, he wanted to help her. Shiksie was his friend, mentor, and a woman he lov—er liked dearly. This was not about him but her.
“Are you high? I want to make sure she is OK,” Martinez replied, pointing at Ivorn.
“Oh, shut the fuck up and stop grandstanding,” Ivorn replied, standing to his full height. Usually, Ivorn, due to his gorilla-like build and posture, only stood as tall as Martinez. But at his full grandeur—he nearly touched the ceiling. “If you gave a fuck about her, you would have asked for help with her. You would not have gone into her house, knowing damn well she loved you.”
Ivorn stepped around the desk and jammed a finger into Martinez’s chest. “Now you have the fucking gall to think she needs you? How about you face reality and understand you fucked up and can't fix it.”
“Woah Ivor—” Martinez started backing up, but his friend persisted.
“How about you get that you are not some infallible bastion? What you have done has caused so many issues. My friend and mentor is gone; now we all have to suffer because you just had to not say no!” Ivorn growled, nearly pressing Martinez to the wall.
“We all like you. Sursee, Shiksie, Therein, Harnsis, fuck even me. But dude, you fucked up and have just to let bad enough die,” Ivorn said, backing up and giving Martinez some room. “Just go talk to the director in the morning. He will tell you the same.”
Martinez was going to argue to assure Ivorn he could fix this. But Sursee stepping into the room deflated any tension between the two.
“Can you two not yell at each other?” Sursee asked.
Ivorn turned to Sursee, returning to his usual leisurely posture. “Don’t worry about it, Sursee. Henry was just leaving. Right?” Ivorn said, looking at Martinez, his last shred of patience visible.
“Yeah. I am,” Martinez said, slipping past Sursee, who, for her lovable part, tried to reach out and grab him, but Ivorn stopped her and shook his head.
Martinez stormed out of the house and went toward his own, refusing to believe that he could do nothing to fix this. There was always something he could do. He just did not know the answer yet.
Without a doubt, even if he had to sell his soul to the devil, Martinez knew he would find Shiksie and make this all ok.
It just would cost him, blood, sweat, tears, and all he had to give.
​
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So what did you all think of book two? Shiksie is MIA, Lysa is going through mood swings, and Martinez needs to get he cant fix it all on his own. We covered a lot in this book and we will cover even more in the third book where Chloe, Martinez, Lysa, and the rest of our cast will have to deal with a kidnapping ring, doctors, and their own physiology.
Please do not forget to updoot, and comment. I will see you all there.
your baker
-Pirate
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*****
Thinking 2 or 3 dots on this one - Single late combat trick, a bit of utility, and a very spotty and random unique extra.
Wooded Silver Ax – Initially made by Jade Claws (gen 0 Lunar exalt) as a friendship gift to a loyal Dragonblood retainer (A craftsman, obviously), this ax improved their ability to gather materials, and make them into auspicious items. While wood is not an inherent magical material, the great care used in crafting this tool seeps into the items it works, possibly lending them additional potency. This artifact is made of green jade and moonsilver. This is a Medium Artifact weapon with the Lethal, Melee, Thrown (Short), and Chopping tags (Accuracy +3 Damage+12 Defense+1 Overwhelm 4 Attunment 5).
Woodworker's Friend
Cost: - ; Mins Essence 1 Type: Permanent
It’s main capacity is to shift its shape – while it is naturally an ax, and reverts to this shape when unattended, it may also take the shape of any wood-working tool, or as a simple bracelet. While disguised, a 3 difficulty perception+Lore check will reveal this ax’s nature. At Melee 5, Essence 3+, you may attempt to “jink” a Parry-based Defense by morphing this ax into a smaller form and then re-manifesting it on the “other side” of the block (this specific use costs 1 mote). This grants the Unblockable trait for this one attack, in return for reducing this attack's Accuracy and Damage by 1 success. You may only do this once per combat round.
Subtle Wood Enchantment: Cost: - ; Mins Essence 1 Type: Permanent When used to harvest or craft wood, the ST makes a secret roll – on a roll of 0, the user gains 1 additional Silver Resource, and on a roll of 9, one resource gained in harvesting, or 1 item made in crafting, gains a single minor property of green jade. A teacup might improve the quality of the tea served in it, relaxing and soothing the drinker, while an ax handle might lend its wielder a mild resistance to poison. A Perception+Lore or Occult check might determine this subtle charm, but it is a very difficult process, as it is a very minor effect. These items remain “wood,” and will fail as wood does, but can last, when properly cared for, as long as jade, without degradation. Those with a sensitivity or affinity to the wood element will enjoy contact with such items, even if they are uncertain of why. A harvested tree with an effect shares its effect with all resulting items made from it. For example, raw lumber with a regeneration effect was made into a set of practice swords for Gens Nerigus several hundred years ago – they remain in use, even now, because, while they do break, they restore themselves if left alone for a day.
***** Thinking a 3? Maybe 4, though I don't imagine you'll have 0 Resources Merit by the time you are Essence 3, let alone 4, unless you are REALLY trying, and that's a lot of what would unbalance this relic.
Zenigata Gloves The Solar philosopher Zargas came to the understanding that money was an easy exacerbater of greed, and that greed was bad. While this did tragically result in him later destroying all forms of wealth in his area of rule, leading to wide spread local poverty and famine, it also led to this "prank," a very real display of the idea that money is harmful. While mildly defensive (adding +1 to the Defense statistic when worn), this full sleeve silk and orichalcum-thread glove's major power is literally throwing money away. Coins thrown with this glove are treated as Heavy Thrown weapons (Damage 11, Overwhelm 1) and have the Lethal, Special, and Thrown (Long) tags until they hit, at which point they revert to normal coinage. Special: In addition to the normal damage, add 1 damage die for each dot of the Resources Merit the target possesses. This attack also leaves an imprint of the coin on the person's body, which remains for 1 scene per such dot. If the user somehow loses a Resource Merit dot through the use of these attacks (how many coins did you throw?!), you have +3 dice to accuracy and your ammo gain the Thrown(Extreme) tag for the rest of the scene. You may never pick up a coin thrown with this glove during the Scenario you threw it.
Evocation Greed is Bad, m'kay? Cost: 1m, 1w; Mins: Essence 3 Type: Simple You are able to determine the Resources Merit of everyone within medium distance of you this round - there is no check for this, you simply know the information. This knowledge is remembered after the round, but you will not receive any "updates" after the round you use this feature (so you won't know if someone lost or gained Resources, or the Merit level of anyone that enters Medium range, after the round), unless you use this evocation again. You may spend 1 additional mote to degrade the Defense of one person with the highest Resource Merit within range by 1 for the next scene (if multiple people have the "highest" Resource Merit, you may pick which one loses the point of Defense). Only one degradation of Defense may be active through this evocation - if this aspect of the evocation is used again, the previous use is nullified. The evocation itself may be used as often as the attuner likes, assuming the cost is paid. This effect is detectable by various spells and charms - just using the evocation does not detect as harmful, though the Defense reduction might, but it does create a response to abilities that warn if someone is trying to learn about others. Resonant: If you are a Solar Exalt, and you have fewer Resource Merits than the target of the Defense degradation, you recover the 1 willpower spent on this Evocation.
Mo' Money Mo' Problems Cost 5m, 1w; Mins: Essence 4 Type: Simple
When activated, this Evocation causes everyone (you and your party included) within long range to suffer a -1 die per point of the Resources Merit above yours, for all rolls, until the end of the scene. The attuner may exempt any number of people from this effect by paying 1 additional mote and Willpower per person. Special: If you are a Solar exalt, while under this effect, if you destroy "wealth" in some fashion, such that someone's Resources Merit drops 1 dot, you gain 1 willpower. Please note that "stealing" is not "destroying," you must actually burn/melt/disintegrate the money/mining stockpile/inventory of goods/whatever.
*****
I'm thinking 5, but it's semi-random and very specific, so maybe 4, on this one?
Cards Of Unknown Providence – This standard pack of playing cards are crafted from a small amount of starmetal wire and moderate amounts of moonsilver, though their magic makes them appear to be normal card-stock. Crafted by a first generation Lunar Exalted, Dancing Wind Paws, who felt that fate was too immutable, and fearing the forecasted end of their soulmate (Their Zenith was well aware of the Sidereal plot, and was just too "Achilles in His Tent" at the moment to care), made these weapons in an attempt to alter the unalterable. Needless to say, the Sidereal took exception to this, but the cards can't be held by fated hands, or locked away - these cards find their way into the pocket of any soul willing to take a risk and throw the dice to get what they need.
These cards are treated like Light Chakram Artifacts (Damage +10, overwhelm 3, Attunement 5), with the tags: Lethal, Thrown (Medium), Cutting, Special, Concealable. Special: As soon as a thrown card either misses or strikes its target, it disappears, and reappears in the deck, unless the user's will prevents this. All cards are returned to the deck if at least one card moves more than long range from deck, or if the user becomes incapacitated. If placed in a locked container without an owner, the cards will appear in the pocket of the nearest mortal gambler, and if affected by Fate or Destiny, will immediately flee to a mortal gambler's pocket at least 100 km away, ending the Fated effect. If the cards are still attuned, they will return to their attuner instead, and are immune to Fate or Destiny related effects.
You may use these cards like normal playing cards. If you Stunt with this Artifact outside of combat, gain an extra die. If you try to entertain with them, you may use Thrown in place of Performance.
Evocations Gambler's Loss and Gain Cost: 1m, 1 wp; Mins Essence 2 Type: Simple, Dissonant: Fate-related creatures, including Sidereal and Getimas
When thrown, rather than using a particular Attribute to determine accuracy and damage, roll a d10, with 1 corresponding to Strength, 2, Dexterity, and so on to 9 being Wits – use that Attribute in these rolls. A 0 lets you pick an Attribute, instead.
An attack that successfully lands, besides doing normal damage based on the rolled Attribute, reduces the dots in the target’s same Attribute by 1 for Scene. If a target drops to 0 in an Attribute, they are instantly incapacitated (until the Attribute is restored by the ending of the Scene), unless they roll a Resolve with more successes than the damage they received from that attack. If they do win, they retain 1 dot in that attribute. Dissonant: See Fate's Foil. As might be imagined, a Sidereal trying to use theses cards will end up with a lot of frustration and really nasty paper cuts for their troubles.
Fate's Foil
Type: Permanent
Sidereal and Getimians find these cards immensely troublesome, as do any Fate manipulating gods, demons, Fair Folk, or undead. Firstly, fate-linked creatures have trouble perceiving these cards at all, with -5 successes for any Awareness or Perception checks related to them. Further, it takes at least 3 more successes than normal for them to determine the cards are artifacts, compared to other people, even despite evidence to the contrary (like being hurt by the feature below). Even if they are perceived, unless they are perceived as artifacts, fate-linked creatures will tend to forget about them as "unimportant details" - even if they have been directly harmed by them. Finally, attempting to handle these cards, intentionally or not, will result in 1L of damage each interaction - whether this is done physically, by Charm or Ability (other than Awareness or similar skills - simply looking at or thinking about the cards doesn't hurt), or by magic (so telekinenticly poking a card hurts as much as actually poking it). This damage effect does not occur during direct combat, unless a fate-linked Exalted attempts to physically or magically take the cards from their attuner mid-combat (such as disarming the attuner of it).
(Yes, obviously a Sidereal player will get that the card is bad for them almost instantly, but the character will have an infuriatingly hard time figuring it out. Made worse by the character forgetting the card exists after a brief distraction, unless they've figured out its an artifact.)
Unfated Defense
Cost -; Mins Essence 4 Type: Reflexive, Resonant: Symbiosis In response to an attack being made on a known target within Medium range, you may Throw a card to intercept the attack once per combat round. Roll a d100 and divide the result by 7, round down - any result over 10 is treated as 10. This value replaces the Defense of the attack's target until the start of your next turn. Resonance: If you are a lunar, and successfully thwart an attack on another being with this evocation, you gain +1 to your Defense until the end of this scene. This bonus can stack with itself, but only when defending a new target in this way. This increases to +2 if the defended person is the defended is of the Lunar's Territory, bearing their mark. Special: Mortals may use this power to defend themselves (and only themselves) from Sidereal attacks, regardless of their Essence value.
Sleight of Chance Cost -; Mins Essence 1 Type: Simple The attuner may throw a card at any target (without causing injury) at will, within Medium distance, with unnatural precision. The card thrown cannot be detected, without a successful Perception+Awareness check that surpasses the attuner's Thrown rating, until it comes to rest (though it is semi-obvious to someone observing the attuner that they are doing "something," unless sufficient stealth is involved). After it does, anyone who failed to notice the throw will just assume the card was always there. Sidereal, per Fate's Foil, will generally ignore these dispersed cards. Even after getting maimed by them.
Special: A card may be thrown into an independent card game - this replaces any card, in hand or being dealt, and this substitution is not noticed by anyone involved unless they make the check above (a ST may adjust the difficulty for the person whose hand was altered, as is ST fiat, but this artifact really is just that good at this particular trick). The replaced card will be returned to its deck, and the artifact card will appear to be a card belonging to that deck, of a relative value equivalent to what you threw - a 2 will be a poor card, while a King will be an excellent one, in the context of the game being played. The artifact card returns to your deck after it is no longer being observed.
Note - this artifact has been around a very long time. While a Sidereal will have difficulty handling it directly, a semi-decent lore check, especially if the skill is focused on artifacts or Sidereal conflicts, will put this deck on a short list of answers to the question of "why am I randomly taking 1L of damage and can't find the source?" As one might imagine, removing it as a threat is a relatively high priority for most Sidereal who are aware of it. Most other fate-binding beings, like the Getimians, will not likely have the same institutional knowledge to draw from, making this deck far more dangerous to them. For example, She Who Lives In Her Name has put a bounty on this artifact 7 times...and forgotten its existence more than a dozen times. Most of Her servants have no idea the artifact exists either, due to her direct control over them also erasing their memories of the item, even if they are not Fate-bound themselves.
***** Thinking 3, though if the ST agrees it can affect The Curse, it might be a 5.
The Merciful Goblet of Suffering
"The kind of pain to get good in the end" - as someone once said. This artifact of Solar construction was one woman's attempt to solve the Curse...by repentance through suffering. This orichalcum and soulsteel goblet is mildly off-putting for everyone, but can render valuable service anyways.
Evocations Blood like Wine Type: Permanent It's most obvious function is, when held, it automatically fills with a single draught per Lethal or Aggravated damage dealt to anyone within Long Range. The liquid will not spill, even if the cup is held upside down. The cup can hold 16 draughts, and 1 draught evaporates away each hour it is unused or not added-to. Each draught heals 1 measure of Bashing damage - if consumed by someone with no Bashing damage, it will heal 1 mark of Lethal damage for 2 draughts, and if there is no Lethal or Bashing damage, it will heal Aggravated damage at a rate of 4 to 1. Resonance: (Solars, and certain deities aligned with suffering, or their agents) 4 draughts may also be used to repair a disfigurement (once, per Scenario), if the the cup-bearer takes on a lesser version of the disfigurement - so, restoring someone's hand loses you a finger, for example. You may never use this effect on yourself, though there isn't anything preventing you from passing this cup to another and asking them to heal you in turn, as long as enough "time" has passed.
No Pain, no Gain Type: Simple Its original use - someone may deal Aggravated damage to themselves, in order to reduce the effects of a derangement or other malady afflicting them. A single point of Aggravated damage will reduce the effect of one such malady one level, until the end of the scene. If a malady's effect has been reduced to nothing, 4 aggravated points of damage may be administered, again by the sufferer on the sufferer, to reduce the malady itself by 1 stage. If a malady is fully excised in this fashion, a physical manifestation of it flops out into the cup. ST's call on a) what it is and b) if it's going to try to actively kill you all. This "treatment" does not activate Blood like Wine.
Note: At the ST's discretion, this can, in fact, affect the Curse. To my estimation, you're looking at 25 Aggravated, self-inflicted, damage, at a minimum and in one scene, to even try and fully excise it. It almost certainly is going to try and kill its former host afterwords. Elder God-Thing curses are nasty like that.
***** Almost certainly a 5 dot, might be an N/A
Bandages of Time This "suit of armor" consists of a single roll of "linen" bandages, woven with thread made from the 5 magical materials. Putting it on normally requires an hour and at least 1 assistant to do it properly, while removing it takes 30 minutes (charms simplify the matter immensely). When properly worn, it provides 5 soak, 4 Hardness, and no mobility penalty, like any other suit of Light Artifact armor. However, it does have Attunment 10. The wrap covers the entire body, except the face and fingers. It can be comfortably worn, even in sleep, and while it isn’t entirely weightless, it is immensely light and breathable.
Evocations A Pleasant Day
Type: Permanent Even the hottest days and coldest nights have little bearing on your personal condition, and rain and snow just do not fall on you. This armor prevents unpleasant weather conditions from affecting you, and prevents all bashing, and up to 6L, damage from all environmental effects.
Time is of the essence Type: Permanent Your base initiative is 2 points higher than normal. You gain 1 initiative any time any one takes any action in combat. You gain 2 more any time someone takes an action involving you specifically. Special: You may spend 1 mote to turn this effect off, in return for gaining either +4 soak, +4 hardness, or +2 Defense. This change lasts until your next turn, when this evocation automatically resumes, unless you spend another mote.
Time is Fleeting Cost 5m; Mins Essence 5 Type: Simple, Withering All withering attacks you make this round, remove twice the initiative as normal – you still only gain the normal amount from such an attack. If you initiative crash a non-trivial opponent with such an attack, you are healed your right-most box of damage, regardless of type, and inflict that box on the crashed opponent – there is no defense for this transfer of damage.
Timeless Body Cost 5m; Mins Essence 5 Type: Simple You stop your personal time for 1 round. You take no further actions this round, and cannot be hurt until your time starts again; your initiative resets, even from crash, and any effects on you are paused (so you do not lose Sorcery Motes, and you also do not advance any poisons or diseases). Special: If you are under continued damage – you are surrounded in lava, there is a never-ending acidic hail storm pelting you, Ungloth the ravening horror is trying to suck the marrow from your bones, etc. – the timeless state will persist until the risk of damage stops. This isn’t always “fine” – you may be encased in stone once the lava cools, for example. The main point is, you never “come to” in a state that may potentially kill you outright. This does save you from Apocalyptic Damage, though, depending on the cause, you may or may not ever “unlock” – you get eternally eaten by the Ebony Dragon, you aren’t hurting, but he is never letting you out, either.
***** Not sure if this is equipment, per say, but this is probably a 4 dot artifact, as well as a 3 dot familiar?
Miser’s Bag Familiar - - - This artificial life form is a dear friend to any adventurer...as long as it is kept fed. While it doesn’t need “food” per say, it has an instinct to consume and devour treasure of all sorts, and a rather severe reticence to return what it has eaten. It is quite capable of moving by itself, up to 100 meters a second, and can freely follow orders issued by its owner, but can also be carried easily, never weighing anything other than 10 pounds – useful if you don’t want to advertise that your bag is alive. Its carrying area is roughly 1,000 cubic feet, and is dry, warm and safe. It will not let you crawl in. Stop asking. No one has ever pinned down exactly who made this enchanted sack, though estimates of “early in the first age” seem likely. Given its nearly continuous career of adventuring, it may be the single most experienced explorer in the whole of existence...or there are several of them. The Bureau of Nature is mildly concerned that the sack might be breeding somehow. The bag has a standard 7 section health bar, a 2 in every Attribute, and a 4 in Larceny, 4 in Athletics, 4 in Brawl, 4 in Resistance, 5 in Dodge, and a 4 in Awareness. It knows no charms, martial arts, or spells (besides its evocations). It has a Soak and Hardness of 4, and a Defense by Evasion of 3. While as smart as any human, it behaves in a very canine fashion in most cases.
Evocations Bigger on the inside Type: Permanent The bag can contain up to 1,000 cubic feet of material, without any increase to its personal weight, with the only limitation being inserted items must fit into the bag’s opening (a roughly half-meter square, though it is a sack opening, and allows for a certain amount of finagling), and it won’t accept living beings inside.
Spit it out Type: Simple The Miser’s Bag is capable of spitting out up to 1,000 coins, 10 small items, 5 medium items, or 1 large item, in a round, and to any location within short range, with perfect accuracy. This can cause no damage – to either the expelled object, or whatever it lands on. Its owner may force the bag to expel an item by spending a mote on the process, as well – a not entirely uncommon occurrence, in regards to expensive or rare treasures.
Not on my watch Cost 2m; Mins Essence 3 Type: Reflexive
If the Miser’s bag is within medium range of you when you are hit, you may spend 2 motes to switch places with it, letting it take damage on your behalf (after its Soak and Hardness, of course).
Larcenous Attacks Cost -;
Type: Simple/Reflexive Whenever the bag attacks or is attacked, it will attempt a decisive Brawl+Dexterity attack against its opponent as a gambit to disarm their opponent. If the attack/counter lands, add its Larceny Ability directly to overcome the Difficulty. If the disarm works, the bag eats the disarmed item – it will start by disarming any weapons, then proceed to steal any artifacts, rings, bangles, shoes – it pretty much starts with the hands and working from out to in, easiest to hardest, unless something in particular is notably more expensive. It cannot steal body armor that is properly worn, though it can take advantage of poorly put on armor to steal pieces. The only time it does not behave like a heedless dirty little thief, is if there’s nothing worth stealing, or its run out of things it can steal. It will then simply put all its efforts into dodging, pushing its Defense to 6.
Treasured Regeneration Type: Permanent If the Miser’s Bag is injured, it will convert Dots of Resources or Artifacts from among its contained treasures to repair itself. Each dot repairs 1 point of bashing, while Lethal damage takes 2 dots, and Aggravated damage takes 3 dots. They must heal in that order. This process takes a number of hours equal to the number of dots being converted, and can be stopped. The bag may choose to not heal, if it would cost its owner something they value...assuming it likes its owner enough. A well loved bag will not consume your mother’s keepsake, despite it being a 1 dot artifact, unless it is truly desperate. A mistreated bag will totally eat your 5 dot armor to heal 1 box of bashing damage, and flip its latch at you while doing so.
Trusted Thief Backstab Type: Permanent If the Miser’s bag decides to abandon you, either due to injury or mistreatment, it may activate this power if it can’t escape in a conventional way. You will be made aware of this, and may spend a mote to prevent it (and ending your turn if you are in combat) for 1 turn – if you do, you may spend a second mote to make the Bag spit out something, per Spit It Out. You can’t move or attack while doing this. The bag, notably, is in no way so limited, and will likely flee. The bag disappears once you stop providing motes to prevent it, and reappear in a random location in Creation, near a new adventurer in need of some help. You are NOT getting back whatever it ran off with any time soon. If it fled due to injury, it may eventually return to give you your stuff back, assuming it liked you enough.
*****
Figuring 3 dots on this one…
Shield of the Mage Storm – this artifact shield was inspired by the stories of the great Earth warrior Feng Wan Shi of House Mnemon, a peerless warrior in the defenses of the Dejis from the Fair Folk. Not...exactly an accurate description, but one that stirred the imagination of one of Mnemon’s most talented smiths, Takashi. The shield itself is utilitarian, and slightly uneven in it’s initial appearance, but close inspection reveals it was forged not by hammer, but by raining innumerable weapons upon it during its forging. “To teach it its enemies,” the smith proclaimed, laughing, but teach it well he had. This shield is a standard medium artifact weapon with the Shield, Bashing, and Melee tags. It is crafted of black jade, in the main, with white jade as an accent, and a small amount of lesser metals as filigree – at least, so Takashi thought. In actuality, a certain amount of gossamer has made it into his work, enhancing the simple jade in unusual ways. Wisely, he claims these anomalies as features.
Evocations Known Enemies Cost: 0m, 1w; Mins: Essence 2 Type: Simple, Withering This shield has suffered in its making, and it rather strongly returns the feeling. When used in a Flurry of Defense with a willpower, each Melee blow is “remembered.” At the start of the next turn, if this shield is used in a Withering strike against an attacker of the previous round, it deals the total Onslaught it suffered last round to its target as unblockable initiative damage. Further, for each different weapon type used against it during the Flurry of Defense, it gains +1 accuracy for this follow-on attack. Finally, if a magic attack is used on this shield during a Flurry of Defense, its defense still applies, even if the spell would normally bypass that step.
Arcane Stronghold Cost - ; Mins: Essence 3 Type: Simple, Resonance If a spell is cast, such that this shield’s owner is gathering Sorcery Motes, they will gather 1 additional sorcery mote during a Flurry of Defense, and thus not lose any despite not gathering them in a traditional way that round. Further, the attuner will gather 1 additional sorcery mote each attack taken during a Flurry of Defense, and 1 additional sorcery mote for each different weapon that strikes it that turn. Resonance: Sorcerers of at least the Terrestrial circle, and any earth or wind associated Exalted – probably dragonblood – even if they cannot use Sorcery, may use this shield to “cast” the following spell-like effect. By concentrating (declaring the intent to use this Evocation spell), they may gather sorcery motes by simply repeatedly Flurry of Defense (or the Shaped Sorcery action, if they are of a Circle) – if they do, at 15+ sorcery motes, the shield is instinctively slammed down, and 1 willpower is lost. The earth in front of the attuner erupts into a storm of dust and rock, dealing Intelligence bashing damage. Further, everyone caught in the 5 meter wide hemispheric wave of dust is blinded, and must make a Resolve check surpassing the attuner’s intelligence to remain standing. The following round, everyone still inside the area suffers from lightning jumping from loose particulate to loose particulate, dealing anotheadditional Intelligence+Occult Lethal damage that round. The dust settles on the third round. This shield does not teach anyone how to use any Shaped Sorcery action. Note: Taking any action other than Flurry of Defense (or a Shaped Sorcery action, if it’s available) will not gather any sorcery motes, and thus will lose you three sorcery motes, as normal.

So there is a chance you may be observant enough that to notice that this is being posted to the proofreaders account and not the authors. Proof I have permission to do this. As shown in the screenshot, unfortunately u/Far-Performance-5970, the author of this fic, has lost interest in the story. Double unfortunately, I can't do creative writing to save my life, its the whole reason I proofread instead of writing my own fic. The silver lining is we are only 36 pages into the 50 that Performance has left me, so plenty of time to figure something out.
FirstPrevious
Memory transcription subject: Tali, Venlil EMT
Acting nurse and physician.
Carrie was fuming mad after her interaction with the rescue. She was ranting angrily enough to make Venlil who saw her from across the way practically hide behind whatever door they were closest to.
Carrie had left me some time ago to go to the gym. According to her it helped her de-stress. It was no wonder why humans were so fast and strong if their form of emotional de-stressing aided in their physical performance.
I was trying to do some rounds with my more tame patients when I saw something shocking, a small squad of exterminators walking down the hallway before turning a corner out of view.
A little voice in the back of my head said to ignore it and that it isn't any of my business. But with a sigh I knew that if any harm came to a patient or a human I'd inevitably feel guilty as I quickly jogged off, trying to catch up.
The scene I saw shocked me, three humans and three exterminators were facing off. Two of the humans were uniformed guards, with one of them blocking the doorway. And the exterminators were pulling their flamers off their backs! INDOORS!
I was just going to watch until I made an unfortunate realization. I knew the human leaning against the door.

Oh speh, it's Dave. Which meant that behind that door was most likely our John doe Venlil cattle rescue.
I could hear the exterminators talking from a ways away, "We're here to deal with a predator diseased individual."
Dave spoke first, "He’s not diseased you fucking executioners."
The Krakotl exterminator who was doing all the talking puffed his feathers out in anger as he said, "I suggest you bite your tongue predator! I'm more than happy to clean the taint of two."
The Gojid exterminator to his right lit his pilot light to emphasize this point.
The human security guards stepped forward, not taking this lightly. "Is that a threat exterminator?"
Dave pressed into the doorway harder as if he were trying to ensure that even if they killed him his corpse would still block the entrance.
The Venlil exterminator to the left lit his pilot light as well, "Better make it four."
I ran between the two groups as I yelled out with what authority I could muster.
"WHAT THE BRACK ARE YOU ALL DOING!?"
I wheeled around to the Krakotl and said, "The exterminators know FULL WELL that they are not to deal with the rescues!"
The Krakotl looked taken aback for a moment before saying, "Maam, we were called here by a concerned Venlil saying there was an armed, predator diseased individual in this hospital area. We are here doing our jobs.''
I was quick to quip back, "By threatening my staff with incineration!? You need to leave!" The Krakotl remained stubborn, as was in their nature. "We are not leaving till the taint is cleansed, Venlil."
The way he practically hissed my races name out like it was an insult made my hair raise as I took a step forward, almost touching my face to his beak.
"You can either torch 5 innocent sapients and cause hundreds of thousands of credits of damage to the hospital, or you can chalk it up to a false alarm and get the speh out of here." My spittle flew at him with my swear, landing on his beak as he stared down at me for what felt like eternity before he finally weighed his options and turned around.
"Must've been a mistake. Can never trust a jumpy civilian Venlil. Bunch of cowards." The trio made their way back the way they came in.
One of the security guards moved and said, "I'll make sure they find the door."
The other security guard turned to Dave but I got to him first, "What happened Dave?" Dave looked at me as the security guards tried to speak up and explain the situation before I held a paw up to him.
Dave quickly said, "I set my gun down and John Doe reached for it not knowing it wasn't loaded when he threatened the nurse. It was an accident Maam."
The guard started to argue, "That doesn't explain what made him lash out in the f-" I wheeled around and quickly said, "Who is responsible for vetting who gets weapons??"
The guard seemed taken aback as he said, "I um. That'd be the armory Maam."
I was quick to respond, "Then I think you'd better give a good chewing to whoever decided that guns would even be PRESENT around traumatized individuals! A misfire around traumatized cattle would lead to situations like this or worse. We're lucky nobody died of a stress response!”
The guard opened his mouth to argue but I wasn't going to let him get the chance as I said, "I'm writing a report that says that this is a false alarm caused by typical jumpiness. And that guns will not be permitted around the cattle, security or not."
I gave the guard a hard stare, "Can I assume both you and your partners reports will say the same. Or will this be a big long chain of paperwork for everyone?"
The guard looked shocked and confused, even behind his mask, before sighing and saying, "Yes Ma'am. It will be."
I gave an ear flick and said, "Good! Now please continue whatever other work you need to do. Then feel free to take another lunch if you'd like. I know some people who check the punch-out machine. You and your partner will have some extra hours."
The guard was real quick to move at that as I sighed, feeling my shoulders sag. Dave chuckled behind me as he said, "Hey, thanks nurse Tali, I really appreciate it! I think you just saved my career."
I slowly turned towards Dave, feeling my hair tense. I just saved his Career at the very real possibility of losing MINE if anyone found out. I faked a happy tail wag as I said, "Oh gee. No problem Dave. Now tell me. What REALLY happened?"
I got close, whispering as I finished, "And you'd better have a fantastic reason behind a gun being in one of my patients rooms."
I could hear Dave audibly gulp.

As he waited outside the Council's debriefing room, on the flagship 'The Scythe', Cotlu was nervously clutching his dossier in his frontal manipulators, mentally going over its content again and again. He was very excited about this case. Even if the data he collected and he was about to present was a bit strange, the potential was obvious. Cotlu was sure this would be the key to his long awaited promotion.
With a loud 'clank', the door to the debriefing room opened suddenly, startling Cotlu out of his promotion dreams. His name was called, and he hurriedly got up. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture and confidently stepped into the room.
There were 5 members on the Mutari Council for Development. They were in charge of deciding the directions in which the Mutari would spend their resources, for the benefit of the whole race. Basically, how it worked, was like this: scouting ships, such as Cotlu's own ship, were constantly probing the edges of the mapped universe. They would be looking for new planets to colonize or mine, for asteroids rich in rare minerals, or for anything that could be exploited really. In the chance that they would find anything worthwhile, and if exploiting the found resource would surpass the scouting ship's capabilities, the captain of the ship would documents as much as possible about his find, and present this information to the Council for Development. The Council would then decide if, and how many resources to allocate in exploiting the captain's find. Good finds would, more often than not, lead to promotions. Maybe even to the breeders cast! Needless to say, this way quite an incentive. Alas, the Universe is mostly a barren, cold space, and worthy finds are rare, and not always devoid of dangers.
Cotlu though, was sure that his latest discovery would be met with appreciation by the Council. He took a seat behind the table facing the Council, and carefully put his dossier in front of him. The members of the Council had, of course, each received a copy of his report, and had certainly studied it. This discussion, face to face, was meant to clear all unspecified or hazy details. There are always things that might not be in the classic report format, but the Council would be concerned or curious about. Because sometimes, the Universe is stranger than the imagination, and no report format would cover everything one could find out there.
"So, Captain Cotlu", said the most senior of the Council members, in a friendly voice. "We all had read your report, of course. It was... exciting, let's say", and he smiled. Cotlu was so delighted by the friendly tone, that he could barely hold still! This was a good sign indeed for his case!
"A new colonizable planet, huh?" continued the senior. "A bit shame it is already occupied by another sentient race, but, as I understand from your report, they should pose no major problems. What puzzles me is why did you not categorize this race as a resource, and you recommend we should just eliminate them. Isn't that wasteful?"
"Well sir" answered Cotlu, "as per protocol, we managed to extract, undetected, ten specimens of that species, from the planet in question. Of course, we extracted from different parts of the planet, different genders, different ages, different sizes, but all adults, in order to cover a wide spectrum of this species. From all these ten specimens, I found NONE that would be worth spending resources on, in keeping it alive, fed, guarded. I found them difficult to maintain in good health, very difficult to feed, weak, and a nightmare to understand... Not good for any labor. Not even good for breeding, so we can't even use them as livestock."
Looking at the body language of the Council members, Cotlu could see he did not convinced them, so he continued:
"Allow me to get into more details that are not into the report.
Our first surprise was that they spoke different languages. Between the ten specimens they spoke 6 different languages. On further questioning, we understood that there are more than 6000 different languages on the entire planet! We had to program six different translators, and not even then could we translate everything the creatures were saying. Imagine having 100 slaves from this species, and needing about 60 translators... Not worth it.
After we managed to communicate with them, we tried to feed them. Basic rations. Chalta meat, Goru grubs, Palik cheese. Half of the specimens did not touch the food. We found out that some of the specimens of this degrading species have lost the ability to process meat. They call this... disease of theirs 'veganism' or 'vegetarianism'. I failed to notice the difference between the two, but both meant that they cannot consume animal products such as meat. Some specimens even lost the ability to process dairies. This is how we... mmm... lost the first specimen. It ate its own ration of Palik cheese, then it ate the rations of the other specimens that didn't want to eat theirs. So, it ate too much of it."
"He died from eating cheese?", asked the senior member, incredulous.
"Well... not right away. After eating six portions of it, something began to... decompose inside its body. Then, gases resulted from that decomposition just... started to come out of his body at an higher and higher rate. In 30 minutes, the air purification system failed. And in one hour, you could feel the noxious fumes everywhere around the entire ship. We just threw the decaying specimen out the airlock. It was still alive when we stuffed it in the airlock, and claimed it's only temporary, but I was afraid that the fumes were toxic. We had two crew members pass out from them. Thankfully they recovered, once the back-up purification system cleared the air on the ship. Even the rest of the specimens were obviously glad when we removed the cheese damaged one."
"After this incident, we stopped feeding them cheese. Also, we stopped feeding meat to the ones sick with the 'veganism', for fear of a similar incidents. We just fed them Fala leaves, like we feed the Palik beasts at home. They ate some, but not very much. As you can imagine, from just a few leaves, the calories intake was rather poor, and the specimens feeding on them would surely not be good for any physical labor."
Cotlu could see that the Council Members were distressed by his explanations. They looked queasy, and did not comment. Just motioned at him to continue.
"After this, we started the interviews, to find out as much as possible about this species as a whole. And even if the technology we have seen on this planet indicates that the species is indeed sentient and intelligent, it seems to me that we discovered it at the point of decay, of downfall. These specimens were irrational. Their declarations were contradictory. They were either very confused, either very, very stupid. Their cognitive functions were rather poor, to put it mildly."
"This sounds very strange for a species that has advanced technology... Could you give us some concrete examples of irrational answers?" intervened another member of the Council.
"Of course. One of the specimens, for instance, refused to cooperate at all, and kept asking to 'see the manager'. I explained to it that I was the one in charge of the ship. It refused to accept this fact, and said that aliens did not exist, and just refused to acknowledge me. It thought this whole... experience was something orchestrated by its government, to distract it, personally, from seeing 'the truth'. I had no idea what truth it was talking about. No matter how I tried to demonstrate I was real, it kept saying I was either a 'fancy hologram', either something called a 'midget' in a costume. Honestly, I cannot comprehend how a sentient being can just... reject reality like that. From this specimen I could not extract any useful intelligence, as its mind seemed to be on a blockage of some sort. "
"Then we had another two interesting cases. As I specified in the report, this species has sexual dimorphism. They have males and females. Well, we had one male that claimed to be female, and one female that claimed to be both male and female. Despite the physical evidence on their own bodies, they would just refuse the reality, and became quite unruly if the matter was pressed. Again - a clear refusal of reality. How could these creatures function, if they cannot even tell their own sex, even looking at their own genitalia? So, you see how they could upset any breeding program, and just ruin the farmer that would take it upon himself to keep them as livestock."
Cotlu flipped another page in his dossier.
"Three of the specimens kept talking into some small devices, narrating everything around them, even long after their device's power source depleted. All the specimens had these kind of devices, and all of them kept asking for the 'wi-fi', or for a way to charge them. They were more interested in asking for 'wi-fi' then they were in asking for water or food."
"More irrational behavior continued even regarding the most banal issues. For example: examining the entire lot of specimens we noticed that their weight varies a lot. The smallest of the specimens weighted about as much as a Mutari worker. The biggest specimen we got, was about three times heavier. This big specimen was so large, it could barely walk. Now, when asking them what was the normal weight of a human, all the males, with no exception, declared that they were of normal weight. They got offended and refused to cooperate if you pointed out that such a thing was not really possible, giving the huge difference between the smallest and biggest of them. Again, they rejected reality and each and every one of them declared that their own body was how a peak male of their species should look like. Things got even more confusing when we asked the females. In general, they were smaller than the males, but most of them seemed convinced that their weight was way above normal. Even the smallest of them. But when the interviewer agreed with them, and tried to put in their files the fact that they were overweight, all of them got upset, and refused to cooperate anymore. I had to change the worker in charge of the interviews, because none of the females would talk to the first one anymore."
"Next, we tried to obtain some information about their fighting abilities and instincts, from the eight remaining subjects."
"Eight? I thought you had nine, if we don't count the... cheese poisoned one"
"Yes... actually, the one that kept asking to see the manager did not make it to that stage. As I was escorting it from the holding cell to the interrogation room, while passing near an airlock, it saw the big warning signs and decided that they looked important. It triumphantly said to me: 'Aha - I bet that's where the manager's office is!'. I was taken by surprise, and it managed to push me out of the way, and entered the airlock. Before I could stop it, the dumb creature activated the purge cycle. I just watched, bewildered, as it expelled itself to its death, scorning me the entire time."
I could tell that the mood in the debriefing room was brightening, as the Council Members were doing a poor job of hiding their amusement at this recounter.
"That was not very good security detail on your part, Captain Cotlu", half-rebuked me the senior member. But I could tell he was more amused than upset.
"Yes, I admit that it was a bit careless from my part. But these creatures, although most of them are bigger than a Mutari, don't posses any natural weapons. No claws, no fangs, no stingers, no venom... They also have no natural protection. They are soft and fleshy, like a grub. None of the specimens really posed any threat to myself or my crew, so security was lax, to encourage their cooperation. This was made even more clear from the next set of tests - the ones were we tried to see how would they fight."
Cotlu stopped for a second to drink a gulp of water, and opened his file to the correspond page.
"First, we tested their reaction to being confronted, one on one, by one of our Scythe Troopers, from the warrior caste. We placed each one of them in an large training room, then unleashed a Scythe warrior with them, with orders not to really hurt them - just to provoke them, looking to observe how would they instinctively react. From the entire lot, not even one of the creatures tried to fight! As our warrior would enter the room, screeched its battle cry and unfold its scythes, the reactions were the following: first two subjects screamed in terror, turned around and tried to hide around the far end of the room. They would just curl up in a ball, with closed eyes, trembling. One of the two also... relieved itself, out of fear. The third subject was even more disappointing, as it's only reaction was to faint. It just passed out, and dropped to the floor unconscious. The fourth subject instantly lifted it's arms up, then slowly laid on the floor, and crossed its arms on the back of its head, in a clear submissive manner. Through the speakers system, I asked it to get up and fight, but it refused, and declared that it didn't want its 'black ass shot' and that it would not resist in any manner. Fifth specimen proved to be another screamer that tried to hide. The sixth one was utterly terrified. As soon as the Scythe Trooper screeched, the subject changed its facial color, dropped on the floor on its ass, grabbed its knees with its hands and started rocking back and forth, mumbling. It remained in this state even after we removed the warrior from the room, and even after we returned the specimen to its holding cell. From the seventh specimen we had the most hope, as it was the large male, that was more than twice the size of the Scythe Warrior. But it too screamed, turned, and tried to run away. We encouraged the trooper to run after it, to provoke it more, as we really needed a fighting reaction. So the warrior chased the big male specimen around for a while, until the specimen suddenly stopped, grabbed its chest with one arm, and dropped dead on the floor. It just died, with no reason whatsoever.
We came to the conclusion that maybe they rely on their technology and their weapons too much. And they forgot how to fight, hunt, or defend themselves without any such things. So, to the eighth specimen, we gave it a kinetic pulse rifle. The subjects had all seen these weapons on our guards. They knew what they were. They had even been captured by being knocked out by these weapons. So we thought the subject would use it to defend itself against the threat simulated by our Scythe Trooper. We gave the rifle to the eighth specimen and it took it. It looked like it was pleased with it, and even pointed it at a few object around the training room. Then, before we could clear the room, and insert the screeching warrior, the eighth specimen tried to look down inside of the barrel of the rifle. While its hands were on the trigger... "
Cotlu had to stop here for a few seconds, to allow the Council Members to finish with their snorts of amusement.
"Needless to say, I have never met any creatures so unfit to fight, so devoid of survival instincts. And yet, upon further questioning, ALL the subjects insisted that this species is the top of the food chain on that planet. My final conclusion is that this race may have been formidable at some point. But, after conquering their entire planet, and getting on top of the food chain, (presumably by eliminating all other threats), they hit a limit. A ceiling on the evolution stair, you could say. With no more room to grow, with no space travel, evolution found a way to limit their growth. That's why they have no more fighting instinct and not even survival instinct. That's why the sexual confusion and the diseases like 'veganism' probably appeared. It's the evolution's way of limiting their multiplication. That's why they have no natural weapons or defenses - because they don't need them anymore. I think we found a species on a steep downwards slope of evolution. If we leave this planet like this, and return in about 500 cycles from now, this race will probably be extinct by then. Eradicating them now would be just speeding the course of nature. So, I request allocation of an entire fleet and strongly recommend the invasion of this planet."
With this conclusion, Cotlu had arrived at the end of his dossier. He bowed and thanked the Council for their time.
The Council members sent a few short chirps between them and then, as one, they stood up and fluttered their wings. This was a rare signal of appreciation and it was addressed at Cotlu! For a few moments, Cotlu thought he would make a fool of himself, and faint, like one of those humans. Instead, he bowed as deep as he could. His mind was sparkling again with promotion dreams.
"Congratulations Captain Cotlu!" said the head of the Council. "Your find is indeed exceptional. As this very fleet is available at the moment, we will approve your request and allocate it for the invasion of this new planet. In fact, we will issue the preparation order right now and would like to invite you to join us. I am sure we will find a position suitable for you aboard 'The Scythe'."
Cotlu was lost for words, but his carapace bloated with pride. He also fluttered his wings, grateful, as the head of the Council pushed a communication button on his desk:
"Admiral Fark, please start the preparation of the fleet for an invasion. Captain Cotlu will send you the coordinates of our target. When will the fleet be ready to depart?"
No answer came from the bridge.
"Admiral Fark?" tried the head of the Council again.
A translator altered voice came from the speakers:
"Hello? Is this thing on? Yeah... that 'Admiral Fart' dude won't be answering any time soon. He's totally passed out."
All the Mutari in the room were confused.
"What? Who is this?"
"Oh, I'm Kevin. Kevin Mitnick. One of the 'specimens' you took from Earth? Or you can use my call sign, 'N6NHG' if it's easier to you."
"How did you access our network? And why is Admiral Fark passed out?"
"How did I access your network?" the altered voice snorted with laughter. "Short answer: EASY! Letting me use my tablet after you took me? Worst idea ever! As for Admiral Fart, or Fark, or whatever, I just reduced the oxygen level on the entire ship until everyone kinda passed out. Except where I am, of course. And that meeting room also, 'cause I wanted to hear your decision about Earth. So much for 'we come in peace', huh?"
The Council members and Cotlu were astonished.
"Sound the alarm" whispered one of them.
It was the human specimen that answered him again.
"Lol! Not gonna happen' dude. I blocked everything. And besides, I told you, everyone is passed out cold."
The Mutari were now genuinely worried. They started chirping in alarmed short bursts, looking around the room for a solution.
"Now", continued Kevin, "let's see... You guys wanted to go to Earth, right? You'll be happy to know I already set a course for it. And we will be departing any second now. I paralyzed every other ship's computer in the fleet, so we will only be taking this baby. I can already see the memes. Like slapping the hood of the ship: 'This baby can hold so many bugs!' ".
To the ever growing terror and confusion of the Mutari, the human was indeed actually controlling the ship. They felt the ship's inertial dampeners came online, and the slight sickening sensation as the ship slipped into FTL.
"I took the liberty of sending a message to the Terran authorities, explaining the whole situation." came the amused human voice again. "They will be expecting you guys with open arms!". Another snorted laughter followed. "So... before you guys also pass out, I don't know... maybe just lube up? They'll probably probe and explore every inch of your bodies."

Just going to skip talking about all my reasons and such get straight to the reason of this post.
How do I maintain the drive to keep myself living? Now I'm not talking about Bodily, Spiritual or Mental maintenance no, I'm talking about that Drive most people have when faced with hardship and during normal times.
For me the former applies and I'm not here seeking pity, empathy or what I consider placating statements that "things will get better". For me when I look for my driving forces I feel nothing, I see nothing and know of nothing that is keeping me going, keeping me here. The resounding thoughts and feelings I do get are very Very VERY negative. Common themes of Self Loathing, Hate, Disgust, Frustration along with Sadness, Internal Conflict, Anguish I could go on. The reasons for these are incredibly personal and I feel speaking about them on the internet isn't the most healthy or helpful way of trying to deal with it. Face to face with someone who has either been through the same thing or has helped people with similar internal issues is better.
But why am I here you ask? It's simple, how do I maintain my dwindling drive of trying to seek help? For the past 8 Years I have coped with my MH issues Alone and all the services I have taken part in offer only temporary relief and are torn away from you because the system ironically "isn't there" to help you in the long term. I ask this question because I feel very close to the end of my tether repeatedly trying to make sense and accept my new view of my world, to instill some form of self-love I feel I have lost through these years.
This has gotten to a point where I have actually 'loosely' set a date to take my own life unless I have made significant changes to myself or my mental state. Like many people who browse, read and/or create posts such as this I'm in the same boat as them. Clutching at straws hoping things will suddenly get better whilst knowing true betterment can be achieved through a long process BUT also exhausted from the struggle of maintaining stability.
I'm exhausted, I feel I have no hope left in all the people I could seek help from. I feel I have sabotaged many efforts to even try and deal with my issues and to be frank I'm angry. Such failures (to me) are like reminders every time I contact services solely made to help people in crisis.
However these services are also not fit for purpose either, most palm you off onto Emergency Services that don't know how to deal with your issues; some put you through various therapies with people who have no idea how to reach the retreated parts of yourself and the waiting list even for these "solutions" are getting longer and longer and longer.
I'm 30, this "diseased" state of mind, this sickness has already snapped most of my Twenties away and thinking I will have to wait Years more just to speak with someone to have a small chance of helping me deal with my issues is looking more unhopeful and pointless by the day. I have already told one of the services that I plan to kill myself in the near future and even they have said they can't prevent me from doing so, but wished I wouldn't.
My life has been on pause for so long now trying to breakthrough this blackened mental wall and I'm tired and unwilling to even think that it could claim my Thirties as well.
I ask again, how do I maintain or rekindle the drive to go on? For someone who has nothing, nobody significant to keep going for. Why even bother if ultimately I'm not doing it for myself and only for others so they won't feel bad? I've always been considerate, kind hearted and never wish any pain on others, but if I've lost all hope and the only course of action would in turn hurt them......why try if it isn't for me and only for them?
I'm not directly part of their lives I feel I won't be missed I know there will be some heartbroken by my death But why, why try if not for me If I don't like or love myself, what's the point in going on?
I leave these questions to you, the day isn't near at the moment but part of me still wishes I could change my mind. I feel I don't have the strength to resist the call though

20F, 130lbs, 5’9- Diagnoses- Bipolar disorder, congenital fusion of the C4&C5 vertebrae in the neck, Chronic severe pain in the entire spine, amenorrhea, shoulder instability with voluntary dislocations (my shoulders naturally rest out of socket, and i can wiggle them in and out of the joint, never really caused issues until now)
Medications- (not taking them since Nov though) Prescribed Lamictdol, Wellbutrin, Sertraline
Substances: Electronic Nicotine, some drug use (i like to say that i ‘medicated myself’ with low doses of crystal, once or twice am and the same amount at lunch and pm, but i haven’t smoked for about a week)
Family Histories: heart disease, lung liver and kidney failure, high BP, Diabetes, ovarian cancer, ovarian cysts, breast cancer
Basically…. Just what is wrong with me?
•••••
Im not really sure where to start, but im thinking that the CHRONIC stress i’ve been under for the last 4-5 years is worth mentioning. And when i say chronic I mean.. day after day for years. I, while under the care of my only custodial parent, moved out of 3 states, been homeless at least twice, and have been in and out of contact for almost 5 years.
We originally moved away from our stable home because i called her out for being on meth and being with a child molester. She got crazy paranoid and packed all 3 of us (and my dog) into a minivan. We almost crashed too many times, and stopped at too many sketchy places, but she drove us to another state in the middle of the night with no where to go. Me and her Bf nearly fought several times, weapons involved. We lived in the van for 2 nights before she drove us to ANOTHER state and dropped me off with the man i knew as “sperm donor”. Hadn’t seen him since i was 3, or 4. She left me and the dog there.
Flashback to 2019/2020, moved in with dad, proved to be a trustworthy daughter, watched my dad play cops n robbers in real life, was taught how to be his getaway driver, was Stockholm’ed by and r@ped by him until 2022 when i ‘woke up’ and got out, via contacting my mom. I moved back in to my grandmothers house, except it was a tiny little shed.. from walmart. that i built.
its the end of 2022 and immediately after getting to a safe place i feel the pain growing in my shoulders and chest. in February of 2023 i get a job, get spiritual af, have a mini awakening and start having massive panic attacks at work, and during the busiest hours. it got to the point that i couldn’t even handle the idea of getting ready for work. So i quit. and then spent the entire summer of 2023 rotting in my bed. Ignoring any sicknesses, having nightmares and literal heart attack symptoms and sensations. Mold exposure from weather and food, gained weight, and started recognizing POTS symptoms. Got super depressed. Starting in September, i slept every day away. literally sleeping for 3 days, not eating not having any social interaction this entire year, self harming.
And now, in the past 4 months my weight has dropped rapidly. In December of 2023, I started babysitting. Two young boys who are now my step kids ;) (who are absolutely tony terrorists with behavior issues)
i weighed 220 pounds in NovembeDecember. I was overweight, but starving myself. I was eating less than 700 calories in 2 days, because i thought it made me look better, and i thought that the boys needed to eat all the food, i shouldn’t have any.. I still am, but have now started my own little food therapy routine, with the help of my husband.
In around March of this year, i had a seriously scary cognitive episode. it lasted maybe 3 weeks, and consumed my entire life. Ive always had an internal monologue that i can HEAR, but during that episode it was like it was shut off, or muted. I had what i called an invisible train of thought, i didn’t know what i was thinking until it came out of my mouth. i had nothing going on upstairs but i was on autopilot. That episode came with lethargy, fatigue, anxiety, hallucinations, migraines, poor concentration. After this episode i just haven’t been the same.
Because of the sudden switch in lifestyle, Im wondering if i shocked my nervous system, or maybe just had an adverse reaction to stress?
I’ve noticed a massive increase in physical symptoms.
-Symptoms include— ——(tell me rn why my boobs went from a DD cup, TO NOT EVEN FITTING INTO A A CUP.) •maculopopular rash, fleeting AND persistent •facial flushing with hOT to the touch rashness • Hot red flat rash all over my arms and chest •(Also just now i couldnt remember if i am 19, or 20, and had to ask my husband) •severe lower back pain • shoulder instability, now also experiencing what feels like my shoulder blade grinding againsts my ribs, click click clicking over each rib.. •nearly no fat or muscle in my hips to protect them so they’re re just in pain •2 failed implantations which felt like giving fucking birth when i passed them, and i also bled for a week after •rapid heart beat •pounding head sensation •sick to my stomach constantly •fatigue, im so fucking tired •i cant even handle a small amount of stress before i start hyperventilating •roughly every two weeks my back goes out, and i cant hardly move without it feeling like my spine is crumbling up into tiny little spurs that just stab stab stab

First Issue!

• Author's Note: Ay! We do be livin' here! Thought I'd unpack a nice lil' one for ya'll, crank up the action and intrigue from the get go. So here it is! If you want to help support the series and just my writing in general, you can do so here, on my Ko-fi page! This is where you can find references of some of the characters in the story as well as other drawings of mine! Anyways, that's about that! Enjoy the read!

The human had a moment of tenseness that had taken a deep clutching root inside of him as he was downing the diluted poison, but as he heard the Tuskir's words regarding the liquid he got splashed with as just being holy water, an ease washed through his muscles. Still, that feeling of relaxation went up in smokes akin to charcoal in a roaring furnace of frustrated vitriol at the realization that if he was a daeman, he might have been blind now and beaten to death.
His journey could have ended with him, a rotten carcass, tucked in the thick brush of the woods, eaten by vurms and other insects or even animals. This thought alone infuriated him, that despite everything he went through, the amount of effort he put into surviving, no, into living and improving himself, it could all have ended... just a short walk away from the tribe that had nestled and nurtured his unnatural existence in this world.
He felt his irregular heartbeat start to even out and then pick up, faster and faster, beating into his sternum akin to a drum being beaten up as it was continously reaching a rumbling apex of a melody, one that never came and just continued building. As blood began dripping out of his burst capilaries, his eyes burned alert, he'd drag his hand down his face wiping the water and instead smearing the blood over his lower face as he strained his cheeks to show the widest most forced toothy smile he could.
"I can't see... how you furred fucks didn't think that'd just piss me off." He said, in a calm yet eerie tone, as he belched the words out from the back of his throat which resounded with an awful rasp.
His response and reaction to the assault he received had staggered his Tuskir assailants, just enough for him to pop open the two leather pouches on his hips and taken out his knuckle dusters, the steel in the left and the iron in the right.
Despite being shocked by this display as well, the metal armored Rock Back looked at Michael's weapons and noticing that they didn't look like anything considerable, he decided this fight could still be doable. "Ehhh... you must be a mad one if you think you can win against three of us armed only with two measly chunks of metal." He'd comment giving his associates a bit of their boldness back, which prompted them to take at the ready stances, yet not enough to make 'em be the first to advance on towards Michael.
The human listened as he kept up with his bloody mad clown like grin. "You are right. I'd have to be mad to think I can beat you with two chunks of metal." He'd say as he then gingerly uncurled his fingers from around his iron knuckle duster and he'd gently let it thud onto the ground. "I'll only need the one." He'd reply back with a giggling chuckle and snort as he light shook the steel duster inbetween his left hand's digits.
The three didn't reply nor show any reaction to Michael's remark, at least not any they'd conciously make, but their stalling had spoken more than any words or expressions could. The human would direct his shot gaze at the axe wielding boar man he had teased before as an idea came to his mind. 'First to lose his composure entirely is the first to lose the fight. It's time for the 7 years of having to come up with tilting filthy insults in Championship of Champions chat to pay off. Promised myself I'd never insult someone in game like that again once I realized how bad everything that I said sounded, but... hell, this ain't nowhere near a game.'
"What's wrong shit muncher? Why are you hesitating, eh? Waiting for your mother to come and rescue you, like the little piglet you are? Or... oh? Is she dead? Is her ass rotting in some tomb or grave? Tsk... bummer, really... I'd have loved to slit your throat in front of her or maybe the other way around... that'd be even funnier. Still, I bet she'd still be able to roll over of grief in her grave, that she had to carry and birth you, a sorry joke of a son." Michael said while chuckling in an over the top manner between sentences, looking at the axe wielder with an amused mocking expression, his laugh turning his smile even more akin to a monstrous caricature of an expression.
The Tuskir axeman would squeal loudly as his drool bubbled at the corners of his maws akin to a pot over-boiling. "DON' YA DARE INSULT ME KIN, HEEEEELLSPAWN! " He'd yell out while charging, axe raised in his right hand, his scream of battle echoing in the early morning air.
"NO, YOU FOOL! STRIKE AT ONCE, NOT OUT OF FORM-" a voice bellowed from behind, but the fury of the Tuskir and the human's poison fueled adrenaline, blurred out who spoke and what else was said.
Michael would keep his eyes on the charging boarman, looking at his eyes, posture and the manner in which he held his weapon. With his nostrils flared he'd slow his breathing as he inhaled deeply. Fists raised up in a guarding stance, legs spread one forward and one back with his toes pointed forward, he'd wait, not unlike an archer biding his time for the perfect shot. He'd mumble under his breath as if in prayer, but the words would stop as soon as the Tuskir got close enough.
The attacker was but a few mere steps away as his brought back axe would now soon reach the apex height of his incoming downward swing, but that is exactly when and where the human wanted him to be.
"TUNDRA HUNT!" Michael's voice would roar out strained and gruff from the bottom of his throat, his hazel brown eyes lighting up teal as his bloody expression dimly glowed with the druidic magic of the only spell he remembered properly from what he'd seen Urla use.
In a near instant the axe would be thundering down with the force and intent of a bloody executioner to decapitate a new victim on his chopping block, but the violent blow would be stopped in its tracks as fast as a breaking freight train about to derail. Michael stepped in with a dirt kicking forward step, moving up close and personal, away from the axe blade. His body would contort and weave leaning to the right while his left arm, would sneak and slither from under and the outside of the Tuskir's swinging right arm, hooking over it into an overhand hook that would find its mark into the boarman's side of the head and jaw.
Steel met fur, flesh and bone and it scraped and tore akin to how a rusty saw tears wood instead of cutting it while being bashed from the back by a rock like fury. The knuckle duster skinned part of the Tuskir's hide from the bone of his jaw on the side lip, leaving it with a mushed up flap turning to a gash down to the side of the chin, while the bone cracked, the jaw's hinge unlatched itself loose, with a wet dull set of pops, unhearable from the two screaming and clashing fighters. As the moving bone hung from the muscles that operated it before, the freshly injured Tuskir let out a half choked squeal, as his weapon dropped from inbetween his twitching digits.
The other two could barely react as this whole motion went in action, the one carrying the club already charging to aid, while the armored boar man caught up from his further behind position. As they regrouped Michael continued his assault upon their comrade, his body twisted left, his knuckle duster pulling away, while his bare right fist came up in another hook punch that hit with a speed his own fist nearly couldn't handle. The extruding knuckles of his index and middle fingers made contact with the orbital bone and temple of his opponent, scraping the skin on his fist deeply due to the bristled fur as the fragile bones got cracked into.
The human's tuskir opponent, now unarmed, seemed to be about to crumple by himself, but before the humanoid shaped meat sack could even properly hit the dirt, Michael's body swung back one more time, impaling his knuckle duster deep into his ribs, with a low diagonal uppercut to the liver, tossing the body to the side. "ONE SERVING UP AND READY! DONE BLOODY RARE!" He'd declare with a loud scream while his eyes darted to stare down his next two incoming attackers.
The club wielder had reached him by now and with an incoming swing already just about in position to make contact. With barely half a moment to spare Michael would lift his left arm to block the blow with his forearm, the steel rods on his bracer taking the damage of the blow, reducing a broken bone to a bruised one. The force traveled through him and knocked him onto his right side, not unlike an actual ragdoll.
"I'LL KILL YA! FER BAGGO!" The club wielding tuskir yelled as he brought his weapon down, only to spray dirt and splinters, as Michael rolled away and then stumbled back to his feet.
The armored tuskir gave him no chance of respite as he came charging from his flank with a sideway axe chop aimed at his gut. Before his pink skin could be slit open by the blow and his dirtied shirt to be covered in his viscera and crimson, the human managed to lean back, only to stumble into an accidental back roll that landed him on his ass and just a bit out of the pinching manuever's reach.
"Fucking hell. Give a brother some breathing room. Ha ha ha..." He'd say while scrambling to his feet once more using his right hand, while he rubbed his bloody knuckle duster onto his left cheek mixing his own with his knocked down opponent's viscera.
"KEEP PRESSURIN' 'IM! I GOTS HIS FLANK!" The armored one said, dropping the torch on the ground, switching his hand axe from his left hand to the right one as he rushed past his ally to grab the hand axe of their fallen comrade.
"DON' GOTS TO TELL ME TWICE! RGHAAAAA! " The club wielding fighter roared as he charged Michael with his hefty wooden weapon, the crude bashing tool proceeding to then come in a rain like pourdown of blows.
Michael held his guard up as blow after blow came upon him, the steel rods of his bracers shredding bits of wood off of the weapon that battered him. Dust flew off his body with each hammering that connected with his protection gear, the wood of the club crackling and popping akin to a whining accompaniament to this drumming beat down.
'I need an opening. Calm down. This is nothing... his blows are nothing... they are nothing compared to that thing.' Michael thought as his inner pep talk reverbed in his head with each blow against his reinforced limbs. His mind would rush flashes of the fight with the undead golem, its relentless assault, how he got carved up by it, the pain he felt and those cold blue burning eyes. 'THIS IS NOTHING! COMPARED TO THAT THING... YOU ARE A SMALL FRY! AND ONE THAT NEEDS TO BREATH!' he tought while clenching his teeth, his arm muscles holding tight akin to unyelding walls, adjusting only slightly to better bear the continous assault of blows at slightly different angles.
The human could see with the corner of his eye the armored Tuskir, now wielding two handaxes as he began advancing quickly from his flank, starting to close in. A knot began forming in his gut as he was unable to move from his position where he stood, not unlike a stubborn nail that would get repeatedly bashed by a mallet. 'Breath... thud, thud, thud, thud breath, you bastard... thud, thud, thud - IT'S YOUR LAAAAAST!'
The bashing Tuskir paused his barrage of strikes a moment too long, leaving enough of an opening for Michael to release a quick, yet less powerful, hook from his viscera covered knuckle duster, smashing it right into the elongated snout of the boar man, scraping off fur and skin as the smeared metal got a new fresh light coating of blood. The squealing reel back was just enough for him to get out of the way, before his flanker hit him with a double axe blow, one downwards, another sideways.
"Keep him pinned under your club, again!" The frustrated dual wielder yelled.
His ally would comply chasing quickly after the backing out human, only for his legs to begin staggering with each step. He'd slow down tremendously, starting to hack and cough as he even dropped to a knee, holding a hand around his throat, while his weapon slipped out of his grip.
"KRANK! WHA' HAPPENED?!" The armored one yelled as he rushed to his ally, his attention dropping off the human as held onto his comrade. He saw that blow, how could it do so much damage to his ally?
Only when he got close did he realize it wasn't the blow itself that did this. Krank, with his club before him, had begun foaming crimson pink at the mouth, blood dripping down his nose, jaws and out of his eyes. Quickly, like a flickering candle about to consume its final bits of fillament, Krank had become estinguished, his blood shot eyes going dull and void of any life.
"Just a lil' bit of some me poison, it never killed anyone, at least anyone who's not me." Michael said while catching his breath, staring down his final assailant. He's speaking would be slow and pointed, as he focused on not letting his arms tremble, as the battering they took left them reeling in a pain he could feel slightly, dulled by the poison.
At that comment the armored Tuskir seemed to flinch as he got away from the body that had fallen ill. "You bleedin' bastard... Ya just slaughtered them with nary a second thought." He squealed angrily as he held his twin handaxes.
"Heh... hah... I'm sorry, but isn't that what you were going to do to me as well? Hmm... I smell a ~hypocrite~! But... it's alright. I'm one as well. So... lil' piggy. Are you going to tell me who orchestrated this whole... shindig for me, or... are you going to make me ask less nicely? You three don't feel like the brains of this whole operation." Michael asked while catching his breath, his eyes slipping to look at one of the dead bodies, before his mind flashed back at Spek... bleeding on the ground, for a moment.
The twin axe wielding Tuskir, stood up proper just about to take a fighting stance, but there was a clear hesitation in his movements. "I-I've nothin' more ta say to the likes of ya."
"Are you sure about that? Really think long and hard about it, 'cause it might change the amount of minutes you have to live into years. Trust me on one thing, when I say I'll find out the truth regardless whether you're alive or not, believe it, even if I have to awaken the dying flesh of your brethren and ask them who put you up to this, or yours for that matter. Three of you couldn't win against me. You got some extra armor on, you're like a fruit with a harder peel and I don't mind bashin' ya open to get to the squishy bits." Michael said with a calmness that overtook him akin to an actor in his moment of glory on the stage. His words spoke with a merciless gross ease, as if he was not talking to a person, but an animal he got tired of playing around with.
"Y-you-... you are going to be our doom. He knows you are. That's why we got paid extra rations to deal with you. Its... if you come with us, it will be the end o' the Rock Backs." The armored combatant as his breathing hiked with uncertainty.
Michael noticed immediately the change in dynamic, the confident fighter has started to lose steam in his resolve. 'Damn... is this what it feels like to be an actual devil's advocate.'
"Aha. So there is a need for food, if you are rationing. You were there with the rest, you saw what tools I brought to those Hay-yen. If you were to observe their encampment, you'd start to see them thrive. You know of what I spoke with Bruyza, this deal is in your people's favor and if doesn't prove fruitful, I'd be swarmed by your entire tribe. But you... you'd rob your people of the chance at a better life, because of what? Because someone said I'll ruin you all and paid you food to do it? With what proof was I accused? You saw proof of what I promised Bruyza, for the deal we made. And oh I love deals..." The human said as he lowered his arms, while starting to approach. His guard was down, his body loose, gesticulating with his hands as he advanced leisurely.
"Y-yes we were wondering about them at the time... eh? Stay back! D-don't get closer! Y-you're a daeman, that's all the proof that is needed!" The Tuskir yelled as he held one of the axes up, yet that didn't deter Michael.
The human kept approaching, just a bit slower than before. "Hey, I get it. You hear 'hell' and all the worst nightmares of your mind, come to surface. But you gotta remember. I have already made a deal with your boss. Daemen are deal makers, ain't they? Sadly, this time I was so pressed by the situation, I couldn't even sneak in some funnily worded clause to get me out of this situation. Bummer, heh. But, that's the good thing for you. As much as I really didn't want to go to your kingdom of rock eaters, I'm sadly forced to."
"W-wait... you didn't wan' ta come with us? How could I even trust a word out of your mouth?!" The boar man argued, still suspicious.
Michael sighed and facepalmed. "If you were in my place what would you choose to do if you had the power and didn't care much about morality or gave a fuck about people? First choice, stay in the tiny village that revels you for the effort you put in, which was a breeze for you, delight yourself with food and a bed full o' slaves that do your bidding... or be forced by a stupid situation, put on you by an armored mortal nobody and having to keep your end of the bargain towards your summoners and GO to the middle of the FUCKING MOUNTAINS to help some mortal meat sacks, that don't want to trust you, to not starve? Eh?! Please enlighten me. What would you have picked?!"
The Tuskir stared at him almost like a kid stared at a surprise pop quiz on a Friday. "Ehm... the first one?"
"Good hells below! You must be a fucking genius among your kin! Yes! The eating and fucking with low effort! Exactly! Of course... that is what you'd want!" Michael said slapping his own forehead as if he hadn't thought about it. "Yet... I am still here. On my way to meet Bruyza and I had to deal with you lot. So friend, my condolences for the loss of your allies, as little as I can care about them, I understand you most likely did. How about this. To make sure their deaths were not in vain. Take three minutes to really think on this one last time and then we can see. Maybe we go to Bruyza together, with two bodies needing funerals and an explanation to the situation OR... I go alone to Bruyza with three heads in a bloody sack, a half assed explanation and to reveal someone uses their rations to have his subjects do their bidding in secret behind his armored ass."
The Tuskir would hold his axe up for the longest three minutes of his life, while Michael was now just a few steps ahead of him, still relaxed, disarmingly leisure, in fact. The boar man's arm trembled as did the resolve in his gaze and soon enough... the weapon got lowered, which prompted Michael to sigh mentally with grattitude.

Last week, I started praying. I felt like I needed to. I clasped my hands and begged for my wounds to never heal again. I stood in front of the mirror and told myself that the one thing I can't afford to lose is my fear. I fear people. I fear the outside. And obviously, I fear Will. But my biggest fear is forgetting—forgetting my terror and my agony. Even though it might seem unimaginable right now, I fear that one day my hands will shake a little bit less, and the loneliness will creep back in like a recurring cancer. I hope typing my story out will force me to remember.
The 20th of May, the day our meticulously crafted friendship broke apart. It must have been around 10 PM when Will called me. He wanted me to come to the train station. For the first time, maybe ever, I sensed weakness in his shaking voice.
As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I wonder what would have happened to me if I didn't agree to meet him that day. I guess he would have simply remained a distant memory.
"The only friend I ever had was a short man who always wore cheap T-shirts and a pair of Ray-Bans he never took off. There was this big scar on his balding head. He looked about ten years older than a kid from college should have. But don't let his appearance fool you. Everybody, men and women alike, loved him to bits. So did I. He was the only person that ever dared to talk to me," I would have mumbled, unaware of the sharp claws hiding behind my back.
Instead, I decided to run to the train station. I saw him at platform four. We sat down and lit our cigarettes. A ritual as integral to our friendship as speaking the same language was.
"My brother died. I will have to go home for a while," he stated.
"I... I'm sorry."
"I'll be fine, don't worry. I will not be able to see you for a long time though. I will take the train straight to the airport and stay in Augusta."
I watched the tobacco slowly wither away. I knew that there was nothing I could say. Death remains a mystery to those that were spared by its effects. Will looked incredibly sick, even more so than was to be expected. His skin was pale and brittle, the blood apparently completely sucked out of him. The tiniest gust of wind would have been enough to sweep him off his feet.
"You look like a corpse."
"Fuck you, dude," he chuckled.
Soon after that, he got on the train and left.
"We will meet again," he said.
To this day, I wonder what prompted me to follow him. It was probably his appearance, his relative lack of grief, and the fact that he never once mentioned having a brother. But most importantly, it was the way his eyes shot up when he smiled at me. For just a second, I saw something heinous light up in him. Something that for most of our friendship had remained concealed. Without having the time for thought or contemplation, I stepped onto the train.
There were signs. So many of them that they practically begged me to leave. While I saw him mindlessly scrolling on his phone, his melancholic mask replaced by an expression of pure apathy, I could have left. When he surprisingly got up at the very next stop instead of going to the airport, I could have left. And even when he set foot in his squeaky clean apartment, struggling and groaning on the way, trapped in an endless trance like a junkie waiting for his next fix, I could have left. The entrances of innocence only really shut their doors on me after Will entered his study room. After I decided to stay long enough to hear the muffled voices coming out of it.
"Will, just let me go, bro. I don't care what type of shit you're on. You gotta let me go." A familiar voice pleaded. I recognized him almost immediately. It was Carl, a freshman from our college.
I will never forget the fear that overtook me at this very moment. For a second, everything went black. I barely managed to pull myself together and break my fall. As carefully as I possibly could muster, I opened the door just enough for me to peek through. The images and memories of that night have been forever imprinted onto me. They have left humongous craters on my being. Telling you about them now tears me apart. I guess I have no other choice. I can't allow the pain to fade.
A young man was trapped in a chair, his hands tied behind his back. He looked awful. Bloodshot eyes, covered in sweat, with small cuts and bruises scattered around his arms and legs. Will looked even worse. At this point, his body was caving in on itself. He was wobbling around the room, hunched over, his back appearing unable to hold his weight any longer. A smell of rotten flesh lingered in the air.
"You know I can't do this, Carl," Will said. He sounded erratic and confused, forced to slur his words since his lips only moved reluctantly. "This body... this body of mine, it stopped working. Died like a pair of batteries. So now it's your turn."
"Man, what are you even talking about... please just let me go." His eyes gleamed with panic as he tried to free himself from his restraints.
Will let out a laugh before answering, suddenly sounding sharp and rigid. Instead of hearing the voice I had gotten so used to, somehow multiple people spoke at once. A choir of people, from all walks of life and backgrounds, spitting Carl's weakness. It was overwhelming. Small cracks formed on the wall of the room as a thousand souls united in the body of one.
"Yes, of course, you would not understand. I am older than your feeble mind dares to imagine. I have possessed countless human beings, destroyed an infinite number of dreams and hopes. To you, I am a God."
Dazed by his hurt, Carl answered, "You are clearly not in the right headspace, man. Free me, and we can forget about all of this."
Will let out a furious scream. For a second, I thought he would maul his victim to death. With his back turned to me, he stood close enough to bite his prisoner's nose off.
"That's the one thing that always bothered me about you humans. You are always so ungrateful. You think I enjoyed talking to you? You think I liked hearing you discuss the newest Marvel movies? I did it so you would come here without making a big fuss. Giving me your body is the least you could do."
As he let out a vicious roar, my one and only friend pierced his finger into his victim's skull. His nails, apparently able to cut through skin and bone, created a small opening, fresh blood seeping out of the wound. Carl couldn't even dare to scream. His pupils were filled with the sort of deep desperation you only see once in a lifetime. Seemingly possessed by a horde of demons, he started uncontrollably shaking. His chair fell onto its side. The rope used to hold his hands together ripped apart, unable to withstand the force of his rapid tremors. A layer of blood and spit formed around his mouth.
Meanwhile, his captor carefully stepped away and cleaned his hands, enjoying the sick show of his own creation. Eying this poor fish on land, frantically trying to get back into the water. A few more moments of hell passed by me before silence reentered the room as Carl's body finally gave out and lay motionless on the ground. A last chuckle escaped his abuser's lungs, until he too crashed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Will's forehead slamming onto the hardwood floor. Carl's blood dripping down his face. It was just too much for me. The world turned into a senseless stage play, too messy for its naive audience to understand. My brain reduced to a computer with a million open tabs, just about to shut down.
I don't remember how much time had passed, imprisoned in a state of utter paralysis, rocking myself back and forth, till a voice familiar to a part of my brain that sat miles away calmly addressed me.
"What's good, my boy?"
Dream became reality and reality became nightmare. I raised my head to look up from the wooden floor. Roughly five feet away from me stood a man I thought would never get up again. It was Carl. Carl in all his glory. Lanky and timid, with a pair of thick glasses sitting on his nose. Yet I knew it wasn't him. It was Will. Will speaking out of the body he kidnapped and tortured, while standing right beside his old rotting corpse. If his eyes hadn't betrayed him, he would have almost looked indistinguishable. But every five seconds or so, his pupils changed in color and form. Green to blue to black to grey, and sometimes transforming into the wonderful, shining brown I came to associate with companionship and brotherhood.
He looked over my trembling presence. A small boy kneeling on the ground, unable to force his mouth to form into a scream.
"You know, you were initially supposed to be my next vessel. A few months ago I changed my mind. I wanted to keep you for a little bit longer. I came to quite enjoy your presence." Will winked at me. "Now that you've seen me, I guess I have no other choice."
People often say you experience a moment of calmness right before you die. There was no such thing for me. Death looked me in the eyes, and I couldn't look away. As the devil came closer and closer, I felt like a sick antelope, waiting to be devoured by a rabid lion. Standing only inches apart from me, he bent down and met my gaze.
"I want you to know that I am going to kill you now."
I let out a scream of pure angst, high and shrill, in a way I thought was impossible for me. Scrambling to my feet, I rushed towards him. I was possessed, controlled by fear and a deep sense of betrayal. Effortlessly, Will dodged my wild haymakers, mocking me while casually weaving and ducking.
"You know why I always choose people like you? The ugly, lonely, and desperate. It's because if I took over the rest, people would get suspicious. Yes, I can pretend and play my part, but they can sense the change. I chose you because nobody would care. Nobody would be there to notice you had been replaced."
My arms were heavy. My shoulders were about to give out. I had never felt such hopelessness before.
"If you hadn't followed me, you could have lived for a few months longer. I would have given you my last goodbyes and then switched bodies. Maybe I would have even considered befriending you again. Sadly, it seems you are destined to die."
In an explosion of rage, I picked up the old chair Carl was previously trapped in. A look of genuine surprise on his face, I smashed the timber against the demon's head. The chair instantly splintered into a thousand pieces. A loud bang rang in my ears, while a cloud of debris and dust lingered in the air. For a second, Will seemed confused and disoriented. With his jaw opened wide, he stared at me in disbelief. I couldn't move anymore.This was all I could muster. Upon realizing just how miniscule the extent of my power was, the beast's face morphed into a horrible grimace, the corners of his mouth wide enough to almost touch his nose. Men and women of all different ages and dialects simultaneously burst into a laughing fit.
"This is it? This is your grandiose strategy? You tried to defeat me with furniture?"
Tears of hubris streamed down Will's face, his endless cackling full of pride and egotism.
I put my hands on my knees, anxiously trying to catch my breath. I looked at him the same way a mountain climber examines the deep abyss.
With a smug smile plastered on him, he put his hand on my shoulder.
"I guess I ought to put you out of your misery."
Before even being able to process his sentence, he pounced and wrung me to the ground. Despite his cuts and injuries, his strength was far beyond anything I thought was possible. I only managed to hold onto his wrists for a few seconds until he freed himself and crashed his fist towards my jaw. The blast launched me into another dimension. Multiple teeth flew out of my mouth and landed next to me. The taste of iron covered my tongue. Will, now standing over my dazed self and surrounded by glittering stars, buried his sneakers into my stomach. A last defeated yowl. The world was hazy, every wave of pain overwritten by a new one, as he continued his brutal onslaught.
When Will finally stepped away, his face was colored in a pulsing red, a raging vein bulging on his forehead. He let out a satisfied sigh before leaning down to slit the top of my head. He needed some form of an entry point, I guess. A place for his soul to take over mine.
In retrospect, it's funny how in these minutes of indescribable agony, my body unable to move, not enough strength left to try and scream my suffering away, I wanted nothing more than to live. If only to prolong my journey for a little bit longer, I started whispering.
"I know that our friendship probably meant nothing to you. But to me, it meant everything."
His nail, cutting at my skin, suddenly stopped.
"Thank you for keeping up with me. If you had abandoned me, the solitude would have destroyed everything I had. I would have floated away into space, nobody left to bat an eye."
The words practically flowed out of me. I knew what the monster wanted: assurance, gratitude, and praise. My speech continued while I searched for that one magical weapon that could somehow save me from certain death.
I was now so weak that Will had to press his ears against my face to keep listening. A starving dog, licking up every single one of my compliments.
"You have given each and every one of your victims a wonderful present. A gift I would have previously laughed and sneered at. But perhaps the only gift that makes life worth living."
As quietly as I possibly could, I reached for the broken chair leg lying next to me. Oh, the relief I felt when its sharp edges rubbed against my palm.
"What I realized after meeting you, is that all my time spent alone, I was slowly killing myself. Take me if you wish. Is there really a difference between death and solitude?"
Inch by inch, I lifted up the stake and pointed it towards the monster's liver. He was still silently enjoying my declaration. This was all he ever dreamed of. Every muscle in my arm was burning. Fear can't even begin to describe my turmoil of emotions. I knew that in about five seconds, everything would be over, no matter the outcome.
"You have given me everything, and now I shall return the favor."
His face, first formed into a proud smile, then distorted into a grimace of utter shock, as the sharp side of the stick sunk into his torso. The melody of tearing flesh blended with his violent screams. Blood oozed out of his wound, tainting the timber still stuck in his abdomen.
Will bolted to his feet and ripped the chair leg out of him. Never in my life had I seen this much blood. It shot out of him like a relentless waterfall. The hurt blinded him, turned him into nothing more than an uncontrollable raging animal. The demon's eyes now transformed at a rapid rate. Green to blue to black to grey, until for a short moment, they were a burning red, fierce enough to by sight alone raise the temperature of the room. His voice became horribly distorted and metallic. His words were accompanied by an unbearable screeching.
Even if all my prayers one day fail, I'm sure that these memories will never lose their echo. The second I touch my door handle, forced to flee the dark aloneness, his voice will ring and hopefully make me hesitate just long enough for rationality to take over.
"Oh, you fucker. Now you've done it. I will skin you alive, you piece of shit."
The panic once again fueled my body's last resources. While Will still winced in pain, I rushed out of the door, ignoring every aching nerve and fiber.
As I collapsed onto the pavement, the faint calls of concerned strangers sounded like the singing of angels to me.
Two days later, I told the police my story. They found Will's old corpse, stuck investigating a case I know is far beyond them.
I have yet dared to step outside. Every time I even so much as approach my entryway, the fear pulls me back like a stretched rubber band. My terror is still strong enough to keep me safe. But I know that sooner or later the pain will pass. The suffocating loneliness will once again push me out of my apartment. Who knows what horrors will be waiting for me then? He could have taken over anybody he wanted to. He could be my cashier, nurse, or neighbor. He could at this very moment lurk in shadows I cannot see.
That is why I pray. Pray that the wonders of togetherness don't tempt me into a world of uncertainty again.
Please God make my fear eternal.

Hi, I'm back. Today I'll be continuing my series on 6 behavior. Don't worry if this doesn't apply to you - it's just my own understanding of things. I hope it at least sheds some insight for a few of you. I was asked to do a write-up on conflict resolution a little a while ago, so here goes:

The Problem

A common problem for 6s is the tendency to get into arguments, the verbal or written equivalent of a barfight. If you don't believe me, look at my post history. The reasons for these arguments are multifaceted, but for the 6 often stem from a few things: a deep-seated need for engagement, displaced anger, and tone misinterpretations.

1. A Need For Engagement

6s, whether conscious of it or not, have brains that are like cooped up greyhounds given 3 espresso shots and a sprinkle of cocaine. They in particular need an emotional and intellectual release in order to keep from biting the corners of your furniture stay grounded. This is worse with the sexual instinct that feels it must express and show off vividly and openly (the behavior that I like to call peacocking), but some degree of this behavior is present in most 6s. A 6 without enough engagement is a 6 that goes around looking for things (often fights) to jump into. A 6 without engagement will be clawing desperately for any crumb of engagement that they can find, because they cannot let go without having some strong foundation to cling to. To an extent this is true for everyone, but for the 6 it's because they have the abandonment fear that drives them. To the abandoned, any engagement or reaction is better than the callousness of silence.

2. Displaced Anger

Though they are visibly expressive, 6s are not necessarily conscious of their emotions nor their contrarianism. Most of the time, I had no awareness that I was remotely coming off as "hostile" because what is "hostile" to you was internalized as "normal" to me. My anger from being too controlled in other areas in my life would manifest in this unconscious hostility and then be reinforced whenever I found myself in arguments, fueling the persecutory ideation. Until a 6 is conscious of this enough to stop it, their behavior may be a misaligned form of projection. Pointing it out can help, but has to be done delicately. Letting the 6 come to their own conclusions by asking questions is the best method imo.

3. Misinterpretations

These arguments often stem from misinterpretations that then escalate and blow up into something larger than it needs to be. 6s are highly attuned to the words people say, their underlying meanings, power dynamics, and threat. If you find yourself in recurring arguments with 6s, it may be because you are saying things interpreted as "hostile" without realizing it. It is ultimately up to the 6 to navigate this portion of themselves, but the problem is unless they are conscious of it they won't be able to and it takes a lot of introspection and time to be able to recognize this.

How to Solve?

If you want to stop arguing with your greyhound 6, there's a few things you can try. In general, these tips will also apply to anyone with a more anxious or disorganized attachment:

DOs:

1. Mirror the 6s language.
Mirroring the language and behavior of a 6 will go a long way in dispelling an argument. The need for engagement is in some way a desire for mirroring, as people who did not receive enough mirroring as a child begin to look for it everywhere. This eventually becomes projection - the unconscious defense mechanism for 6s and, at its most extreme, the basis for paranoid personality disorder. Mirroring the 6's specific word choice and behavior will also help clarify any translation gaps between you and the 6.
2. Be firm but kind.
6s tend to respond best to directness. Obviously because of life reasons you can't always give in to what the 6 is unconsciously demanding, but if you express directly and kindly you will have the best results. The 6 will often self-select out of the argument as it reaches its natural conclusion with their need for clarity satisfied. Being very firm in your boundaries is a must because the 6 might try to test them to see how strong they are. It's important to be kind simultaneously; the only thing to ever stop an argument with me was genuine kindness, despite the hostility I was projecting. Being too firm, impersonal, or corporate without a healthy dose of kindness or amiability can reaffirm the feelings of abandonment or persecution and thus trigger the defensive response, so it's best to be avoided.
3. Ask for clarification and give evidence.
When in doubt, ask. Explicit, open communication is always the better play because there is little room for misinterpretation. 6s prefer logical, explicit reasoning. Asking the meaning of things also politely tells the 6 that you are genuinely trying to understand them, rather than outright dismiss them. 6s like to ask a lot of questions for this reason, so they usually appreciate it when you show the same conscientiousness. You'd be surprised how a simple "hey, did you mean [this] or [that]? " can stop an argument in its tracks. Additionally, verbal affirmation and proof is the only thing that staves off paranoia. A true delusionally paranoid person can't be reached, but in general the 6 or paranoid personality isn't to such an extreme so a little reminder goes a long way.
4. Show open engagement, empathy, and vulnerability.
Show the 6 that you are genuinely trying to communicate with them. Disarm yourself before them by being open and humble, and they will almost always disarm themselves back. This is because 6s don't actually want to fight with you - they want clarity and to be unharmed. If you show you aren't a threat by revealing yourself, you've already "won". It might take some persistence at first but a 6 will acquiesce quickly because they aren't actually looking to be hostile; they're just testing. Paranoid types are actually quite vulnerable underneath the surface, and the same is true for 6s. Using toothless humor is a good way to show vulnerability, so long as the 6 understands you aren't mocking them. Healthy 6s eventually learn to use this to their advantage - making light of things to disarm situations. Show that you are on equal ground by putting you both on the same level.
5. Reframe or distract.
6s struggle with framing things in a positive light. Reframing while giving homage to their unconscious feelings is a very useful skill to have when talking to a 6. A 6 "wants to believe" in the positive, so give them an out and they will take it. Distraction can also be useful if it's a minor issue.

DO NOTs:

1. Leave the 6 to their own devices/ to "figure it out themsleves".
Never, under any circumstances, leave the 6 before they have an explicit understanding of why you are leaving. Leaving the 6 to 'figure it out on their own' is akin to emotional abandonment, and triggers their defensive response. This can result in explosions of anger, passive dejection, or a cold "cutting off" effect. When you do this, you are basically saying you don't care about the 6 which is what they've come to expect from someone who is hostile, not you. It is a deep betrayal at the core.
What the 6 would generally prefer is you walking it through with them or at least giving them some material to bounce off of (engagement). If you have to leave, make sure the 6 knows why and that it isn't personal. Once they are given closure, do not prolong it. Be as quick and explicit as possible. Remember that they will notice any discrepancy, so make sure your actions support your words.
2. Escalate the argument or show hostility.
Remember that any response is better than no response, so a 6 will "speed up" or escalate until they realize it's not something that can be helped. If you feed a 6's arguments by escalating it, congratulations - you are feeding the insatiable need for engagement. If it sounds exhausting, that's because it is: A 6 WILL outpace you and they WILL be more persistent than you because that is a defining feature of the type, so it's an argument you cannot win. Elitism or "competition" is also a great way to fight with your 6. Don't do this unless you are prepared to argue to exhaustion.
3. Grey rock or be emotionally unavailable.
Like I said earlier, grey rocking can cause a paradoxical effect: being too impersonal can evoke the feelings of abandonment since it is emotionally distancing and Reactive types generally prefer that you mirror their emotions. Instead, try the yellow rock technique. Assuming the 6 is someone you care about and actually want to keep in contact with - personal, vulnerable, and true is always better but if not then this is what you should be doing. It's imo the best technique to effective communication in general (not exclusive to dealing with Narcissists).
4. Take the pessimism personally.
The 6 cannot help their natural skepticism and pessimism; Learned helplessness is a response from being let down too many times. 6s fundamentally feel flawed, misunderstood, and alienated, so they've come to expect the worst from themselves and others. What is seen as pessimistic to others is "human nature" to the 6. The loss of faith in humanity is why 6s have such a vocal response to being called "loyal" or associated with "faith" - things they know for a fact will get them taken advantage of or are otherwise twisted into something grotesque. It isn't personal to you. A 6 will generally appreciate if you show your unconditional support in ways that aren't suffocating: actively being there is honestly enough for most of it.
All in all, simply paying more attention is what most 6s typically ask for. 6s are the type to be so "tuned in" that the little missed things build up over time and cause resentment. Engaging with your 6, asking them questions, showing that you genuinely care about them, and being consistent about it is pretty much the best that you can do for them and for any relationship.
There might be more but I can't think of any right now. I hope this was a decent read, and that it helps you navigate any arguments.

First/Previous/Next
As I’m certain I’ve felt the endless sorrows of a life lived poorly, I’m certain too that Gemma was right in saying that I was a pitiable man—pitiful might be the better word in that regard but I catch the drift of her meaning. How long can a man live a life and wallow in sadness? What life is that? What life is that to the one that I love? There is nothing for me that way—if I’d had the sense then I would have thrown myself from a tall building a long time ago. If I intended to live worthlessly, why didn’t I instead die worthlessly?
The hum of the oil-driven wagon consumed the day, and it was hot and even in the heat, it began to rain and though it had not been so long ago that I’d wished for rain, it only made me more pitiable. It came in a medium wave that lasted the better part of an hour and I kept the wizard hat which Ish had given me pulled tightly over my head and the rain spilled off the brim and I wished that the wagon had some overhang, but the seat was open and I sat in the rain and listened to the engine beneath the steady droplets and I felt awful. Water from the sky—riches given straight from God and there I was squandering it, abstracting the rain as a metaphor, and feeling like it shouldn’t have rained at all.
Shouldn’t it have been better if I was one of the heroes from the books? If I was a swashbuckling protagonist? If I had the heart of a true hero? I spent most of my life wishing that I was anyone that I wasn’t, and it left me so that I wasn’t fit to be anybody; if I was a character of fiction, I could be saved by the fact of having an audience. No, my life is not entertaining enough, my body doesn’t carry the heart of a hero, and I’d hate to read a book about me. Too pitiable, too pitiful.
The first night that I’d pushed on from Alexandria, I pulled the wagon to the side of the road (I-40), made camp, cooked rice, ate light, watched into the darkness, searched for the dead tree Gemma had taken me to in my bad stupor; it couldn’t be seen. The wagon, affixed with a chamber on the back only large enough for me to lie down in, had a large metal shutter, and I slumped into the coffin-like compartment—shelves lined the wall above my head, and I placed a lantern there. Through a sliding peephole over mesh, I could look out onto the anterior of the wagon where I’d sit to drive and it was all black out there, quiet. I kept the peephole shut, tried to read by the light, and could not. I smoked, thought of Suzanne.
When I awoke, I found myself pushed deep into the wizard hat so that the brim was pulled well under my nose, and I was blind on waking; the object smelled like them—the urge to head back was its strongest then.
The trunk which the wizards supplied me with was stocked well with rations and water and although I wasn’t particular about coffee, something in the fog made me want to sharpen my senses. Two cups of joe had me wired enough to believe the next few inches of fog would reveal a monster, but none would come; I sat uneasy at the wheel, back arched over it like I’d propel myself from the seat at the smallest provocation.
Midday offered a reprieve from the fog, and I sped the wagon and made better time.
Knowing I should confront Maron didn’t mean that I knew what exactly I should confront him about; all I really wanted to do was shake him. Was there a way to reason with him? It was doubtful—I’d tried that early on. A long-long time ago. There weren’t any discussions to be had, there wasn’t a dinner me and him could have together where I’d ask for my brother back; Billy was gone. No, I had known for years that the creature in that body was meant to die. I had to do it. I’d wished—prayed really—that he’d slip and fall from that high perch on the wall and then I wouldn’t have to think about it. I’d remained in Golgotha, left, and stayed again, and it was always because I wanted Billy back.
That was not to mention the number of people I’d led to the sacrificial altars of many a demon. How easily they spoke to me and tempted me. I’d always consoled myself into believing that I did it for some greater good, but it was simple; I was on the wrong side of things. It was seeing what becomes of true heroes when they stand up to the evils of the world that made me the way that I was. Heroes often sacrifice themselves or die for being known for their good deeds. Heroes fall, but perhaps that was the reason for them in the first place. Perhaps the sacrifice of a hero is necessary? I could kill to be a hero, but I don’t think I was ever ready to die for being one. Plain self-preservation. I guess my suicidal desires were a way to draw the coward out.
Out west on plains, nomadics once followed herds of animals, or so books say. Before the deluge. People are an abhorrent bunch; a person can be the very best. I wonder if the nomadics I lived with when I was a boy are what spurs on this idea of heroics? Is it a more honest way of life? What population necessitates violence? This is a hopeful thought; far too optometristic. I do not believe there was ever a time where people were not cruel. There is no hopeful yesterday. Gemma said I was living in the past, fixed on it. I was. I had never been so lost—there’s an ache that I could sleep away forever. I did not wish to die, not in the heat of combat, but to gently pass in sleep might’ve been nice. That is not enough; I wish to know it in passing. I want to close my eyes in the death throes of a slow disease and watch the world pass on in front of me. I want it to be a sleep over the horizon, and on my journey there I want it to be like I was half-asleep all along. I want to drift into nothing. A death of tiredness, of lethargic milieu, a frozen death which takes so long that I forget I am and when I do finally go, I want it to come in such sluggishness that it surprises me that I’ve come to pass.
I was tired.
The coffee from the morning did not last long and the road was long, and I yawned often, unable to focus appropriately. On the horizon I witnessed a fiend and killed the engine and hunkered by the side of the wheels and lifted my binoculars to my face and watched it pass the road and move southbound through open dead fields of yellow-sick grass and I stayed there by the wheels for a time, partially to let the thing go without interference and partially to allow myself a break.
The anatomy of melancholy seemed infinite.
I broke for a light lunch of hardtack and ate them as crackers with some sauce the wizards packed away in the trunk.
Billy died the same night as my family; whatever thing which moved as him wasn’t and did not deserve the speculation. The deals I’ve made will never leave me; most of all Mephisto’s.
Though the wagon moved slowly, I did not sweat so harshly or fear bodily fatigue.
There were times in those darkest nights that I wished for the hordes to fall on me; luck or whatever mark kept them away.
I travelled and I broke often and slept early; there was no great hurry. My days were like this on the trail eastward.
Even with my slow approach, the concrete skyscrapers came into view on the horizon almost like a surprise and I decided to camp in the Plainfield rest area.
The solitude made me wish for even the mutt’s companionship and though I did not speak to myself exactly, quick and obvious utterances came from me whenever I found myself doing any particularly menial task if only to pierce the silence.
There should’ve been an easier way for all of it. It shouldn’t have been me, a scared child, that spoke with the demon Mephisto—of course, he’d shown himself when it was most important, I’m sure.
That night, in the Plainfield rest area, I slept poorly and propped myself against a wall and stared into the darkness and thought about switching on a lantern but left it black. I closed my eyes in the dark and even on opening them, I couldn’t be sure of the shadows; I felt totally mad and sweaty and awfully anxious.
I wept for Aggie, and I wept for Philippe, and I wept for Sam and all the others I’d led to their deaths; there were so many, and each had a time and I’d taken their name, their personhood, traded them for food, for water, for a Boss, or for myself. The temptation of power was a terrible thing. Though I could say I didn’t see them as humans, that I’d been traumatized as I was, that I simply saw them as far away creatures, like any demon on the horizon, that couldn’t be true. I’d spoken to them and as humans do, they’d easily offered their dreams, beliefs, the things that made them so. I could’ve traded Andrew. I could’ve perhaps given Gemma away. Would demons trade for a dog? I’d never tried. My mind ran over from the misery I’d brought upon the world.
I set out so early that it was still deep blue out and figured come what may.
Rounding the city once known as Indianapolis, the dead city of high tombstones, I looked for the northern passage through that the wizards took, and I watched the stars that were out on the sky and paid no heed to the shadows; the sun would meet me soon and I had no desire to fight sleeplessness.
The wagon carried on; its chassis protested metal-like with the more difficult terrain of strewn rubbish as me and the inanimate object met the relative ease of Lafayette, and the high buildings grew around us and the sun began to push through the slits between as it crested the horizon. I watched the sky for dragons and watched the doorless doorways which lined either side of the street as though someone might come out to greet me.
There was a moment, as I pushed through to where the buildings began to give way and I could begin to see the open field around Golgotha that I spied a pair of glowing eyes looking down at me from way high in a brutalist structure to the left and I lifted the shotgun from where it sat beside me in the seat and put it across my lap; I was unbothered by whatever had seen me, and quickly enough, I came to the field, killed the engine and pulled the dramedy mask over my face then replaced the wizard hat there. The headgear was fine, but the robes they’d given me were something I could not care about; they snagged or caught with every step, it seemed.
I turned the engine over, it came to life, and I lifted a metallic foil flag over my head as I pushed across the open field towards Golgotha. Whatever snipers saw me, did not fire and as I drew closer, I could see the people there on the wall, pressed against the parapets, lackadaisical. The surface of the wall was cracked in places, mishappen as though the foundation had erupted, and I remembered Dave’s mission and smiled beneath the mask; he’d made it to the underground and put some damage to the Bosses and that was good. In the places where the cracks of the wall grew wide, workers undoubtedly had sought to repair it with whatever was on hand: caked concrete, poor metal sheeting. Even still, the layers of titanium beneath the rock-like surface showed warping.
Once I’d rounded the wall and met the entrance, it was almost noon by the sun, and there at the big door, I looked on at the horror that awaited me. Dead horses were overturned on their sides just outside the gate; they’d been killed with bullet wounds and the pickings from their skin showed they’d been dead for many days. The smell was poor and fat birds pushed into the bloated infected bellies of the horses, came away with string bits of intestines or organs, snapped their beaks and choked back their meal.
The mechanical door shifted open.
Wall men greeted me there, ushered me in, and I pulled into the town and parked alongside where they kept a few live mares; the horses stirred lightly at the noises of the wagon.
Only moments within the walls, I could feel the oppressiveness of the place, the stink of unwashed people; and there seemed to be many more people than usual. The streets seemed so cram-packed with poorly dressed folks that they even spilled into the front square, and I scanned the crowd, the buildings, the erected stage where the Bosses enjoyed in lording over, but I did not see Maron, and my jaw loosened, and my shoulder eased.
Upon closer inspection of those I passed or those that passed me, I saw the marks of skitterbugs, blotchy red skin, deep wounds where those infected clawed too far in to relieve themselves of the itch.
A wall man pulled me aside as the big door closed, and he looked sickly, but perhaps it was from fear alone because he did not have the tell-tale signs of the infection. “Trade?” he asked.
I nodded, afraid to speak in case of the recognition in voice, and then I thought better and spoke anyway in hopes that the mask would muffle me, “Are you all full up?” I nodded the brim of my hat to the general overpopulation.
“Refugees,” shrugged the wall man, “Pittsburgh’s gone under, and we took what was left. The ocean swallowed it whole. So said the ones that came in from the east. Said it was broke off into the water. They came in infected. You saw the horses out front?” He nodded to the big door.
“Yeah.”
“Sick. Full of skitterbugs. Even if they weren’t, it wasn’t like we had the feed for them.” He paused, frowned while glancing over my attire. “You wouldn’t happen to be here with a cure?”
I shook my head, “Only light trade.” Then I thought to add, for the sake of authenticity, “I’ll put word home that it’s gotten so poorly on my way back.”
Seemingly comforted by this, the wall man turned away and I examined his compatriots which walked overhead upon the parapets and wondered if the skitterbug infestation had spread to them. Or the Bosses. Perhaps if Maron was riddled with the bugs and dead already, I could turn back. A moment of sick relief rose in my belly, but I then pushed off from the wagon, locking the shotgun in the back hatch of the wagon, hoping to operate some light reconnaissance in the streets.
Some had lost their eyes already; itchy eyes were a common symptom among the infected—the itch would be so bad that people dug in till they bled and then more. The injuries were gruesome. Skitterbugs were multilimbed creatures, the size of miniscule roaches, that burrowed under the musculature of a living host, in the extremities of the body. As the digits atrophied, as the limbs of the host curled into hardened black masses, the skitterbugs burrowed deeper; the hosts did not last longer than a few weeks at best.
Already, many of those I passed in the narrow alleys of Golgotha looked stunned in the grip of the disease—many sat against walls in overturned postures and examined their deadened fingers, whispering to themselves, willing their hands to do anything. Others, those more unfortunate perhaps, stared from their place with empty eye sockets, scrubbing into their skin with their nails till their bodies became bulged with infection. It was a sorry sight and I remembered what Suzanne had told me about the wizards trying to help Pittsburgh. About how the city would be underwater by the end of the year. They were right.
The refugees were a sorry sight, but even those faces I recognized from my time in Golgotha were not much better. The infestation was fast in leaping from host to host; I pulled the robes closer around myself and was glad for the mask.
I pushed through the crowded streets, trying not to bump into any passerby—the whole foundation of the city was changed. There were deep thin divots in the ground like the soil had given in and it gave taller structures a lopsided look; those buildings had been reinforced with opposing leaning rods. The explosions caused by Dave in the underground surely were significant.
The streets were filthy, but that wasn’t new and the sad looks on the people I passed weren’t new, but the quantity of misery is something I didn’t know could be concentrated in such a way. The narrow pathways through Golgotha were made even more so with the piles of bodies, some sleeping sidelong or else. Catwalks overhead, which connected one structure to the next with those skinny balconies cut the shadows longer still and by the time I met the opening where the hydro towers were, I was not at all surprised by the fact that Felina’s was no more. The shipping containers which made up the makeshift structure remained, but there were bullet holes in the walls of the place—so many that it couldn’t be called anything but overkill, so many that the bullet trails met so greatly that one could push their face into the openings which remained. Felina was dead, if I guessed; I wondered what happened to the working women, but only for a moment as I caught the tune of an old song I hadn’t heard since my childhood.
Some stranger amidst the languishing crowds sat atop an old plastic crate and blew “Óró, Sé Do Bheatha 'bhaile” into a wooden flute; the gentleman there on the crate stared at the ground, seemingly unaffected by his surroundings, skin as plain and unscathed as anyone healthy. His long straw-colored hair remained off his face by a cord he’d fastened it by. The eyes of the stranger were solemn and far away and I almost believed I remembered him.
A hand grabbed my elbow, and I threw myself in the opposite direction of the hand, taking a few steps away. It was a wall man and he looked just as confused I was.
“You’re the wizard trader, yeah?” asked the wall man.
We stood there in the square, in the tall shadows of the hydro towers and I tried to speak, but it wouldn’t come. I coughed and he winced and then I tried, “Yeah.”
“The Bosses want to see you. I’m gonna’ escort you there.”
“What for?”
“They wanted an audience with any of you that stopped in. You all were the ones fighting the infestation in Pittsburgh.” In a moment, it came to me. I knew this man. This soldier. He was young and handsome and had a kind face. The night of our escape, I’d run into a young wall man, he’d lifted his gun to me, and instead of killing me, he’d let me go. His demeanor did not show that he recognized me—how could he?
I straightened the hat on my head and nodded. “Take me.”
My chaperone was quiet, and it left the ears for the town which ached, the wails of dying infected, the shouts of militiamen commanding the less fortunate. Welcome home. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun was full-on out. We came to the hall of the Bosses and I briefly remembered the fight I had at the foot of those steps and I wondered again if Dave lived; such a silly thought. Or was it a hope?
I pushed on into the hall with the wall man by my side and he shut the door behind me while he remained outside. The chamber was largely unchanged since my last visit, a long dining hall with a broad and far table. Firelights lined the walls and though it was normally cooler than the outside, the place felt incredibly warm like a wound.
The place had a wet odor and the men at the long table took me by surprise. Harold sat there at the head of them, an assisted-breathing apparatus was strapped to his nose and mouth and his eyes drooped long like he was on the verge of tears all the time and along each side of the table were his brothers and nearest me was my brother and I was frozen there.
Maron tipped his cowboy hat to me; his left eye showed he’d been touched by the skitterbug infestation—yellowy liquid perpetuated down his cheek there, but that nasty grin remained. “Howdy wizard man!” said the Boss Sheriff.
Feeling ridiculous, I offered a quick bow. Boss Harold, Maron, Frank, Paul, there was Brash and Matt too. Each of the bosses watched me there at the end of the table and I scanned the room. There were the servants, awaiting whatever command, but it seemed they’d been strapped with weapons—sidearms but some of them kept long knives on their belts even if their uniforms seemed more akin to that of a ragged peasant. The Bosses were in a bad way, paranoid.
Boss Harold attempted to speak, but choked, touched his throat and as he rocked back in his chair to catch his breath, I saw that whatever Gemma had done to him had been partially remedied; a pink horizontal line was traced there across his neck. Boss Paul sat nearest Harold and touched his brother on the shoulder, patting him while Harold caught his breath. When the man did speak, he lifted the apparatus to the side of his face so the straps that kept it on his head shifted the plastic bits to hang off the side of his face. His voice was a gruff whisper, “Have you got any news from the west? Are the wizards sending aid?” He shook his head. “Should have killed those freeloaders at our stoop. What’s Pittsburgh done for us?”
Frank spoke then, “Steelsmithing is what. There’s skilled labor there.”
Harold shook his head again as if to exaggerate his point, “No manual laboring will cure Golgotha of the curse they’ve brought us. Foul! They are foul!”
“You should rest,” Frank said to his brother, “In your condition, there’s no reason to rile yourself.”
“I’m riled,” Harold nodded.
Maron dug into his eye with his index finger, put his elbow on the table, cocked his head to look me over. “Well?” asked the sheriff. “You a mute or what?”
“No,” I said it plainly in hopes that the mask muffled my voice.
Maron raised his eyebrows. “You ain’t a mute then? Good! What’ve you gotta’ say about it then?”
“About?”
“Christ,” Maron splayed his hands, “The predicament we’re in.”
“Surely,” interjected Harold, heaving out his words like a chore, “Surely, you and yours have found a cure? These skitter-bug things. It’s eating our citizenry inside out.”
Brash (a quiet lesser brother) leaned over the table. “The docs say it’s bad news. If you were to ask me, I’d imagine it won’t be long before a mutant attack sends us over the edge. The wall men are already showing signs of fatigue—half are afflicted already.”
Maron slapped his hands on the table, “Nah, I wouldn’t worry about my men. They’re as ready as ever for—well for anything.”
Brash crossed his arms. “What’s the wizard say?”
They once more turned to me.
“I ain’t—I’m not here for diplomacy,” I said, “Just trade.”
Maron squinted at my words and stared at the table. “Maybe we be needin’ a court wizard?” he asked the other men. He laughed; no one else did.
Harold sighed. “Then send the message to your people. Whatever the price—anything I beg—send your best doctors. We are in dire need. Will you do that for us?”
I nodded.
They waved me out and it was only once I stood at the foot of the hall, looking back at the high structure that I realized I was shaking from the encounter.
The wall man which had escorted me there remained at the steps and looked me over as I exited the hall.
“Will you help?” he asked; there was a plea in his manner. There were people suffering and I was worried about revenge.
“I’ll try,” I lied.
That night, I went to Felina’s in the dark, stood in the shadows, removed my mask, and smoked. The blue night was cool, and I tilted into the dilapidated structure. There was a family crowded there in the darkness like scared mice—it may well have been an amalgam of people, but I’d like to believe it was a family weathering their misfortune together. The people crowded around a small portable stove and gibbered to one another until they were startled at my arrival, and I waved them goodbye, apologized for the intrusion, and stepped back into the night and felt overwhelmed by what would come next.
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The medical tents towards the back of the battlefield were, as ever, a flurry of activity. Everyone moved with certain purpose and the speed born of necessity, from the priestesses of Hecate treating the most grievous wounds with magic, to more mundane doctors setting to work with needle, thread, splint, and sling, to the humble apprentices running water, bandages, medicine, and sutures here and there to their superiors. And of course, there was the large space set aside for a dragonness to land at.
Seramis landed with the wounded in tow, Prince Leonidas among them. With the Scythians retreating, the other members of the evacuation teams could set out. Once the last of her charges were unloaded, Sera’s role shifted from ambulance to trauma doctor. Her first patient was obvious, and nobody was foolish enough to get in her way. She cast as she accompanied the stretcher, shifting down from her draconic bulk to a less imposing humanoid.
Humanoid for certain, but unmistakably inhuman. Even much reduced the dragoness’s humanoid form still stood as tall as an amazon. Owing to the needs of the battlefield, she was clad in a tunic scandalously close to a man’s and reliable, heavy boots. Long dark hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, which nestled between a large pair of wings that sprang from her back. Those, combined with the long, still bladed tail, and a crown of scales about her brow allowed for no illusions that she was human. Most dragons could and did take purely human forms, but Seramis’s pride made her something of an exception.
Once Leon was safely placed onto what passed for a bed, she went to work. Her familiar sprang from her shadow and quickly examining him. “Save that arrow once it’s out of him. I’ll analyze the poison and tell you how to counter it.” Elijah ordered as he examined the wounded prince. Seramis nodded, and quickly washed her hands and tail, drying both with blue-hot flame to ensure their purity.
“Barbed?” Sera asked, peeling back the prince’s armor with her bare hands. Her size might have diminished, but not her strength. Leon grunted and nodded an affirmative. “This is going to hurt, I’ll nullify the pain after but for now-“ She offered the prince a leather strap. He nodded and bit down. Sera went to work, carefully twisting the arrow slightly, and found it gave. It hadn’t hit bone, which made this much simpler. Unfortunately, it wasn’t able to be pushed through, as that would have required going through Leon’s shoulder plate and possibly a rib.Using the blade of her tail as a scalpel, she made an incision around the site, and gently, carefully, extracted the arrow.
Once the arrow was out, she inspected it carefully. It hadn’t fragmented in the wound, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She set it to the side and immediately prepared reagents for casting. Into a basin of purified water she placed a sweet grape, undiluted wine, grapevine, lavender, chamomile, honeycomb, a scrap of paper from a child’s story, lamb’s wool, and goose down.
“Smirete gi nervite što vreskaat.”
“Smiri go telesniot strav.”
“Balemirajte ja bolkata od mlaz krv.”
Leon’s knuckles gradually relaxed from their white grip. The prince slumped forwards slightly, muscles relaxing as the pain of his injuries fled. A cool feeling, like water poured over and into dry skin, spread throughout his body. His breathing came easier, but he still burned to the touch. Sera looked to her familiar, who was still analyzing the arrow. He shook his head, and Sera focused on the work she could.
First, she cast a simple spell of purification by salt, lye, and honey to purify the region from festering and infection. Thrice she cast it, once for each wound. Next, she addressed the arrow wound. The arrow had only penetrated skin and muscle, and her own incision had likewise only inflicted damage on the flesh. This was easily repaired with two basic spells of healing. She cast twice by raw meat, silver, and salt.
“Šie vena do vena.”
“Muskul do muskul.”
“Koža na koža.”
The wounds sealed shut, and she washed the blood away. She continued next to examining the deep wounds in his shoulder and arm. Both would be more complicated, as the Scythian falx had cut to the bone, severing tendons along the way. She’d treated him with a spell to reduce blood loss en route, but would need to release it to begin the healing process. She’d need to work quickly, and the poison was still in effect.
She examined his shoulder first. The attack had cut through to the bone, but only nicked it. It would be a simple fix. More difficult would be re-attaching the tendons, not least of all because Leon had kept moving with his injury, and thus aggravated it. This was going to be careful work, executed quickly to avoid him losing too much blood. She readied her elements, and opened her own palm. She would cast by blood for power and control. Pure water was typically better than most solvents for healing, but blood carried with it the weight of Sacrifice and the control of Self.
“Postavete ja koskata ispravena.
Pletete go so svež rast.
Vari go sekoj višok.”
She cast first for the bone, accelerating the natural healing process. The wounded collar bone knit over with a small lump of bone, which then smoothed itself down to a natural state. Resuming the healing process also ended the spell blocking bloodflow. The operating table quickly began turning uncomfortably red. She cast again, biting the inside of her cheek to remain calm.
“Sekoja tetiva se vrzuva za svoeto skršeno jas.”
“Gi ispružuvaat racete za da se fatat eden so drug.”
“Ona što beše otsečeno, povtorno stanuva edno telo.”
This was the most complicated part. The tendons each had to be set back to their severed halves, a careful process that, while relatively swift, felt agonizing slow. Each one knit back to the other, and gradually began to stretch back out and reconstruct the shoulder. Sera nodded at her work, and quickly cast her spell of mending flesh and skin to close over the wound. It knit shut, and she turned to the wound in Leon’s arm. This was fortunately simpler, and could be addressed with the same spells she had already used.
Finally, Elijah spoke up. “I have it, this is from a Balkan Cross Adder. It’s not normally this potent, but it seems that the scythians found a way around it. The internal structure of this arrowhead is somewhat porous, so it can absorb more venom. It’s attacking his nerves and causing swelling. Put a ward around his heart and gastrointestinal tract to avoid it causing too much damage, use an anti-inflamatory through the wound sites, then a standard purge should clear it out.”
Seramis nodded, and quickly set to work. The first two spells were simple enough to keep poison away and soothe the symptoms. However actually removing the venom was going to be slightly more complicated. A spell to flush the toxic chemical out of where it bound to nerve endings and force it through the body, overclocking the liver and kidneys to rapidly flush it before it could re-bind to anything else. Sera called for water to be brought immediately, then prepared the spell. “Fair warning Leon, this is going to hurt.” She dropped the spell of anesthetic and cast quickly. The surge hit Leon like a prolonged jolt of electricity, and the prince spasmed slightly as the magic cut to his nerves. Then he breathed easier, and laid back to rest.
“It’s done then?” he asked, sore, exhausted, and ravenous. Healing magic did supply a great deal of the energy required for a body to rapidly heal itself, but not the nutrients. He’d undergone several weeks’ worth of repair in a few moments, and his internal stocks had been heavily depleted.
“It’s done. Don’t sleep yet.” Sera replied, and when an aide came with a waterskin, she offered and helped him drink. “He’s stable. Bring him the usual for recovery, with additional fluids, chilled.” She ordered, and the aide nodded, running off at once. Leon grimaced slightly at that. “The usual” was medicine, of a sort. It was a potion of Cassandra’s design, consisting of boiled wine, salt, lemon, honey, juniper berries, and miscellaneous herbs. It was served hot, and tasted at once very sour, bitter, and salty. It probably wouldn’t have been edible without the honey. While disgusting, it was however, very effective in helping a wounded warrior recover nutrients lost during battle and healing, as well as fortifying the immune system against disease, as healing magic routinely exhausted it. It was, at the very least, also served with a soft milk bread heavy with a spread made from apples and large amounts of pork lard to help quickly regain calories. That was generally considered about as delicious as the potion was foul.
Seramis saw the prince’s expression, and gave him a look. He sighed, and nodded. “Afterwards though, I’m going to sleep.”
“Good.” Sera replied with a nod. “You need it, just make sure you don’t get scurvy first.”
With that, Seramis left to attend to other patients. As she worked through the backlog, she briefly crossed paths with Casssandra. The queen had changed into a similarly practical outfit, and was up to her elbows in work. The pair exchanged a brief look. “Leon?” Cassandra asked.
“Will be fine.” Sera confirmed. Cassandra offered a curt nod. They’d speak later.
Later arrived halfway past midday, as the wounded were finally attended to. The army rested outside the nearby village, and the villagers came out to thank them with the usual method, cheering and lots of food and alcohol. It was a bit early in the day for the latter, but they had won a battle, and so it flowed freely. Despite the generally jovial attitude of victory, Cassandra privately felt less than pleased. The trio assembled in her private tent, where all three promptly collapsed, more or less exhausted, into the nearest piece of furniture.
Despite his exhaustion, Leon smiled tiredly, and turned to the others. “Well, it isn’t easy, but another victory for the new age.”
The others smiled. It had been two years since the three had met through a confluence of convoluted plots and miscommunications. Two years since they had faced the evil regent Tyndareus and freed Macedon from his tyranny. Two years of working together to try and fix the damage of twenty years of a cruel rule. It had been a hard two years. It had been a good two years. It had been very short, and very long all at once. Much had been done, and much more remained, though the addition of a horde of Scythians certainly complicated matters.
“Victory.” Cassandra remarked, though not as triumphantly as that word might have been. “But not complete, not yet. We successfully repulsed the barbarians, but their forces remain largely intact, and the injuries they inflicted with this simple skirmish is somewhat disheartening. Still, slaying this many of their charioteers and horsemen will provide us an advantage in the next battle.”
“Presuming there even is one. We thrashed them fairly decisively, and more importantly showed them we could intercept them, even with a primarily infantry force.” Seramis replied, drumming her fingers on the side of her chair. The dragoness lounged over it, lying across the arms of the chair rather than simply sitting in it.
“They’ll be back. Their leader, Tamur, stated it rather plainly.” Leon remarked, still sitting with all formality despite his injuries. “This is far more than simply a raid. It seems more like a migration.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a barbarian horde found itself trying to occupy Macedonian lands. That’s the whole reason we’re here. Though the fact that it’s the Scythians this time is concerning. Typically they’re the ones driving other groups of barbarians into our lands. If the full might of their people is coming here, then what we faced today would be nothing but the vanguard of their vanguard.” Cassandra mused, fingers steepled and slumped in her chair. “And the reports were accurate, these are, unmistakably, Scythians.”
“I wish I had more intel to offer, but I’ve mostly been focused on developing networks with the civilized world.” Sera apologized, before cracking her neck. “I admit, I didn’t expect the Scythians to show up in these numbers, well, ever. And the other barbarians closer to us have long since learned not to raid into Macedonian territory. Something major must have happened out in the north without us realizing it.”
“You don’t suppose that he might be making moves, do you?” Cassandra asked, leaning forwards.
Sera rolled over into a proper position and shook her head. “Malphus is sealed in that area, somewhere, and if that seal was broken we’d know. He’d already have come south and razed Hellas to the ground.” She spoke with grave import. Malphus, the King Who Devours His People. The dragon who had torn down the ancient Diluvian Empire by his reckless ambition and lust for power nearly rendering their species extinct in the process. Only through grave sacrifice had Seramis’s namesake and the six other children of the Emperor managed to seal him away, two thousand years ago. Sera had taken on his name and guise in the same scheme where the trio had met, and so now his name was spoken of in hushed whispers across the world.
“However, it may be that some of his followers are stirring up trouble in the region. They may have an interest in breaking the seal themselves. I’ll do my best to try and gather information, but between the chaos the Scythians have stirred up and the relative difficulty of gathering information that far from the civilized world, it may be difficult.” Seramis continued.
“I’m certain you’ll figure something out, you always do.” Cassandra replied with a nod. “But, returning to the problem of the Scythians, if this well and truly is a major migration, led by their queen no less, this is a serious problem. Fortunately, their queen seems to be the lead from the front type. Unfortunately, she’s clearly no slouch in combat, and her weapon appears to be enchanted. Leon, did you identify any notable weaknesses during your conflict?”
Leon considered for a moment. “She’s clearly an extremely adept fighter, and while her weapons and armor are less advanced than ours, they still certainly do the job. Her weapon is absolutely lethal while she’s in her chariot, and she’s certainly my equal in archery. Disabling her chariot will have to be a top priority. Without it, it’s possible to close to inside her range, though she’s a skilled, if undisciplined grappler. But her boots are a lot less lethal than that blade of hers. Trying to engage with spear and shield is a fool’s errand, this will be short blade work to capture her. In addition, neutralizing her escort and ensuring a speedy escape once she’s down will be key.”
“Capture? You’re feeling confident for someone who just lost to her.” Seramis teased.
“I don’t hit women, and I certainly don’t kill them.” Leon replied, arms folded.
“Ah, so that’s why you lost.” Cassandra grumbled, putting her head in her hands. “Leon, much as I admire your principles, and most of the time appreciate your chivalry, time and place. A battlefield is no place to be a gentleman.”
Leon shook his head, despite his exhaustion, his eyes remained sharp. “A battlefield is precisely the place it’s most important to remain true to one’s principles. If you abandon your principles in times where they become inconvenient, then they were hardly principles at all. And a warrior without principle is simply a murderer or a wild beast; ruthless violence without restraint, a sword with no sheath, that is an abomination.”
“I concur with the former, which is why I have few principles.” Cassandra replied with a slightly bemused smirk. “But as to the latter, I disagree. To exercise violence with ruthlessness and without principle, that is not inherently chaos, nor is the one who does so wildly. Rather it is to be expected of one acting towards their highest principles, for which all others may be forsaken. It dispenses with the idea of “good violence” and enacts violence for good. Most cannot understand what is good, and so shall be instructed in it, and follow their instructor, and thus, their ruthlessness is a weapon wielded by righteousness. But such is the difference between us, that you are a warrior, who concerns himself with how to fight, and I am a soldier, who concerns herself with why to fight. For this is the requirement of queens, that they must be soldiers.”
“If this is what you say, then you do not think enough of warriors, and too little of soldiers.” Leon countered. “You say that a warrior is one who seeks good means, and a soldier good ends. But a warrior who, by all gentle and upright behavior, establishes slavery, tyranny, and ill-rule has, in fact, disgraced his means. And a soldier who acts with absolute ruthlessness shall find only a wasteland that he may call peace. Both means and ends must be righteous for righteousness to endure. It is a pure draft that abides no dilution.”
“If such is the case, then neither warrior nor soldier is ever righteous, for there is no good way to kill a man.” Cassandra replied. “Whether by arrow, blade, venom, or sorcery, the dead remain dead. They are cut off and will never rise again. Such a thing is a wound which cannot be undone, and yet we who pursue violence, that is, to cause such wounds, do so and dress ourselves in codes and laws that we might ignore it.”
“Such is true, that death cannot be undone, and it is a terrible thing. This is why one must bear the sword with wisdom and with righteousness. For the sword must fall only as needed, and never without reason or in violation of principle. Those who slay without meaning live by the sword, and must be slain by it in turn. But the one who bears the sword that he might strike the wicked and spare the innocent.”
“Then you say instead that warriors are soldiers.” Cassandra countered, and delivered a riposte. “For if you say that a warrior pursues principle that they might only slay the wicked, then their end is justice, and all else is only the means to the end.”
“You misunderstand, for the means and the end are one and the same. You cannot achieve justice by injustice, or goodness by evil, anymore than you can draw water from an oil press or oil from a mountain stream. Consider a city, in which everyone is wicked, but for fifty men and their families. To strike the city with ruthlessness would mean slaying those fifty, and so there would be injustice. The same is true for the sake of twenty, and for the sake of ten, and for the sake of even a single one. For violence exists to protect the innocent foremost, and slaying the wicked is simply how this is accomplished.” Leon explained by way of an example, referencing a famous story told by the Hebrews.
Cassandra considered this and returned in kind. “You say that such is so, but I say to you it is better to destroy the city utterly, even if a hundred are innocent, if indeed all others are wicked. For if there are innocents in the city of the wicked, surely they shall be cruelly oppressed by the wicked. For the wicked shall not content themselves to the city, but will spread like a plague across the land and bring cruelty to all those who they can reach. This will continue until the wicked are utterly destroyed.”
“You say that ruthlessness is cruelty, but I say that ruthlessness is mercy. For the wicked cannot be cruel when they are dead, nor can they pursue the innocent beyond the grave. Decisive action, taken without hesitation, minimizes suffering.” So Cassandra concluded.
“Or, perhaps we could reject all of this nonsense about trying to murder one another and try diplomacy instead?” Seramis finally interjected, tired already and more so of this conversation. “The Scythians wouldn’t be coming all this way without a good reason, and powerful as they are, they might make excellent allies if we could manage it.”
“True, the three ways to deal with an enemy are to make them an ally, a subject, or a corpse. If we can manage the first, so much the better. If not, then we’ll aim for the second, after I’ve dealt with their queen.” Cassandra replied, rolling her shoulders. She gave Leon a look. “I respect your principles, but given it’s a stupid principle, and Sera’s a pacifist, I’ll address the practical concerns here directly. She might be strong, but now that I know her sword’s gimmick, I can kill her.”
“Let’s try and avoid that eh?” Seramis asked. “War is meant to be the last argument of kings, not the first.”

This is a Chinese legend; approx. 6,000 words.
Content:
1 Constant Fair and Peach Flower Girl
2 Death with Eyes Open
3 Peach Flower Fortune
4 Wordless Tombstone
[5 Mental Illness Treatment]()
6 Fate Through
7 Nude Wedding

1 Constant Fair and Peach Flower Girl

[Constant Fair ]()is an orphan since childhood in Publican Liu’s pharmacy as a long laborer. He was not smart since he was a child, score of school was not that good, and always made mistakes when he grew up and learned how to do business. However, Publican Liu not only took good care of him in every aspect, but also always tolerated and harbored him, and did not hold him accountable for his faults. Constant Fair had never met Publican Liu since he was a child; he also often wanted to see him to salute and thank him in person, but it was always disrupted by some strange and unexpected arrangements.
Constant Fair knows, Publican Liu is eccentric, often go out to travel, leisure time in the study of ancient books, do not like to see people. In addition, Constant Fair also knows that he is not good health, there is a kind of what, no one can say the strange disease.
One day, Publican Liu commissioned a matchmaker to propose marriage to Constant Fair, to betroth his daughter, Peach Flower Girl, to him. He heard that Peach Flower Girl is intelligent, beautiful, and her medical skills are even more brilliant, to her matchmaking are more than to kick through the threshold, is not marriage. The matchmakers showed him articles written by Peach Flower Girl, told him what she had done, and created opportunities for him to meet her, so have a chance to see her in person. Constant Fair saw that Peach Flower Girl was beautiful; the articles she wrote were clearly organized, with wonderful words; the affairs she had done were all skillfully arranged. Constant Fair thought he was not worthy of her, so he refused. As a result, he heard later that the Peach Flower Girl was also unwilling and called him stupid.
Some days later, again, Publican Liu asked the matchmaker to marry Peach Flower Girl to Constant Fair and tried to persuade him. Constant Fair finally said, "As long as Peach Flower Girl is willing, I am willing." As a result, Constant Fair heard that Peach Flower Girl was not willing again.
After some time, Publican Liu asked the matchmaker to marry Constant Fair and Peach Flower Girl again, saying that, this time, Peach Flower Girl had already agreed. Constant Fair heard that Publican Liu and the matchmakers had been trying to persuade Peach Flower Girl to marry him, and that the father and daughter had quarrelled over the matter often recently. He thought to himself, "This is that Peach Flower Girl let me to delay for a few days so as to let her father have a rest and a few days of fun, and then it is me to reject it. Constant Fair then said to the matchmaker, “I'll think about it then”. After a few days, he told the matchmaker: “No.”
In this way, Publican Liu and the matchmakers used many ways to set up the marriage between Peach Flower Girl and Constant Fair, which was a long time coming, but just not possible. Time passed, Peach Flower Girl and Constant Fair both passed the age of normal marriage.

2 Death with Eyes Open

In one middle night, a matchmaker who had become friends with Constant Fair came running to tell him, “I don't know what's wrong! old Publican Liu is acting like crazy! He said he would ‘die with eyes open’, until he sees you and Peach Flower Girl get married, and enter honeymoon house. He also secretly let people in the preparation of a small inner courtyard, to you and the Peach Flower Girl locked inside; not married to not let you two out. I thought, ‘What's going on here! I had to tell you!’ I also found out that they know that you and I are friends and have sent someone to watch me, so I found a chance to sneak out. With that said, I must return, in case of that I am discovered.”
Constant Fair was shocked when he heard this and thought, “This can't be done! Then I ruin Peach Flower Girl for life! No! I must Leave!” That night, he escaped from Publican Liu's pharmacy. He didn't go back to his hometown because he was afraid that Publican Liu would send someone to catch him.
Constant Fair lived a life of anonymity, wandering around. Of course, he also needed to make a living, and later he worked as a shopkeeper in a pharmacy. For the first few years, the business did quite well, and the business grew. Later, he realized that someone was working against him in business and went to resign with the proprietor. The proprietor said, "Now, our business is so big that we can fight with them! I trust you, and I don't blame you if you lose money." Constant Fair said, “I don't want to fight with them. To tell you the truth, I suspect those opponents are related to one of my former benefactors”. The proprietor understood the matter well and said: “In that case! I cannot force you.”
Constant Fair left the pharmacy and wandered to another place, where he found another job in a pharmacy. Something similar happened to the last job. He found out that there were against him in business, and still thought that those people were related to the former boss Publican Liu, so he voluntarily gave up the job again.
In this way, Constant Fair changed job after job, always feeling that someone was struggling with him and unwilling to fight back against his opponents, but his bad reputation spread, and he couldn't find a job. So, he went back home.
On his way to his old village, Constant Fair met a messenger. The messenger asked him, "Do you know Constant Fair from Fair Family Village?" He replied, “I am!” The messenger said, “The people in your home asked me to tell you that your father passed away.” Constant Fair thought to himself, “I have been an orphan since I was a child, and replied, “You are mistaken! I'm not the person you're looking for!” The messenger verified, “XXX County, YYY town, Fair Family Village, the name is Constant Fair!” Constant Fair replied immediately, “Yes! It is me!” The messenger added, “The news that the people in your hometown asked me to convey to you is that your father has passed away. I'm just a messenger, and the rest, I don't know!”
At this, Constant Fair felt uncomfortable in his heart and sensed that something was wrong. When he arrived home, he inquired if there was anyone else in the village also name Constant Fair. He found out, in his county, only has one Fair Family Village, and in the past 40 years, only his name is Constant Fair in the Village. For several days in a row, he felt a tightness in his chest.

[3 Peach Flower Fortune]()

On this day, Constant Fair went to the marketplace for a walk. From a distance, he saw a group of people surrounding a fortune-teller. Constant Fair never believed in ghosts, gods, fortune-telling, and the like. But somehow! That day he stood at the back of the queue and wanted to listen.
The fortune-teller saw Constant Fair immediately and said, “The one at the end of the line is in a hurry! Let him come first! Those in front wait a while.”
Constant Fair said, "I'm not in a hurry, I can wait."
The fortune-teller said, "Come over here if you're told to!"
Constant Fair walked up to the fortune-teller, and before he could say anything, the fortune-teller said, “Congratulation! You've got Peach Flower Fortune (Note 3)!”

Note 3, what is peach flower fortune? Equivalent to the Western world's "The Chosen One" (i.e., the Golden Boy, Adam), except that the peach flower fortune is expressed in terms of the woman's (Eve, Jade Girl) beauty, talent, rich, and power to express this concept. How did the fortune teller see it? The Chinese fortune-teller profession and the Chinese juristic teacher profession use the same set of books. The Golden Boy and Jade Girl is the basic model in that book, and the Peach Flower Catastrophe is one of the main cases in that book.

Constant Fair replied, “I don't know! I can still have Peach Flower Fortune!”
The fortune teller asked, "In the past, when you worked for someone, was there a proprietor who treated you very well, but you never saw him?"
Constant Fair replied, "Yes!"
The fortune-teller said, “He is dead, and with eyes glaringly open!”
Constant Fair heard, feel the head "buzz" a moment, the sky spinning, earth gravity vanishing, organs are moving. When he calmed down, felt his chest clogged, as if pressing a stone, heard the crowd talking about really God's calculations, a look to know! No wonder that he was said to be in a hurry!
Constant Fair turned around and started to walk home. The fortune-teller said: “Wait, I haven't finished yet! I think you really don't know! When Peach Flower Fortune comes, no one can stop it, there's no other way. You can only obey the wish of that old proprietor of yours and go to his house quickly. Even if you must spend all your money to pay for the betrothal gift, you still must gain their favor, wed their daughter, and enter honeymoon house, before you can be relieved of this Peach Flower Catastrophe.”
Constant Fair reached into his pocket and realized he had no money with him, so he said, "I'll go back to get the money and return it to you."
The fortune-teller said, “No need, I don't want your money.”
Constant Fair felt strange and asked why he didn't want his money. The fortune-teller said, “To tell the truth! Judging from your face, you won't live more than a hundred days. It's unlucky to spend dead people's money!"
Constant Fair said, "Thank you very much! I will definitely repay you when I have the chance in the future."
The fortune-teller added, "Wait! On the way, you must drink more water; drinking water will renew your life. Also, you must keep walking; if you fall, you may never get up again!"
Thanking again, Constant Fair went home, packed his bags, and went on his way that night.
A few days later, Constant Fair felt his chest getting more and more clogged, his stomach gurgling, and problems with his stomach and intestinal motility; sores began to grow on his skin. Whenever he arrived at a place, he first looked for a well, drank his fill, then filled two jugs of water to carry with him, ate something and immediately rushed on. In this way Constant Fair traveled day and night, rushing to Liu's medicine farm.

[4 Wordless Tombstone]()

The world had changed, and Publican Liu’s family moved back to his home village, Peach Flower Village, a long time ago. After a lot of trouble, Constant Fair was sent to the cemetery of Peach Flower Village by a carter who took pity on him.
At the cemetery, Constant Fair read the inscriptions on every grave, but he did not find Publican Liu's name. He was so tired that he sat down to rest in front of a wordless tombstone. At that moment, a woman wearing mourning clothes came to him. He hurriedly stood up and asked, "Dare I ask this big sister, whose grave is this?"
Woman replied, “This is my father's tomb.”
Constant Fair hurriedly asked, “Can I ask what your father's name is?”
Woman said, “My father said I was not his daughter, caused him to die with eyes open, would not allow me to say his name at his grave.”
The two then talked at the grave. Constant Fair first told his story; then the woman told hers.
Woman said, “When I was born, have a peach flower birthmark on my leg, so people called me Peach Flower Girl. When I grew up, I was picky in choosing husband, couldn't find one. My father appointed one for me, a longtime laborer in our medicine farm. His name was Constant Fair, was a fool. I did not agree. Later, my father had a small courtyard built up, and he planned to confine him and me there, not letting us out until we married. In the middle of a night, I created an opportunity for one of Constant Fair's friends to slip out, so Constant Fair ran away. My father sent people to look for him everywhere. A few years later, my dad became seriously ill, so we moved back to our home village. Not long after, my dad passed away.”
Peach Flower Girl said: “Before my father died, he said to me, ‘You are not a real woman, you are not destined to have a husband, and you can't enjoy the happiness of being a woman; therefore, I have detained a husband for you. You can only be happy if you marry him. One day, after I die, a man will come to my grave to commonwealth and bow to me. At that time, you will take these two letters: one is my will; another is eight hieroglyphics that I summarized what I have learned and done in my whole life. You ask him to guess the eight hieroglyphics. If he does, he is your husband. You kneel and ask to marry him.' My father handed this dagger (which is a Philosopher Stone Pestle) to me and said, ‘If he doesn't agree, you kill yourself with it.'"
Peach Flower Girl continued, “Years passed, and no one came to visit his grave. I had not the heart to marry anyone either. A few days ago, I heard that a man was going around looking for a grave. I asked my butler to see what was going on. He followed you and saw your fainting, so he carried you here. I will send someone to bring you some food later.” Peach Flower Girl finished her talk, turned around heading back to the village.

5 Mental Illness Treatment

Constant Fair felt more comfortable, but chest is still congested, in front of the grave to cry loudly, while crying while thinking: what is Publican Liu’s life doing? He thought about it for two days and two nights but could not figure it out.
At dawn on the third day, Constant Fair heard someone call his name, like his father. At that moment, the man said again, “Constant Fair! Do you not even recognize me!?” As the man set down the meal, he said, “Look at what I brought, all your favorite foods when you were a child.” Only then did Constant Fair notice that this meal delivery man was Uncle Grain, who had taken care of him as a child and treated him the best.
Uncle Grain said, “When the old master was alive, he would always ask me to bring you some of the delicious food made in the backyard kitchen. Every time, he told me, ‘Just say whoever sent it, do not say I sent it.’ These are all your favorites, eat them while they're hot to warm your body.”
Uncle Grain continued, “The day before yesterday, Lady said that you were not sick. I came to bring you food, saw that you were sick all over. Last night, I went to my Ninth Uncle's house, who is a famous medical doctor in this area. I told him about your condition and begged him bitterly. My uncle was cornered, so he told me, ‘This is a matter of life and death, you must not tell outsiders. Yesterday, a few of us old doctors discussed Constant Fair’s case. Your old Master Liu is a famous benefactor, who all know for hundreds of kilometers around. But he was so unfair to Mr. Fair that he put his life in danger. Publican Liu was a rare man of the world, and if he were to cast the curse of ‘Death with Eyes Open’, it would certainly be done seamlessly.’”
Uncle Grain said: "I then flattered my uncle: Uncle you very knowledgeable! But in the end, I don’t understand what the cause of Constant Fair's illness is. Our old master asked Constant Fair to guess the eight words that summarized his life's learning and doing, but how could Constant Fair guess out with his little literal inks? Can you make it simple for me? I need to understand, otherwise I came begging you for nothing!”
“My uncle said, Constant Fair is also a scholar! He grew up with Publican Liu, how could he be less educated?”
“I said, I watched Constant Fair grow up, he was stupid since he was a child! He was afraid of being beaten by the teacher at school, often skipped school. Old Master Liu trusted me and asked me to take care of him. I was lazy and concealed on either end. Every time our old Master Liu asked me, I told him that Constant Fair was smart and diligent, but he was always stupid and didn't learn well. Later, Master Liu asked me to lend Constant Fair his favorite books. Whether Constant Fair read it or not, I told old Master Liu that, ‘Constant Fair liked it so much that he read it two or three times, could almost recite it'.”
“My uncle scolded me, ‘Why do you work like this! Publican Liu's godly business is ruined by you!’.”
“I say, Uncle Ninth! It's useless for you to scold me, even to beat me. If Constant Fair sickly died, haven’t I been a man in vain! Then I won't live long. Constant Fair has been kind and filial since he was a child, how could he get this strange disease! Isn't this someone setting him up!”
“My Ninth Uncle immediately said, ‘That's right! Publica Liu died with eyes open; and he and Constant Fair had a factual father-son relationship. Constant Fair, he is a great rebel, self-inflicted sin, could not live! But he was framed also. That's what's illness with him. If word of this gets out, your Publican Liu will be disgraced! Don't you understand? Then what's the Liu family spying on everyone in our village now!”
Note 5: Uncle Dragon said that in the original story of Peach Flower Catastrophe, the original author used Taoism, Buddhism, Confucianism, God Theory, Ghost Theory, and other twenty more ancient Chinese philosophies to discuss the cause and treatment of Constant Fair's illness.
Uncle Grain said to Constant Fair, “I then knelt down to my Ninth Uncle and begged him to come up with a solution.”
“Ninth Uncle said, ‘I didn't realize that this matter had brought you into the circle. Yes, this happened in our Peach Flower Village, several of us old doctors feel frustrated and irritated. This medicine is the result of our discussion yesterday. But if the mental illness is not removed, Constant Fair's physical illness will not be cured.'”
Uncle Grain continued to say, “I said to my Ninth Uncle, ‘Our old Master is a learned man, and he asked Constant Fair to guess eight hieroglyphics, but with Constant Fair's little learning, he couldn't guess them! What, according to you, Uncle, are those words?”
“My uncle immediately became angry! He shouted, ‘Good Son’s Uncle (that is real name for Uncle Grain)! In terms of seniority, I'm your uncle; in terms of age, you're still two years older than me.' How can you say that?”
“Later, my uncle explained: ‘Publican Liu learned Taoism from Extremely-Vague Real-Human (Annotation, also being called Non-Position Real-Human that is True Suchness, is nature law) in his early years and was the closing door (i.e., the last) disciple, who had received real teachings. In terms of seniority, he is my teacher uncle. My teacher uncle set up a trap and I'm here to break it, that is I am cheating on teacher, terminating ancestors! But in terms of Publican Liu's personality, he's not a man who bites off more than he can chew and shows off his metaphysics; for a scholar, those should be a few common hieroglyphics.’”
“I asked my Ninth Uncle what I can do for Constant Fair then?”
“He said, ‘Tell Constant Fair truthfully all that Publican Liu had asked you to do to him behind his back！Let him comply with Publican Liu's wish, that's the only way out, otherwise, he surely dies.'"
Uncle Grain looked around again, handed Constant Fair the medicines for internal and external use, such as Shenling Baizhu San (that is a popular ancient remedy for gastrointestinal ulcers), and whispered, “I have to go, if not they may never let me bring you food again.”

6 Fate Through

Constant Fair sent Uncle Grain away, while eating while tears dripping. He was sometimes happy, sometimes sad, sometimes crying, sometimes angry, sometimes leisurely, thinking, thinking, thinking, he remembered what happened to him when he was a child (what is called Fate Through).
Constant Fair lost his mother when he was young and lived with his sick father. One day, he saw children eating candied haws on the street, and he cried and asked his father for them. His father carried him outside the courtyard of Publican Liu, pointed to the big house of the Liu family and said: "You are engaged to the eldest lady of this family, but our family is poor! We don't expect this marriage. Dad is sick. When Dad is gone, you come to his house. When you grow up and make money by yourself, then you can buy whatever you like!"
At this time, Constant Fair came up with the first four hieroglyphics of eight, “former generation’s marriage reasoning factor”.
On the fourth day, three shopkeepers came to visit Constant Fair and said, “To tell you the truth! We were all present when the old Boss Liu died. He really could not rest in peace. Why did he die with eyes open? We all know! Peach Flower Girl is stubborn, she never believed a word the old Boss Liu said since child. Death with eyes open, all because of worrying about her! The spirits keeping term had not even passed, so she gritted her teeth and said, ‘My dad died with eyes open because he was mesmerized by that stupid guy Constant Fair.’ She swore she would kill you and sent people around to look for you.”
Constant Fair said, “Thank brothers, for your truthful words, but I am still willing to stay here for spirits keeping, and to think out his will.” After the shopkeepers left, Constant Fair threw himself on the Publican Liu's wordless tombstone and cried aloud. While crying, while thinking, I was stupid since childhood, not good at reading, often beaten and scolded by teachers. When I grew up, I was slow in learning to do business and often made mistakes. Fortunately, Publican Liu's favoritism harboring, I strugglingly learned some pharmacy to rely on for life. Since leaving Liu's family, I was not able to return home, and there was no place to complain about the bitter, barely able to support myself, until now nothing has been accomplished. The old master Liu chose me to take care of his family, causing the merchant group to fall apart. Crying, Constant Fair felt a stream of warmth flow like warm water from top of his head to his whole body, after that, he felt much more comfortable in his heart and body than before.
On the fifth day, several shopkeepers came to advise Constant Fair again: "Old Master Liu is erudite and a rare man of the world, how can we guess his mind! The Peach Flower Girl is a temperamental person with a goddess’ face and a scorpion’s heart, no one can get a good fruit with her. It's not worth wasting time here for a woman like her. Go! We several old brothers will gather money for your treatment, we don't need her Peach Flower Girl!"
Constant Fair said, “Thank brothers, for your truthful words, but I am still willing to stay here for spirits keeping and to figure out old master’s last words.” After the shopkeepers left, Constant Fair threw himself on the wordless tombstone and cried loudly. As he cried, he thought, “Is it true that I don't have that kind of learning and can't come up with that kind of words!?”
For many days, Constant Fair's friends came to persuade him every day: “What if you guessed those eight words? Peach Flower Girl will not do what our old boss wanted! You are so sick now, and she said you are not sick. Since you came back, no one has seen her sad for you. She is still happy, admiring flowers in the backyard, and still has leisure heart to read books. Some people also saw her laugh stealthily in the garden.”
One day, in the Peach Flower Village's auditorium, Peach Flower Girl was deliberating with the shopkeepers when a little servant ran in in a panic, shouting, “It's no good! The new Boss fainted on the mountain!”
Peach Flower Girl rebuked sharply: "Shut up! Who is your new Boss!"
The little servant hurriedly changed his words and said: “The new son-in-law fainted on the mountain!”
Peach Flower Girl was furious: “Get out of here! Let you watch him! It's that if he dies, don't let the wild dogs carry his corpse away, so that I can have something to build his grave and wear mourning for him!"
A shopkeeper said anxiously to Peach Flower Girl: “Big Boss! You're the best healer in this house, we must immediately go to the mountain to look!”
Peach Flower Girl was indeed a skilled healer, after a few pinches here and pokes there, Constant Fair woke up. Peach Flower Girl stood up and said, “He's not sick”, then, went back to the village.
On this day, several shopkeepers came to Constant Fair's tent again and said: “O brother! This time we are not here to advise you, but to bid you farewell. As you know, the world is going downhill, and people's hearts are not in the right place. It is hard to business nowadays, the business of all our pharmacies is getting worse day by day, also we must support our families.”
Constant fair became anxious when he heard this: “You've all left! What about our lady!?”
A shopkeeper said angrily: “This is something I really don't understand! Your own life is at stake, and you're still thinking about her!”
Constant Fair froze, sighed, and muttered involuntarily: “This is my fate!”
The shopkeeper yelled: “I know you don't believe in God, Buddha, or ghost, when did you start believing in fate!?”
At that moment the old butler came running in a great hurry, gasping for breath as he said: “I thought I wouldn't be able to catch up with you!”
A shopkeeper said to him: “I thought you weren't leaving! Why do you still come to us!”
Constant fair asked the old butler: “Why don't you leave？”
The old butler said: “I took an oath! Once the old Big Boss told me in tears, ‘Peach Flower Girl has been afraid of being alone since she was a child! I'm most afraid that in the future she won't even have anyone to talk to around her.' So, I swore, ‘Don't worry! Big Boss, no matter what happens, I'll stay by her side and talk to her.’”
A shopkeeper asked: “Then what are you doing here?”
The old butler said: “I was afraid that our lady had secretly changed the old Big Boss’ will, so I made a copy and replaced the real one with a fake one. I also have no place to keep this will, I trust you shop managers and want you to keep it for me.” The old butler said, handing the letter to the shopkeepers, and added: “I must go back; our lady can't be left without someone to talk to.”
Constant Fair realized and said: “I guessed it! Brothers! Our lady is a person who loves face, for my sake, stay for a few more days.” Saying this, he wrote eight hieroglyphics, “Former Generation’s Marriage Factors, Predetermining Fate”.

7 Nude Wedding

Early the next morning, Constant Fair, and the shopkeepers, as well as the villagers, all came to the hall of Peach Flower Village for the ceremony of announcing Publican Liu’s Will. Peach Flower Girl opened the letter with the eight-hieroglyphics testament and saw that Constant Fair had guessed correctly, so she said, "Then I will go and fetch the will."
The people waited in the hall. The old butler, anxious, went to Constant Fair and whispered, “The false will, I'm afraid she'll change it too!” Shopkeepers all felt that it made sense. So, the old butler led the way, and the group went together to the backyard to look.
One smells the smell of burning paper as one enters the study. Peach Flower Girl was there reading the will! Seeing that people were coming, she smiled and said, "I just wanted to read my father's will first, so I made the group wait impatiently! Good! Let's just go back to the hall!"
The old butler tugged at Constant Fair's sleeve and whispered, "Announce the will right here!" One of the shopkeepers understood and said, "Big Boss! Everyone is here, let's read the will here!"
Peach Flower Girl smiled and said, “It's not so bad to be in a hurry for a while, I think it's better to look dignified in the hall. Constant Fair! What do you think?”
Constant Fair said, "I also think that there is more solemnity in the hall, there are still many clan members waiting there!"
On the way back to the hall, the old butler pulled Constant Fair aside and asked, "When you entered the house, didn't you smell the odor of burning paper?"
Constant Fair replied, "I did!"
The old butler said, "Isn't it obvious! She created a fake will and burned the old boss’ will. By the time we got back to the hall, the ink on the will she wrote was dry."
Constant Fair replied, "The old boss made the will, and his daughter wants to change it. What does that have to do with me?"
When the old butler heard this, he fell and said, "This has something to do with me! I've been the old boss’ butler for 50 years, and I can't even keep his will safe, so how am I going to see the old boss after I die! Constant Fair! You must help me!"
Constant Fair said to him, “You do this and this…”
When the two of them returned to the hall, people were waiting for them! Peach Flower Girl asked Constant Fair, "Who do you think will read the will?"
The old butler volunteered, “If the people trust me, I am willing to issue the will on behalf of Publican Liu." The people all agreed that the old butler was indeed the right person to represent the old proprietor Liu, so he read out the will.
According to the will, all the property of Publican Liu is inherited by Constant Fair, and Peach Flower Girl and Constant Fair hold a nude wedding in front of Publican Liu's grave. When the old butler handed over the will to the clan for checking, people find that what is written in the will is different from what the old butler read, so they asked the old butler, “what is going on?”
Peach Flower Girl heard and saw clearly: butler did not read it as she had written it; he had recited the will of Publican Liu. Shame on her; everything was just as Papa had said, and she didn't even have one trustworthy person by her side. "What's the point of you living! It's better to die!" Thinking about what her father had said, the Peach Flower Girl literally pulled out the Philosopher-Stone Pestle, wanted to kill herself.
Constant Fair was prepared and snatched the dagger with one hand. Peach Flower Girl was stunned, and her anger rose from her heart. At this moment, people heard a "plop" sound! It turned out to be the old butler kneeling while howling loudly: "Old master! I'm sorry! Lady! I'm sorry!"
People were shocked, and hurriedly asked what was going on. The old butler crawled to Peach Flower Girl and hugged her legs, crying as he said, "My lady! It's all because of me, the old family slave that I'm all faults!"
Peach Flower Girl asked in surprise, "Old Uncle! What are you doing! Stand up if you have something to say and speak slowly."
The old butler said, “If you don't forgive me and promise me you won't kill yourself anymore, I'll die here on my knees. If Missy is dead, I don't want to live anymore! But I can't die, I don't have the face to see the old master!”
People advised Peach Flower Girl, “Speak up! The old butler is so old, it's not decent for him to kneel like this!” The two of them were at a standstill for a while. Peach Flower Girl was over it and had a step to take. She promised to forgive the old butler and not to kill herself.
People asked the old butler, "What on earth is going on? No one understands if you don't tell them!"
The old butler said, “I was afraid that Missy would read the real will and commit suicide, so I wrote a fake will and gave the real one to those shop managers for safekeeping.”
People then asked those shop managers, “Where's the real will? Take it out quickly!”
The clan checked the will and confirmed that it was Publican Liu's handwriting. Constant Fair suggested, “Burn this fake will, don't make things difficult for the old butler.”
Those shop managers asked Peach Flower Girl, “Big Boss! What should we do about this?”
How smart Peach Flower Girl is! After looked and listened, she understood everything and said, “Then leave it all to you managers!" She stood up and went back to the backyard. Those shop mangers discussed, this is a matter of life and death! Everyone who should be here is already here. The wedding should take place immediately!
On the same day, everyone went to the mountain. Constant fair and Peach Flower Girl married naked in public in front of the grave. As soon as the two of them kowtowed in front of Publican Liu’s wordless tombstone, people saw turquoise smoke rising from Publican Liu’s grave. Crowds cheered: Auspicious! Auspicious! Auspicious! Auspicious!
What is auspicious? As the old saying goes something old, something new, something borrowed, something turquoise blue!
What is the old? The wordless tombstone is the tombstone of an ancient god, and there is this legend in many cultures around the world, no one knows how old it is.
What's the new? The ancient wordless tombstone manifests words again, this Peach Flower Catastrophe story is new.
What is borrowed? The eyes of audiences and readers of the Peach Flower Catastrophe are borrowed. Publican Liu left words in his will: I want Constant fair and Peach Flower Girl to nakedly commonwealth and bow to my grave, let the audience and Peach Flower Catastrophe story readers laugh at this pair of beastly unfilial children instead of me.
What's the turquoise blue? That turquoise blue smoke! Turquoise blue is a greenish blue color, a constant of Constant Silent Sky which can represent God.
The End

hi. im 23, got diagnosed when i was 18 after years of no period. back then i was around 120 pounds, and was immediately put on birth control and spiro combo as treatment. now im ~180 and wondering why im suddenly so intolerant to a ton of foods (bloating, inflammation), suddenly developing acne, and i can't lose weight. i'm the most active ive been in my life (i walk over 7 miles daily), my job is very physically demanding, i worked w a nutritionist to find a meal plan that worked for me, and know what i can't eat otherwise i feel terrible. i contacted my endocrinologist because frankly, im disappointed that after almost a year nothing has worked. it feels like no matter what change im making, nothing happens. i also have been trying inositol, but i haven't seen any 3 month change either. i just feel defeated. so, i asked my doctor if we tested for absolutely everything (cortisol, insulin resistance, etc) and he immediately started badgering me that both of those suggestions were nonsense because i don't have cushings disease and that insulin has nothing to do with weight loss. he accused me of not eating correctly because "everything i put in my body counts" and that i need to try harder to lose weight. the entire visit was him going through my blood work from last year, saying my high cholesterol was causing my weight gain. ill admit that during that time i was very depressed, as i was in a bad housing situation, and didn't care about anything. but ever since my routine and lifestyle has changed, and its frustrating being told that none of my efforts matter. not to mention everyone in my family has high cholesterol, even my sister who is a healthy weight. i also have adhd, so sticking to a routine this strict has really taken a toll on me. i have no interest in food at all anymore, because i feel like my weight gain is my fault. this is the same doctor that told me that feeling suicidal right before my period is "normal". at the end of my visit, he told me that the only treatment for pcos is birth control. i feel so gaslit, i know there isn't much knowledge about pcos, but to receive such aggression from a DOCTOR because im fat was just crazy. like why was he screaming at me :

First/Previous/Next
As I’m certain I’ve felt the endless sorrows of a life lived poorly, I’m certain too that Gemma was right in saying that I was a pitiable man—pitiful might be the better word in that regard but I catch the drift of her meaning. How long can a man live a life and wallow in sadness? What life is that? What life is that to the one that I love? There is nothing for me that way—if I’d had the sense then I would have thrown myself from a tall building a long time ago. If I intended to live worthlessly, why didn’t I instead die worthlessly?
The hum of the oil-driven wagon consumed the day, and it was hot and even in the heat, it began to rain and though it had not been so long ago that I’d wished for rain, it only made me more pitiable. It came in a medium wave that lasted the better part of an hour and I kept the wizard hat which Ish had given me pulled tightly over my head and the rain spilled off the brim and I wished that the wagon had some overhang, but the seat was open and I sat in the rain and listened to the engine beneath the steady droplets and I felt awful. Water from the sky—riches given straight from God and there I was squandering it, abstracting the rain as a metaphor, and feeling like it shouldn’t have rained at all.
Shouldn’t it have been better if I was one of the heroes from the books? If I was a swashbuckling protagonist? If I had the heart of a true hero? I spent most of my life wishing that I was anyone that I wasn’t, and it left me so that I wasn’t fit to be anybody; if I was a character of fiction, I could be saved by the fact of having an audience. No, my life is not entertaining enough, my body doesn’t carry the heart of a hero, and I’d hate to read a book about me. Too pitiable, too pitiful.
The first night that I’d pushed on from Alexandria, I pulled the wagon to the side of the road (I-40), made camp, cooked rice, ate light, watched into the darkness, searched for the dead tree Gemma had taken me to in my bad stupor; it couldn’t be seen. The wagon, affixed with a chamber on the back only large enough for me to lie down in, had a large metal shutter, and I slumped into the coffin-like compartment—shelves lined the wall above my head, and I placed a lantern there. Through a sliding peephole over mesh, I could look out onto the anterior of the wagon where I’d sit to drive and it was all black out there, quiet. I kept the peephole shut, tried to read by the light, and could not. I smoked, thought of Suzanne.
When I awoke, I found myself pushed deep into the wizard hat so that the brim was pulled well under my nose, and I was blind on waking; the object smelled like them—the urge to head back was its strongest then.
The trunk which the wizards supplied me with was stocked well with rations and water and although I wasn’t particular about coffee, something in the fog made me want to sharpen my senses. Two cups of joe had me wired enough to believe the next few inches of fog would reveal a monster, but none would come; I sat uneasy at the wheel, back arched over it like I’d propel myself from the seat at the smallest provocation.
Midday offered a reprieve from the fog, and I sped the wagon and made better time.
Knowing I should confront Maron didn’t mean that I knew what exactly I should confront him about; all I really wanted to do was shake him. Was there a way to reason with him? It was doubtful—I’d tried that early on. A long-long time ago. There weren’t any discussions to be had, there wasn’t a dinner me and him could have together where I’d ask for my brother back; Billy was gone. No, I had known for years that the creature in that body was meant to die. I had to do it. I’d wished—prayed really—that he’d slip and fall from that high perch on the wall and then I wouldn’t have to think about it. I’d remained in Golgotha, left, and stayed again, and it was always because I wanted Billy back.
That was not to mention the number of people I’d led to the sacrificial altars of many a demon. How easily they spoke to me and tempted me. I’d always consoled myself into believing that I did it for some greater good, but it was simple; I was on the wrong side of things. It was seeing what becomes of true heroes when they stand up to the evils of the world that made me the way that I was. Heroes often sacrifice themselves or die for being known for their good deeds. Heroes fall, but perhaps that was the reason for them in the first place. Perhaps the sacrifice of a hero is necessary? I could kill to be a hero, but I don’t think I was ever ready to die for being one. Plain self-preservation. I guess my suicidal desires were a way to draw the coward out.
Out west on plains, nomadics once followed herds of animals, or so books say. Before the deluge. People are an abhorrent bunch; a person can be the very best. I wonder if the nomadics I lived with when I was a boy are what spurs on this idea of heroics? Is it a more honest way of life? What population necessitates violence? This is a hopeful thought; far too optometristic. I do not believe there was ever a time where people were not cruel. There is no hopeful yesterday. Gemma said I was living in the past, fixed on it. I was. I had never been so lost—there’s an ache that I could sleep away forever. I did not wish to die, not in the heat of combat, but to gently pass in sleep might’ve been nice. That is not enough; I wish to know it in passing. I want to close my eyes in the death throes of a slow disease and watch the world pass on in front of me. I want it to be a sleep over the horizon, and on my journey there I want it to be like I was half-asleep all along. I want to drift into nothing. A death of tiredness, of lethargic milieu, a frozen death which takes so long that I forget I am and when I do finally go, I want it to come in such sluggishness that it surprises me that I’ve come to pass.
I was tired.
The coffee from the morning did not last long and the road was long, and I yawned often, unable to focus appropriately. On the horizon I witnessed a fiend and killed the engine and hunkered by the side of the wheels and lifted my binoculars to my face and watched it pass the road and move southbound through open dead fields of yellow-sick grass and I stayed there by the wheels for a time, partially to let the thing go without interference and partially to allow myself a break.
The anatomy of melancholy seemed infinite.
I broke for a light lunch of hardtack and ate them as crackers with some sauce the wizards packed away in the trunk.
Billy died the same night as my family; whatever thing which moved as him wasn’t and did not deserve the speculation. The deals I’ve made will never leave me; most of all Mephisto’s.
Though the wagon moved slowly, I did not sweat so harshly or fear bodily fatigue.
There were times in those darkest nights that I wished for the hordes to fall on me; luck or whatever mark kept them away.
I travelled and I broke often and slept early; there was no great hurry. My days were like this on the trail eastward.
Even with my slow approach, the concrete skyscrapers came into view on the horizon almost like a surprise and I decided to camp in the Plainfield rest area.
The solitude made me wish for even the mutt’s companionship and though I did not speak to myself exactly, quick and obvious utterances came from me whenever I found myself doing any particularly menial task if only to pierce the silence.
There should’ve been an easier way for all of it. It shouldn’t have been me, a scared child, that spoke with the demon Mephisto—of course, he’d shown himself when it was most important, I’m sure.
That night, in the Plainfield rest area, I slept poorly and propped myself against a wall and stared into the darkness and thought about switching on a lantern but left it black. I closed my eyes in the dark and even on opening them, I couldn’t be sure of the shadows; I felt totally mad and sweaty and awfully anxious.
I wept for Aggie, and I wept for Philippe, and I wept for Sam and all the others I’d led to their deaths; there were so many, and each had a time and I’d taken their name, their personhood, traded them for food, for water, for a Boss, or for myself. The temptation of power was a terrible thing. Though I could say I didn’t see them as humans, that I’d been traumatized as I was, that I simply saw them as far away creatures, like any demon on the horizon, that couldn’t be true. I’d spoken to them and as humans do, they’d easily offered their dreams, beliefs, the things that made them so. I could’ve traded Andrew. I could’ve perhaps given Gemma away. Would demons trade for a dog? I’d never tried. My mind ran over from the misery I’d brought upon the world.
I set out so early that it was still deep blue out and figured come what may.
Rounding the city once known as Indianapolis, the dead city of high tombstones, I looked for the northern passage through that the wizards took, and I watched the stars that were out on the sky and paid no heed to the shadows; the sun would meet me soon and I had no desire to fight sleeplessness.
The wagon carried on; its chassis protested metal-like with the more difficult terrain of strewn rubbish as me and the inanimate object met the relative ease of Lafayette, and the high buildings grew around us and the sun began to push through the slits between as it crested the horizon. I watched the sky for dragons and watched the doorless doorways which lined either side of the street as though someone might come out to greet me.
There was a moment, as I pushed through to where the buildings began to give way and I could begin to see the open field around Golgotha that I spied a pair of glowing eyes looking down at me from way high in a brutalist structure to the left and I lifted the shotgun from where it sat beside me in the seat and put it across my lap; I was unbothered by whatever had seen me, and quickly enough, I came to the field, killed the engine and pulled the dramedy mask over my face then replaced the wizard hat there. The headgear was fine, but the robes they’d given me were something I could not care about; they snagged or caught with every step, it seemed.
I turned the engine over, it came to life, and I lifted a metallic foil flag over my head as I pushed across the open field towards Golgotha. Whatever snipers saw me, did not fire and as I drew closer, I could see the people there on the wall, pressed against the parapets, lackadaisical. The surface of the wall was cracked in places, mishappen as though the foundation had erupted, and I remembered Dave’s mission and smiled beneath the mask; he’d made it to the underground and put some damage to the Bosses and that was good. In the places where the cracks of the wall grew wide, workers undoubtedly had sought to repair it with whatever was on hand: caked concrete, poor metal sheeting. Even still, the layers of titanium beneath the rock-like surface showed warping.
Once I’d rounded the wall and met the entrance, it was almost noon by the sun, and there at the big door, I looked on at the horror that awaited me. Dead horses were overturned on their sides just outside the gate; they’d been killed with bullet wounds and the pickings from their skin showed they’d been dead for many days. The smell was poor and fat birds pushed into the bloated infected bellies of the horses, came away with string bits of intestines or organs, snapped their beaks and choked back their meal.
The mechanical door shifted open.
Wall men greeted me there, ushered me in, and I pulled into the town and parked alongside where they kept a few live mares; the horses stirred lightly at the noises of the wagon.
Only moments within the walls, I could feel the oppressiveness of the place, the stink of unwashed people; and there seemed to be many more people than usual. The streets seemed so cram-packed with poorly dressed folks that they even spilled into the front square, and I scanned the crowd, the buildings, the erected stage where the Bosses enjoyed in lording over, but I did not see Maron, and my jaw loosened, and my shoulder eased.
Upon closer inspection of those I passed or those that passed me, I saw the marks of skitterbugs, blotchy red skin, deep wounds where those infected clawed too far in to relieve themselves of the itch.
A wall man pulled me aside as the big door closed, and he looked sickly, but perhaps it was from fear alone because he did not have the tell-tale signs of the infection. “Trade?” he asked.
I nodded, afraid to speak in case of the recognition in voice, and then I thought better and spoke anyway in hopes that the mask would muffle me, “Are you all full up?” I nodded the brim of my hat to the general overpopulation.
“Refugees,” shrugged the wall man, “Pittsburgh’s gone under, and we took what was left. The ocean swallowed it whole. So said the ones that came in from the east. Said it was broke off into the water. They came in infected. You saw the horses out front?” He nodded to the big door.
“Yeah.”
“Sick. Full of skitterbugs. Even if they weren’t, it wasn’t like we had the feed for them.” He paused, frowned while glancing over my attire. “You wouldn’t happen to be here with a cure?”
I shook my head, “Only light trade.” Then I thought to add, for the sake of authenticity, “I’ll put word home that it’s gotten so poorly on my way back.”
Seemingly comforted by this, the wall man turned away and I examined his compatriots which walked overhead upon the parapets and wondered if the skitterbug infestation had spread to them. Or the Bosses. Perhaps if Maron was riddled with the bugs and dead already, I could turn back. A moment of sick relief rose in my belly, but I then pushed off from the wagon, locking the shotgun in the back hatch of the wagon, hoping to operate some light reconnaissance in the streets.
Some had lost their eyes already; itchy eyes were a common symptom among the infected—the itch would be so bad that people dug in till they bled and then more. The injuries were gruesome. Skitterbugs were multilimbed creatures, the size of miniscule roaches, that burrowed under the musculature of a living host, in the extremities of the body. As the digits atrophied, as the limbs of the host curled into hardened black masses, the skitterbugs burrowed deeper; the hosts did not last longer than a few weeks at best.
Already, many of those I passed in the narrow alleys of Golgotha looked stunned in the grip of the disease—many sat against walls in overturned postures and examined their deadened fingers, whispering to themselves, willing their hands to do anything. Others, those more unfortunate perhaps, stared from their place with empty eye sockets, scrubbing into their skin with their nails till their bodies became bulged with infection. It was a sorry sight and I remembered what Suzanne had told me about the wizards trying to help Pittsburgh. About how the city would be underwater by the end of the year. They were right.
The refugees were a sorry sight, but even those faces I recognized from my time in Golgotha were not much better. The infestation was fast in leaping from host to host; I pulled the robes closer around myself and was glad for the mask.
I pushed through the crowded streets, trying not to bump into any passerby—the whole foundation of the city was changed. There were deep thin divots in the ground like the soil had given in and it gave taller structures a lopsided look; those buildings had been reinforced with opposing leaning rods. The explosions caused by Dave in the underground surely were significant.
The streets were filthy, but that wasn’t new and the sad looks on the people I passed weren’t new, but the quantity of misery is something I didn’t know could be concentrated in such a way. The narrow pathways through Golgotha were made even more so with the piles of bodies, some sleeping sidelong or else. Catwalks overhead, which connected one structure to the next with those skinny balconies cut the shadows longer still and by the time I met the opening where the hydro towers were, I was not at all surprised by the fact that Felina’s was no more. The shipping containers which made up the makeshift structure remained, but there were bullet holes in the walls of the place—so many that it couldn’t be called anything but overkill, so many that the bullet trails met so greatly that one could push their face into the openings which remained. Felina was dead, if I guessed; I wondered what happened to the working women, but only for a moment as I caught the tune of an old song I hadn’t heard since my childhood.
Some stranger amidst the languishing crowds sat atop an old plastic crate and blew “Óró, Sé Do Bheatha 'bhaile” into a wooden flute; the gentleman there on the crate stared at the ground, seemingly unaffected by his surroundings, skin as plain and unscathed as anyone healthy. His long straw-colored hair remained off his face by a cord he’d fastened it by. The eyes of the stranger were solemn and far away and I almost believed I remembered him.
A hand grabbed my elbow, and I threw myself in the opposite direction of the hand, taking a few steps away. It was a wall man and he looked just as confused I was.
“You’re the wizard trader, yeah?” asked the wall man.
We stood there in the square, in the tall shadows of the hydro towers and I tried to speak, but it wouldn’t come. I coughed and he winced and then I tried, “Yeah.”
“The Bosses want to see you. I’m gonna’ escort you there.”
“What for?”
“They wanted an audience with any of you that stopped in. You all were the ones fighting the infestation in Pittsburgh.” In a moment, it came to me. I knew this man. This soldier. He was young and handsome and had a kind face. The night of our escape, I’d run into a young wall man, he’d lifted his gun to me, and instead of killing me, he’d let me go. His demeanor did not show that he recognized me—how could he?
I straightened the hat on my head and nodded. “Take me.”
My chaperone was quiet, and it left the ears for the town which ached, the wails of dying infected, the shouts of militiamen commanding the less fortunate. Welcome home. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun was full-on out. We came to the hall of the Bosses and I briefly remembered the fight I had at the foot of those steps and I wondered again if Dave lived; such a silly thought. Or was it a hope?
I pushed on into the hall with the wall man by my side and he shut the door behind me while he remained outside. The chamber was largely unchanged since my last visit, a long dining hall with a broad and far table. Firelights lined the walls and though it was normally cooler than the outside, the place felt incredibly warm like a wound.
The place had a wet odor and the men at the long table took me by surprise. Harold sat there at the head of them, an assisted-breathing apparatus was strapped to his nose and mouth and his eyes drooped long like he was on the verge of tears all the time and along each side of the table were his brothers and nearest me was my brother and I was frozen there.
Maron tipped his cowboy hat to me; his left eye showed he’d been touched by the skitterbug infestation—yellowy liquid perpetuated down his cheek there, but that nasty grin remained. “Howdy wizard man!” said the Boss Sheriff.
Feeling ridiculous, I offered a quick bow. Boss Harold, Maron, Frank, Paul, there was Brash and Matt too. Each of the bosses watched me there at the end of the table and I scanned the room. There were the servants, awaiting whatever command, but it seemed they’d been strapped with weapons—sidearms but some of them kept long knives on their belts even if their uniforms seemed more akin to that of a ragged peasant. The Bosses were in a bad way, paranoid.
Boss Harold attempted to speak, but choked, touched his throat and as he rocked back in his chair to catch his breath, I saw that whatever Gemma had done to him had been partially remedied; a pink horizontal line was traced there across his neck. Boss Paul sat nearest Harold and touched his brother on the shoulder, patting him while Harold caught his breath. When the man did speak, he lifted the apparatus to the side of his face so the straps that kept it on his head shifted the plastic bits to hang off the side of his face. His voice was a gruff whisper, “Have you got any news from the west? Are the wizards sending aid?” He shook his head. “Should have killed those freeloaders at our stoop. What’s Pittsburgh done for us?”
Frank spoke then, “Steelsmithing is what. There’s skilled labor there.”
Harold shook his head again as if to exaggerate his point, “No manual laboring will cure Golgotha of the curse they’ve brought us. Foul! They are foul!”
“You should rest,” Frank said to his brother, “In your condition, there’s no reason to rile yourself.”
“I’m riled,” Harold nodded.
Maron dug into his eye with his index finger, put his elbow on the table, cocked his head to look me over. “Well?” asked the sheriff. “You a mute or what?”
“No,” I said it plainly in hopes that the mask muffled my voice.
Maron raised his eyebrows. “You ain’t a mute then? Good! What’ve you gotta’ say about it then?”
“About?”
“Christ,” Maron splayed his hands, “The predicament we’re in.”
“Surely,” interjected Harold, heaving out his words like a chore, “Surely, you and yours have found a cure? These skitter-bug things. It’s eating our citizenry inside out.”
Brash (a quiet lesser brother) leaned over the table. “The docs say it’s bad news. If you were to ask me, I’d imagine it won’t be long before a mutant attack sends us over the edge. The wall men are already showing signs of fatigue—half are afflicted already.”
Maron slapped his hands on the table, “Nah, I wouldn’t worry about my men. They’re as ready as ever for—well for anything.”
Brash crossed his arms. “What’s the wizard say?”
They once more turned to me.
“I ain’t—I’m not here for diplomacy,” I said, “Just trade.”
Maron squinted at my words and stared at the table. “Maybe we be needin’ a court wizard?” he asked the other men. He laughed; no one else did.
Harold sighed. “Then send the message to your people. Whatever the price—anything I beg—send your best doctors. We are in dire need. Will you do that for us?”
I nodded.
They waved me out and it was only once I stood at the foot of the hall, looking back at the high structure that I realized I was shaking from the encounter.
The wall man which had escorted me there remained at the steps and looked me over as I exited the hall.
“Will you help?” he asked; there was a plea in his manner. There were people suffering and I was worried about revenge.
“I’ll try,” I lied.
That night, I went to Felina’s in the dark, stood in the shadows, removed my mask, and smoked. The blue night was cool, and I tilted into the dilapidated structure. There was a family crowded there in the darkness like scared mice—it may well have been an amalgam of people, but I’d like to believe it was a family weathering their misfortune together. The people crowded around a small portable stove and gibbered to one another until they were startled at my arrival, and I waved them goodbye, apologized for the intrusion, and stepped back into the night and felt overwhelmed by what would come next.
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Repost because I'm on this reddit account more.
Stay awhile and listen....
I came across the news story about the girl who died, my condolences to the family, I have no doubt she was told "to suck it up" they used to tell me the same about my FIBRO or that I "was making it up for attention". I am fairly certain they made it worse too with all the calisthenics we were forced to do. I wanted to reach out to other DRA survivors and share some of my story... the bits I haven't repressed, and maybe others might share their good or bad times I don't mind!
I am also looking for the parent handbook if anyone has a copy? I can't find one on the Internet archives. My family and I want to take my mother and these mother truckers to court, if I can.
I was there from 05 to 08 in crystal springs the entire time. I only went home for one 10 day visit in 08 before I graduated. I feel like I'm coming out of a deep freeze.
I can't believe the trauma I went through it has been really messing with my head my whole life. When I saw the news story, it put me right back there... in the homeless program pulling that gosh darn cart.... yall know what I'm talking bout. In the hot Utah desert, forcing us to drink gallons of Green Gatoraide (sp?) Ugh... I feel sick just typing this. I still hate the colours orange and green today.... plus polo shirts. -.-
I struggled so badly with sitting for hours on the ground with my legs crossed and Jesus the fact that we had to learn how to make a fire. Who the heck needs to know that. I have not used that once... dont get me wrong when the apocalypse hits. I know how to survive, lol. Make a fire ✔, filter water ✔, grow food ✔, knit, or chrochet a bomb hat, I gotchu bro.
(If the apocalypse happens my bio mother and her family can starve for all I care. I will not help them)
I digress... how did they think using us for manual labour to build stuff, dig giant holes, and remove so many tumbleweeds.... omg, the tumbleweeds... shivers I still have nerve damage from all the pulling when they 'where out of gloves'
Not to mention I am sure my body is worse for wear after all that, I have 3 auto immune diseases and I had fibro while I was there, I was always told I was over reacting and to suck it up. I used to be punished by being forced to pull a full cart by myself. I was like 120lbs soaking wet. Wtf....
Ngl, I was stubborn as heck!!!!! I put up a fight and cut off my nose off to spite my face.
Mother paid to send me away, so I stayed away for longer than she expected. Yes you read that right. My BIOLOGICAL Mother paid to have me tourtured. Spent several birthdays there. I remember graduating on my 16th birthday. It was horrific. I couldn't believe my mother wouldn't even get me before my birthday.
You know she wanted to have me changed, I hope she got what she paid for.
Backstory to DRA
Mother sent me away because of a boy I was dating and when I ran away and got "arrested" I refused to go home with her so they took me to a hospital and grilled me for hours of why I ran away. I cracked and said my boyfriend just got arrested for some serious stuff 😐 no I won't tell you, not my business, and that I had been SA'd most of my life by my cousin.
They told my parents, Who told my cousins parents, He freaked out screaming, ranting and raving about "how he could never do that, he loves me im his cousin" -.- "Yeah, I bet pedo.....
Grandma finally convinces me to come home, which is where I wanted to go to all along, but my Controlling Liberal Pro choice mother wouldn't let me, so I got myself arrested by kicking off with the cops.
They told me I was gonna go to a boarding school like summer camp!
My bio mother had my father take me because she's a COWARD
THEY HID THE HOMELESS!!!! Gave me 5 mins to say goodbye, stripped me down, searched me... Frs didn't check my shoe though I saved some pics and letter from friends under my sole that I read in those abhorrent Port-a-John's when I felt my soul being ripped from my body after hours of PT like up and down those gosh darn stairs to the lake, being bitten to crud by fire ants while doing C cunches & pushups.
I remember after 3 days breaking completely down crying and when Homeless Staff C asked me what was wrong I said "I don't like it here I just want to go home this isn't a fun summer camp like I was told" she laughed at me the towering sasquatch of a woman and said I was never allowed to leave and if I tried I would be tased.
-.- You know what that C was for if you were there. Im trying to keep this anon.
I realize I am waffling on now, but I want to get this out, so heres more trauma dump, yay!
I did not realize back then that you aren't supposed to get almost weekly pap smears and breast exams by a doctor. When I questioned it, then I was put in isolation or homeless again, where I couldn't talk.
So I told authorities that I was SA'd, and then my mother pays for me to be SA'd in an LDS concentration camp in the middle of bum f nowhere for almost 3 years.... New achievement unlocked 🔓 Sweet
I stayed for so long that they had to make a special program just so I could move up in the program. It got to a point where no matter how many citations I got, I moved up. They split it into a,b,c groups if I recall. Tbh, I have blocked out so much.
Well, the homeless program got boring, so I moved to the inside girl!!! Whoo, then farm and animal girl, those were my heavens for so long. When I finally got OLS, I was free.... for 5 mins... then 10, eventually, the teachers trusted me for 15 mins because it was hard manual work before check-ins. I used to lay in the corn field and do that for hours just running back to pop my head in. The teachers couldn't say anything because I was doing the work as well as other girls! Thank you a lot, you know who you are. Even if you were my bullies, you still helped, and we were all struggling. I understand it was a hard place, and someone needed to be the bottom rung. It definitely toughened me up. I didn't mind because I just got used to being abused, so eh whatever. Eventually, I did kitchen and judge those were boring 😴 😒
Man, the history teacher was dope, though! I loved his Ben & Jerry towers man. I didn't eat many sweets, so it never bothered me, but I loved watching you all cope and seethe 😈😈😈 as he ate ice cream in front of us, hahahahaha.
The library was a safe place, too... dude, remember when the Twilight series came out and everyone went back to the monkey brain? Hahahahahahaha, a good times, chicks fighting over crappy smut novels.
Or when they introduced the weekly room prize! Vidya games, let's gooooooooooo whoo whoo
So like I will admit that not all was bad once you learned how to manipulate the system and staff.. yes, the SA and physical abuse sucked but what ya gonna do. Kinda like dodging punches, wham, and wham can't catch me. Ahhhh, yes, I have golden retriever energy. It I probably what saved me while we were being starved and forced to eat 🤢🤢 baby puke consistence oatmeal 🤮🤮🤮 with no sugar, one slice of bread and cheese and a glass of warm milk......sometimes I wouldn't even. I would just take the citation.. Dry as heck rice, lentils oooooooooo -.- my nemesis.... Will never ever ever touch a lentil again. I am actually on the Carnivore diet for my auto immunes. Works brilliantly
I do remember a few times where I was taken to the Owners home privately... yeah..... that was interesting. Their house was massive.. anyways moving on.
Man, I really fumbled after I left, though. I was terrified of being sent back, so at 17, I signed up for the future solders program and joined the army... got married to an abusive guy... we had 3 kids, and he got me addicted to drugs and alcohol.... he tried to unalive me 4 times before I ran away, and I lost my kids to my bio mom and ex. So fun, yeah.... yeah.
I am sober now, and I am in a different country far from her grasp. I regularly check in with CPS and my kids' school, plus my kids, to see how they are. Safe to say, my mother realised she fd up.
Yes I know bad mother how could you leave your children..... I know they are safe. They wouldn't dare with all the people/agencies watching them. Before you berate me, just know I have beaten myself up 1 million times worse already. It got dark, man.... just before the light. Trust....
If I didn't leave, I would not be here. I had to get safe so I could fight back. My oldest has already told me she is coming to university here when she's older and I told her she is more than welcome! We will all be free one by one. I talk to them any chance I can get now that I am in a better place. I am already 40 grand in debt to a family lawyer that I can't afford.
I am married again, a tradwife conservative, and we have one beautiful child. I love my life, and I can finally breathe.
I hope any other survivors out there are doing well and managed to push through. The early days at DRA were horrific.

Hello everyone.
I have been seeing a lot of questions concerning PCOS and their confusion. So many are lost and it seems like doctors are not telling you what you need to know. They seem to be leaving you in limbo.
A little about me.
I am almost 46 years old (one month away). I developed this disease at 16 but did not get a formal diagnosis until I was 33. Yes, it took me 17 years to be taken seriously. I had a full hysterectomy and a bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy at 34. What is that? In short: The uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, and cervix are removed. You retain nothing! Now, that was because of how bad mine was.
Now, onto the information. It is going to be a lot and it is going to be scary. But you all NEED to have this information.
You cannot make actual choices and decisions and come to any understanding if you do not have all of the facts.
I know about it because I have been fighting it for almost 30 years. I have studied, researched, and dug into information I could get my hands on to know about this disease.
Understand, the information just barely existed when I started.
A lot has changed and now it's widely available, the problem is doctors don't bother to explain it to you, so you understand and know what you need to do. The choices you make do impact your body.

PCOS:

Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) is a lifelong condition that affects women, with symptoms like irregular periods and male-pattern facial or body hair, that often emerge during puberty or early adulthood. Up to 6 to12% of women in the U.S. have PCOS, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).
In PCOS the ovaries produce an abnormal amount of androgens, male sex hormones that are usually present in women in small amounts. The name polycystic ovary syndrome describes the numerous small cysts (fluid-filled sacs) that form in the ovaries. However, some women with this disorder do not have cysts, while some women without the disorder do develop cysts.
Ovulation occurs when a mature egg is released from an ovary. This happens so it can be fertilized by a male sperm. If the egg is not fertilized, it is sent out of the body during your period.
In some cases, a woman doesn’t make enough of the hormones needed to ovulate. When ovulation doesn’t happen, the ovaries can develop many small cysts. These cysts make hormones called androgens. Women with PCOS often have high levels of androgens. This can cause more problems with a woman’s menstrual cycle. And it can cause many of the symptoms of PCOS.
Treatment for PCOS is often done with medication. This can’t cure PCOS, but it helps reduce symptoms and prevent some health problems.
our hormones interact with many different systems in your body, like your immune system and your central nervous system, and can cause myriad symptoms that are not yet well understood, such as insomnia.

PCOS raises your risk for many other conditions including:

Endometrial polyps or cancer, due to the thickening of your endometrial lining caused by infrequent menstruation
Diabetes
Depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder
Sleep apnea
High blood pressure and cardiovascular conditions
Thyroid problems

What causes PCOS?

The exact cause of PCOS is not clear. Many women with PCOS have insulin resistance. This means the body can't use insulin well. Insulin levels build up in the body and may cause higher androgen levels. Obesity can also increase insulin levels and make PCOS symptoms worse.
PCOS may also run in families. It's common for sisters or a mother and daughter to have PCOS.

How is PCOS diagnosed?

Your health care provider will ask about your medical history and your symptoms. You will also have a physical exam. This will likely include a pelvic exam. This exam checks the health of your reproductive organs, both inside and outside your body.

How is PCOS treated?

Treatment for PCOS depends on a number of factors. These may include your age, how severe your symptoms are, and your overall health. The type of treatment may also depend on whether you want to become pregnant in the future.

What are the complications of PCOS?

Women with PCOS are more likely to develop certain serious health problems. These include type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, problems with the heart and blood vessels, and uterine cancer. Women with PCOS often have problems with their ability to get pregnant (fertility).

Insulin Resistance:

Insulin resistance is a condition where cells in the body don't respond properly to insulin, a hormone that moves glucose from the blood into cells. This prevents the cells from easily absorbing glucose from the blood, so the pancreas produces more insulin to help glucose enter the cells. As long as the pancreas can produce enough insulin, blood glucose levels will remain healthy. However, over time, the pancreas can become worn out and unable to produce enough insulin, which can lead to high blood sugar levels.

National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney ...

Insulin Resistance & Prediabetes - NIDDK
What is insulin resistance? Insulin resistance is when cells in your muscles, fat, and liver don't respond well to insulin and can't easily take up glucose from your blood. As a result, your pancreas makes more insulin to help glucose enter your cells. As long as your pancreas can make enough insulin to overcome your cells' weak response to insulin, your blood glucose levels will stay in the healthy range.
Mayo Clinic Explains Insulin Resistance
Aug 17, 2022 — let's first talk about what insulin does when you eat food your body converts the food into dietary sugars insulin is a hormone released by the pancreas that tells your cells to open up to that sugar and convert it into energy with insulin resistance the cell don't react. and don't open up resulting in excess sugar in the blood. over time the pancreas keeps trying to regulate the blood sugar producing more and more insulin until it wears out. and can produce large amount of insulin anymore as a result blood sugar levels increase to the point of being in the diabetic. range. anyone can become insulin resistant. in particular people with excess weight at a higher risk compared to the general population.

Cancer:

Every single human on this planet has cancer cells. They are called antigens.
Cancer cells can evade the immune system by changing their ability to process and present antigens. For example, cancer cells can:
Downregulate MHC molecules: This makes them invisible to the immune system
Interfere with proteasome activity: This prevents the degradation of cancer cell-associated antigens.
Antigens on cancer cells are targets for the immune system, but many are not cancer-specific and can also be found on normal tissues. These antigens are often products of mutated cellular genes, aberrantly expressed normal genes, or genes encoding viral proteins.
Every cancer antigen has a marker.
Uterine cancer is CA 125. The normal range is in te 30's.
Mine is 177.
Which puts you at higher risk for every type of cancer that exists.

Food Intolerances:

These can vary from person to person.
Fruit for many will be an issue because of the natural sugars.
Such, as I can have fruit once a month as a treat. Otherwise, I'd turn into the Goodyear Blimp in a manner of a short time.
Breads, high fat, high sugar, fried foods, etc. All tend not to be good for us.
What you NEED to do. Talk to your Dr. Have them get you in touch with a dietician and a Nutritionist.
Because what your body will and will not allow varies.

Sleep Apnea:

Sleep apnea is a common sleep disorder that causes people to stop breathing or breathe shallowly during sleep. These interruptions can last from a few seconds to minutes and can occur up to 100 times an hour. When a person stops breathing, their brain is briefly awakened, which prevents them from getting the deepest, most restful sleep. People with sleep apnea often wake up feeling tired, even after a full night's rest.
There are three types of sleep apnea:
Obstructive sleep apnea (OSA): The most common type, caused by soft tissue in the back of the throat relaxing and blocking the airway
Central sleep apnea (CSA): Caused by irregularities in the brain's signals to breathe
Complex sleep apnea: A third type of sleep apnea
The biggest problem with this disease is that it leads to heart issues.
Especially if sleep apnea isn't treated.
A part of my heart has already started slowing down because I can't wear the masks.
I went for my overnight study and nearly caused a 60 pile up crash because I kept nearly passing out as I drove.
I was beyond exhausted.
Hair Loss:
Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) can cause hair loss in 20–30% of patients. PCOS is a hormone disorder that can cause hormonal imbalances, which can lead to excess androgens, or male hormones, like testosterone. These imbalances can cause hair to become dry, brittle, and damaged, and can lead to female pattern hair loss, also known as female pattern alopecia.
Facial Hair Growth:
Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) can cause excessive hair growth on the face, chest, back, or buttocks, a condition known as hirsutism. This is caused by high levels of androgens, or male hormones, which can disrupt the menstrual cycle and prevent ovulation. This cycle can lead to more androgens, which are responsible for masculine physical characteristics like facial hair.

WHAT DOCTORS ARE NOT TELLING YOU:

Dental Diseases:
Women with PCOS tend to manifest poor periodontal conditions, such as positive bleeding on probing (BOP), deep PD, and high plaque index (PI). Interestingly, controlling PCOS with oral contraceptives and metformin mitigates periodontal inflammation.
It destroys dentin.
Bone Density:
(PCOS) can impair bone metabolism, which may increase the risk of fractures. Studies have shown that women with PCOS have lower levels of bone formation markers in their serum, which could negatively impact bone mineral density (BMD)
It's a Bone Degenerative Disease!
In short, it's a SLOW DEATH SENTANCE!
Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) is a lifelong condition that can increase the risk of early death. A June 2023 study presented at the Endocrine Society's annual meeting found that women with PCOS have a 47% higher risk of overall mortality than women without PCOS, and die about one year earlier. The study also found that women with PCOS have:
A 67% higher risk of death from cardiovascular diseases
A 38% higher risk of death from tumors
Triple the risk of death from diabetes and lung infection
Understand ladies, everything you do...Carries a greater significant risk to your life.
Gentlemen, you too need to understand that carrying your children, is a higher risk for both mom's and child's lives.
Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) can cause reproductive issues that can affect pregnancy, including:

• Subfertility: Anovulatory cycles can make it difficult to conceive
• Early pregnancy loss: Women with PCOS are more likely to experience miscarriage or stillbirth
• Later pregnancy complications: These include gestational diabetes, pregnancy-induced hypertension, preeclampsia, preterm delivery, and birth of a small infant
• Neonatal intensive care: Infants born to mothers with PCOS are more likely to need neonatal intensive care or die before, during, or after birth
• Acute cardiac complications: PCOS can be a risk factor for acute cardiac complications at the time of delivery

How does PCOS age the body:
Women with PCOS differ in reproductive hormones past menopause. Hirsutism symptoms such as unwanted hair growth and balding worsen with age. The most important findings are that metabolic parameters worsen in overweight women with PCOS, increasing their risk for life-long health issues beyond menopause.
How does PCOS lead to any early death:
Polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) is a chronic condition that can increase the risk of early death by almost 50% for women. This is due to the link between PCOS and an increased likelihood of developing diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and bronchitis. According to a study presented at ENDO 2023, women with PCOS have a higher risk of death from: Diabetes (aHR = 3.07), Other circulatory system diseases (aHR = 2.07), and Bronchitis (aHR = 3.61).
What is the life expectancy of a woman with PCOS?
The group with PCOS had been diagnosed at a mean age of 27 years. The mean follow-up time was 13.1 years in both groups, during which 1,003 controls and 177 women with PCOS died. The mean age at death was 51.4 years for the PCOS group versus 52.6 years for the control women, a significant difference
Everything you do matters, and has effects, and consequences to you and your body!
I hope this helps because you NEED to be aware of the dangers of this disease.
Medication:
For weight management and keeping the insulin resistance in check.
Metformin.
To keep the facial hair growth down
Spironolactone
They are the medications most likely to be prescribed for women with PCOS. However, you need to understand that medications work on everyone differently
Speak to your OBGYN!

The Whole Thing

4/14/94

I stepped back from the guy in disbelief. He held his bandaged hand up to his chest, hugging it and turning away from me like he was ashamed of it.
"Oh my god! You're bitten, aren't you?" I gasped.
He nodded sheepishly. "It burns," he whimpered.
"Wha... When did it happen?" I asked.
"I dunno. A week ago, I think. I… I just wanna be like them already," he said as tears filled his eyes.
"But you're not sick, right?" I said.
He shook his head and started to sob, "I... I just want this to be over," he cried. “I hate how they all look at me.”
I stepped forward to comfort him as he balled.
"Hey, hey, hey. What's your name, dude?" I asked sincerely, gently putting the back of my hand on his forehead.

He wasn’t lying. He was cool to the touch, and I couldn’t feel any fever. 

"Daniel," he sniffled.
"Daniel, huh? I'm Mel. Can I... Can I see the bite?" I asked.
"Are you a doctor?" Daniel asked.
"No, but I'm the closest thing to one you have right now," I pointed out.
Daniel tentatively gave me his wounded hand. I took it and gently unwrapped the bandages. The wound looked well-dressed, but he hadn't changed the dressing in a while, or ever. The bandages had yellowed, and it stank as I peeled them off.
"Who wrapped this up for you?" I asked, trying to take his mind away from any pain.
"My friend, Elise," he sobbed.
"Did she turn? Is she one of them now?"
Daniel nodded.
I unwrapped the last few turns and saw the wound. It had started to heal and scab, just like mine had all those months ago. My eyes grew wide, and I gasped in shock.
"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Daniel asked frantically.
"Err... Nothing. You said it burns, right?" I inquired.
Daniel nodded.
"But you're not sick, right?" I continued.
"Yeah, everyone got sick but me," he pointed out.
"Daniel, I think you're gonna be ok. I think you're immune," I said with a hopeful smile.
"What do you mean? How do you know?" He asked.
"Look," I said, turning my head to the left and pulling back the collar of my Dad's bomber, revealing the ugly bite scar on my neck. "One of them got me right around the time this whole thing started, and I'm still here. Still breathing."
"You... You think I'll be ok?" He sniffed.
"Well, why don't we find out, huh?" I said, giving him a pat on the arm. "Here. Let me dress that up for you."
I dropped my Go Bag and pulled out my first aid kit. I grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage. I opened the bottle, offered my hand, and he gave me his. I took it and pulled it towards me to inspect the wound. I poured the bottle on it without warning, and Daniel screamed, leaping back and pulling his hand away from me. He cried and yelped loudly, clutching at his wrist and contorting his hand in agony.
"Dude! I'm sorry, but you gotta keep the fuck down!" I growled through gritted teeth, apologising for the pain I'd just inflicted.
I checked left and right for any dead ones who might have heard this six-foot, farm-boy-looking guy screaming his lungs out over a little splash of disinfectant. I knew it hurt; I'd done it to myself on the bites I'd received, but Daniel couldn't take it.
"Calm down! You'll attract them!" I yelled over his cries.
The fear of the dead ones showing up made him gulp it in and stand up, whimpering and holding his wounded paw. I reached out, and he pulled his hand back.
"Please! No more of that stuff," he pleaded.
"Don't worry. I'm not trying that again," I said, rolling my eyes as I started to bind the wound with a bandage. "You can get gangrene for all I care if that's how you're gonna take it. You gotta keep it down, dude. How else did you guys survive this long?"
"We had Father Jim," Daniel sniffled.
"Yeah? I heard about him. He sounds like a real stand-up guy," I said, trying to make conversation while I finished dressing his hand.
"Did you know him?" Daniel asked.
"Only through what I found. I ran into your little expedition about a month ago. They were looking for medication, right? Did Father Jim get better?" I asked.
"No. He died. They all died," Daniel said, tears returning to his eyes.

I gave him a second. He wasn’t even looking at me, just looking through me, lost in shock and wherever his mind was taking him to protect him from confronting all he’d lost. “Hey,” I spoke softly, “You’re gonna be ok. It’s gonna be ok. You’re not alone,” I guided him back to the RV. He lumbered slowly behind me and struggled to keep pace, but I gave him time. For the next few days, we cruised around rural Kentucky. We didn’t even see a single dead one. Daniel took the back bed my Dad used to sleep in, and I slept above the cab, my Beretta under my pillow, just in case. 

Daniel took his time recovering. Physically, the guy was OK. The bite wound recovered well. I told him it would turn into a gnarly scar like mine, smiling and trying to cheer him up, but he didn’t react. The poor guy was like a lost, lonely child. He spent most of his days catatonically staring, and at night, he would cry quietly. I just gave him his time. I had no idea how to handle this. I was barely able to understand it myself. I had been alone, living in my own fiction with Dad and Madeline, hoping that I might find another living person. And here that person was a crying, broken young guy I now had to care for.

Daniel had been too shocked or scared to leave the RV. He hardly ate and barely got up from the back bed, but I'd had enough by the time the fourteenth rolled around. I didn’t care if he wanted to stink up the place; I wanted to get showered and changed. “Look, dude. We’re both getting a little ripe in here, and I’m not getting changed in front of you,” I reasoned, but poor Daniel was timidly sitting on the back bed. “There aren’t any out there, man. Trust me, it’s ok,” I said. 

I tried my best to understand his fear of the dead ones. It was crippling him and trapping him here in my RV. Whatever trauma he'd been through, he was lugging around inside him. No matter what I did or said, I couldn't coax much out of him besides simple answers. I knew his name. I knew he'd been with a group of survivors at that complex in March Ridge. I knew they had their pastor leading them until he died, along with the rest of them, and that had turned poor six-foot Daniel into a lost little boy.
“Hey, Daniel. You can come back in now,” I said when I was all cleaned up, opening the door and letting him back into the RV.
Daniel climbed slowly up the steps with his head down, walked to the back bed and sat back down. I put a jay in my mouth and stood by the door.
“I'm gonna go for a smoke, dude. The bathroom’s all yours,” I said, trying to hint him towards getting washed up, but he wasn't listening.
It was like he wasn't even there. Like a lost, stray dog that didn’t trust humans anymore, he timidly lumbered around, reeking of mange and b.o. I shook my head, stepped, and lit my jay, closing the door behind me.
I'd parked us by large open fields of farmland on the edge of some woods. I could see for miles around in the warm spring of the late Kentucky morning. With nothing better to do, I took a stroll along the woods until I was far enough away from the RV to talk out loud without being heard. Despite being around another living person for the first time in almost a year, I felt so alone. While Daniel struggled to adjust to his new reality, I was adjusting to mine and having no one to talk to. So, hoping to find solace, I slumped against a tree at the edge of the woods, smoked my jay, and closed my eyes.
“Hell of a find, huh, Songbird?” Dad said, leaning in next to me against the tree.
I beamed out a relieved smile, opened my eyes and turned to see him smile back.
“He didn't turn. He's immune, like me,” I said.
“He ain't doing much else, either,” Dad scoffed.
“It must have been traumatic,” I reasoned.
“You got over it, Mel. The end of the world passed you by, and you rolled with it,” Dad pointed out.
“Did I, or did I go just as insane as he did?” I asked rhetorically, looking my dead Dad in the eye with a raised eyebrow. He paused for a moment, curled his lip and shrugged.
“Touche,” he admitted.
I leaned back against the tree, took a drag and held the smoke in my lungs a little longer than I would normally. I let it all out in a sigh through my nose and closed my eyes.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with this guy, Dad?” I asked.
Dad took a few seconds to consider, then said, “Well, you could start by finding him some fresh clothes.”
“Shit,” I muttered. “I didn't think about that.”
“Maybe you have been alone too long,” Dad pointed out.
He wasn't wrong, but I hadn't realised how out of touch I'd been. It was a sudden realisation of how much I'd forgotten what real human contact was supposed to be. I hadn't had to think of anyone but myself up until this point. Dad and Madeline had just been along for the ride.
“I have an idea,” I said aloud, hauling myself to my feet and walking back to the RV.
I climbed into the driver's seat and told Daniel we were hitting the road and that he should buckle up. Daniel didn't even ask where we were going. He had yet to ask since I found him. I had no idea if his head was so full of trauma that his thought process wasn’t functioning or if his mind was completely empty. Neither would have surprised me.
I drove the RV to the intersection south of West Point. We were gonna kill two birds with one stone; I needed fuel, he needed clothes. I didn’t know how long he'd been wearing the rags hanging off him, but I felt guilty that it had taken me this long and a conversation with my Dad to notice. It also worried me slightly that he hadn't even mentioned it himself.
“Hey, Daniel,” I called out to him as we hopped out of the RV after I pulled it up to the gas pump and killed the engine.
He craned his neck and looked at me, waiting for me to respond.
“Can you give me a hand with something?” I asked.
“Uhh… yeah… ok,” he nodded.
He followed me around to the side of the RV, where I opened one of the cargo hatches. Inside was a generator I'd been keeping for power on the move and most of my tools. Being used to doing this alone, I grabbed the generator with both hands and lugged it towards the gas station.
“Can you grab my tools, dude?” I asked, and he obliged.
“Do you… can you handle that?” He asked as I hauled the genny and lowered it down about a foot from the gas station power box
“Nah. I got it. I've been doing this kinda shit for a while now,” I said, gesturing that it was no big deal. “Thanks,” I said as he placed my toolbox beside it.
“Do you need to fix it or something?” Daniel drawled.
“Nope. I need to hook it up to the gas station to power it up so I can fill up the RV and a couple of gas cans. I have something for you, though,” I explained.
I returned to the RV, reached into the storage and pulled out a folded-up duffle bag. Carrying it in one hand, I strolled towards the Barg'n'clothes at the north side of the intersection.
“Come on!” I shouted cheerily as I turned around and gestured at Daniel to follow with a smile.
He followed me across the parking lot and through the double doors of the huge outlet. The place was dark and dusty, but enough of the midday sun beamed through the windows to see the racks of clothing—all shapes, sizes, and styles of cheap, off-brands.
“Here,” I said, thrusting the folded duffle bag against his chest and letting him take it from me. “I'll get the RV gassed up. You do some shopping,” I said with a wink.
“What? I just take stuff?” Daniel gawked.
“Of course, dude. Take whatever you want,” I shrugged.
“But, like, isn't it stealing?” He asked.
That question visibly struck me because how I looked at him made his face drop slightly in shock. My confused frown must have made me look angry.
“Daniel, there's… there's no one left to steal from. The world ended, man. Whatever you don't take is gonna rot here, dude,” I explained.
“You're sure no one will care?” He asked sincerely.
“Where do you think I got my winter clothes from? Trust me, no one's alive to care,” I said, waving my hand and heading for the door. “I’ll be by the gas station if you need me. Take your time. Try stuff on. Get cleaned up.”
I left Daniel on his shopping spree while I hooked up the genny to the gas station. With the afternoon heating up, I peeled off my plaid shirt, tied it around my waist and got to work. I was filling up some gas cans when Daniel finally emerged from the store in fresh clothes and a stuffed duffle bag. He wore a plaid pattern similar to mine, only yellow instead of red, some baggy jeans and a green and white Kentucky ball cap. He looked less like the rag-clad shell of a person I'd pulled out of March Ridge and more like someone who was, at least outwardly, looking better.
“Looking good,” I said with a smile.
“Thanks,” Daniel said, returning it. “I didn't know that covered your whole arm,” he said, gesturing at my snake tattoo.
“Yeah, cool, huh?” I said, giving him a good view of my right arm. “You got any?” I asked.
“Nah. My Mama never liked 'em,” he said.
“She probably wouldn't have liked me then, huh?” I asked.
“Well, you seem like a good person, Mel,” he said, smiling but not looking at me.
Daniel turned to look inside the gas station, now powered up with the lights on inside. His eyes grew wide as he stared down towards the ground inside.
“That's the fucker that gave me this,” I said, pointing at the bite scar on my neck.
He took his eyes off the skeleton with a missing skull that I'd left on the floor that day in late July and turned to see me craning my neck.
“He wasn't the only one either,” I stated.
“You've been bitten more than once?” Daniel exclaimed.
“Sure, the other one was a high school kid. Got me right here,” I said, pointing at the bite scar below my collarbone. “Almost bit my fucking tit off,” I said with a wry smile.
Daniel winced at me. I didn't know if it was due to seeing the scar or if me using the word “tit” made him uncomfortable. In either case, I quickly changed the subject.
“So, it's pretty hot, and I'm pretty hungry. I’m gonna get the grill out and cook us some fish. How about it?” I suggested.
I grilled, we ate, and I brought out some beers and lit a small fire in the middle of the intersection, tossing wood and whatever crap was lying around that would burn. I offered Daniel a beer, but he refused.
“Mama used to tell me that my Dad was a drinker, so I never wanted to,” he explained.
“That's fair,” I said. “Was it just you and your Mom?” I asked.
“She uh… she was the only one who got me, you know?” He said. “She was all I had until, you know, then I had Father Jim, Elise, Beth, Derrick, all the others,” he listed before going silent. “They're all… them now,” he said as he curled in on himself, teled in his eyes.
It took me a while to come up with something to say, but I jumped in before his quiet sobs turned into whole cries.
“I know that feeling, dude. Believe me, I do. You can't let them get to you, though. They're just part of the world now, and we can beat them. I've done it,” I claimed.
“Huh?” Daniel said, looking at me with glossy eyes.
“See that over there,” I said, nodding towards the burned-down dealership and blackened burnt-out cars. “Not long after the whole end of the world, when people outside Kentucky stopped broadcasting, I cleared this place out—learned my lesson, though. They can creep up on you, but they're slow and stupid. Now, the only bunch around for miles are up North in West Point.”
“How many have you killed?” Daniel asked.
“Fuck if I know, dude. I don't exactly keep count when they're all burning in a pile,” I scoffed, sipping my beer.
“Are they still, you know, them?” He asked.
“I… I don't even know if it was just me going crazy or if I really did hear it, but I've heard a few of them talking. Just a word here and there, nothing more than that. If whoever they were is still in there, it isn't coming back. Putting them down for good is, well, it's mercy. Madeline taught me that,” I said quietly over my beer.
“Who's Madeline?” Daniel asked.
“She was my girlfr… my wife,” I corrected myself.
Daniel looked at me confused, gawking with that slack-jawed look under the brim of his cap.
“I know, I know, girls can't get married to other girls, but Maddy was raised Catholic, and she always wanted to be married,” I started. “One day, before all this end-of-the-world crap, she put this ring on my finger,” I said, fiddling with the silver wedding band. “She died a few weeks after,” I went on, as tears started to fill my eyes and reality started to dawn on me. “And for those last few weeks, she didn't call me anything but her wife,” I said, choking on the last word and trying to hold down the sobs, but everything hit me all at once.
The fabricated world I'd built out of frosted glass in my head suddenly shattered in Daniel's presence as I told him about Madeline. I had spent almost a year surviving the apocalypse when any average person would have been grieving. And now I grieved for Madeline, out loud and in the open, in front of the first living person I'd seen in what felt like a lifetime. I balled up my hand and held it against my mouth as my body shook with quiet, subdued sobs. My aching heart punctured the lump in my throat as the real world poured into me like cold, icy water and the fact that Maddy was dead, buried, and gone slapped me in the face once more after almost a year of refusing to see it. I turned away from Daniel as the tears rolled down my cheeks. He said nothing as I kept my eyes tightly shut, trying to compose myself. I sniffed, wiped the tears from my cheeks and took a deep breath.
“Yeah, Maddy was my wife. It might not have been real to anyone else, but it was real to her,” I paused. “It was real to me,” I added, looking back at the ring on my hand. “I haven't talked about it to anyone. I haven’t been able to talk about it to anyone,” I admitted. “She died right before all this went down, and I've been alone ever since.”
The two of us sat silently as the fire cracked at our feet and the sun fell below the treeline.
“Sorry for unloading on you there,” I sighed aloud, trying to chuckle awkwardly to lighten the mood.
“It's ok. You've really been alone this whole time?” He asked.
“Yeah. I guess it wasn't all bad, but yeah, just me,” I answered.
“I… I was trying to get help for my Mama when it happened,” Daniel started. “She was getting sick. She got really hot, and then she stopped breathing. I went to get help, but they… they were everywhere. Derrick from the store where I work grabbed me. A bunch of people were running for the army barracks.”
Daniel paused there. It was his turn to get choked up. I let the tears fill his eyes without judgment.
“I tried to get them to help my Mama, but they said it was too dangerous. I didn't leave until… until there was no one left but them,” he gasped before crying.
I let him ball it out as the memories of the trauma he'd suffered came bubbling back up to the surface.
“I just wanted to be like them. I hate how they look at me. They look so mad, like they hate me,” Daniel sobbed.
“I don't think they hate you. I don't think they can hate anything, Daniel. They're dead,” I stated.
“But they can't be. They're walking around,” he retorted.
“I don't know what kind of disease caused it, but some of the shit I've seen happen to them. Some of the shit I've done to them, you can't survive that. They're dead, dude, and nothing is bringing them back,” I said.
Daniel took a long pause as he composed himself.
“What do you think caused it?” He asked.
“Fuck if I know, man. There was this one guy, though. I saw him with his family right at the beginning of it all. He worked at the military base, and I’ve been trying to find it since. I found his home in Ekron and some dead special forces dudes. They seemed to know more than anyone else did. Not that it even matters anymore,” I sighed.
“Derrick said it was something in the Spiffo burgers. He said they had human meat in them, and it made people go crazy or something,” Daniel said, looking over at the Spiffos on the other side of the intersection.
“For real?” I laughed. “Dude, when I thought I would turn into one of them, I ate everything in that place. I wanted to be the last person alive to enjoy a Spiffo burger.” I said, gesturing at the same Spiffos
“Mama never let me eat fast food. She said it was full of junk. Maybe Derrick was right?” Daniel sighed, staring into the fire.
“Maybe,” I sighed as well.
For a while, we sat there staring in silence. Daniel was lost in his thoughts while my slightly buzzed brain was half baking a plan.
“I have an idea,” I said, smiling.
I got up, walked over to the Barg'n’ Clothes and grabbed the first t-shirt closest to the entrance. Then, I marched back to the RV and pulled out one of the gas cans I'd filled earlier. I took them to Daniel by the fire and carefully filled my empty beer bottles with gasoline.
“What are you doing?” Daniel asked curiously.
I filled the last empty bottle and started ripping the t-shirt into rags.
“We're gonna take our revenge on Spiffo Burger on behalf of all mankind,” I said with a wicked laugh.
As I jammed the t-shirt strips into the tops of the bottles and the gas inside, we were left with four Molotovs ready to go.
“Here,” I said, handing two of them to Daniel. “Let's have some fun,”
With my two in hand, I marched towards the Spiffo Burger and stopped when I was within my throwing distance. I put one down at my feet and turned the other upside down to soak the rag while I lit it with my lighter.
“Fuck you, Spiffo! You killed the human race!” I shouted as I hurled my Molotov right through the window.
The glass smashed, and fire lit up the inside. Flames danced through the window, and an orange glow shone against the waning light of the evening in the large, empty intersection.
“Woo!” I cheered, laughing with delight. “Come on, try it,” I said to Daniel, offering my lit lighter.
He carefully held out one of his Molotovs and pulled away timidly as the rag caught fire. He readied himself, smiled and hurled it.
“Fuck you, Spiffo!” He yelled as he did.
Daniel, as it turned out, didn't have the best throwing arm, and his Molotov landed a few feet in front of the doorway to the old-world fast food chain.
“Dude,” I said, giggling, which made Daniel look away from me, embarrassed.
I picked up my second Molotov, lit it and cocked my arm back.
“This is for discontinuing the Fluffyfoot Ribs!” I yelled as I hurled my second Molotov, laughing hysterically as it landed on the roof.
Daniel held his second Molotov towards me. I lit it, and he walked a few paces closer to the burning building. He said nothing this time and hurled it at the door, which shattered the glass and added to the flaming interior.
“Woo! Fuck yeah!” I cheered, clapping.
I jogged over to the RV, opened the driver door and leaned in. I grabbed the first tape my hand could find and looked at it. “Mel's”, it read simply. I smiled, put it in the tape deck, turned the ignition on and cranked the volume as high as possible. The opening notes to Heroes started to play and put a big beaming smile on my face. I walked back to Daniel and the fire pit. David Bowie began to sing, and I half drunkenly danced as the Spiffo Burger burnt down.
“Can you smell that?” Daniel asked, sitting by the fire and staring at the conflagration we'd caused.
“Yeah, it's fry oil. Smells like french fries, huh?” I explained.
I finished a fifth beer and smashed the bottle on the ground. I spun around, dancing to the music, before I tripped and almost fell over. Daniel and I both laughed. I sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. We let our smiles subside, and the moment passed as the sun set and the building continued to burn.
“Do you think everyone is gone?” Daniel asked shyly.
“No, just most of us,” I sighed. “But I found you, didn't I?” I said cheerily, nudging his shoulder with mine.
When I looked at him, my words didn't seem to comfort him. He looked into the fire and got lost in its licking and crackling. I stood up to get another beer but stopped and looked down at him.
“Hey, Daniel, I'm gonna make you a pact,” I stated.
He turned to look up at me with puppy dog eyes.
“You and I are gonna find some more people, living people. I promise. And we'll do it together,” I said, offering my hand.
Daniel took my hand gently; his soft hands felt like they didn't have a single callous. I grasped it firmly and shook it once with a smile. Daniel smiled hopefully back at me, and we celebrated while Spiffo's burnt down in front of us.