Competitive strongman is a sport where both static and cardio-vascular strength are important. Not only do strongmen have to be strong for movements like the squat and deadlift, but they have to be able to carry heavy, and often awkward, loads over a distance involving peak physical fitness.
Strongmen often carry a heavy bulk bodyweight; considerable excess bodyfat is not considered an advantage by many, though some do argue that heavy bodyweight can be an asset in some movements. Whilst a lean body-builder type physique is not the goal, the meal plan below is designed so as not to encourage too much excess body fat, though a 'bulky' look is acceptable.
Training for strongman will usually involve 3-4 weight training gym sessions per week, which can vary in length from quick intense sessions, to longer duration ones with large rest periods between sets. There will also be 2-3 event training sessions per fortnight which will involve the strongman practising events likely to be in a competition. In addition to this, periodically the trainer will also so some cardio-vascular fitness training.
A strongman should eat for strength and with this muscle size will come, so a meal plan is not too dissimilar to that of an off-season bodybuilder. The key to healthy quality muscle and weight gain is to eat big and eat consistently throughout the day following a structured meal plan.
Six or seven feeds all of large quantity are the norm, which will include plenty of high protein food choices, like lean meat, chicken, fish, eggs and milk; fibrous low glycaemic carbs like cereals, bread, pasta, rice and potatoes; fruit and vegetables (don't forget nuts and pulses are also good sources of protein); as well as sources of essential fats.
Meals should be spread regularly through the day, paying close attention to structure surrounding training sessions to provide fuel. Have low glycaemic carbs about 30 minutes before a workout, with a small amount of simple carbs right before and straight afterwards.
It may also be useful to have protein pre-, during and immediately post workout, both on gym and event training sessions. Protein and weight gain supplements can be useful aids to gaining size and strength, but not in place of good wholesome food.
Before a strongman competition up the portions of low glycaemic carbohydrate foods on the two days prior to help load the muscles; nutrition for an event should be similar to that of a training session.
The following is a sample meal plan for one day for a strongman of around 280lbs (128kg) body weight to help gain strength and improve fitness. On non-training days, the only difference should be to peri-workout nutrition.
Wake30g whey protein in water
BreakfastServing of James' Super Smoothie The JSS Bulker
2-4 slices granary bread toasted + 400g baked beans
Tea/coffee with skimmed milk
Mid-morningSandwiches: 4 slices granary bread + tuna / chicken / ham + salad
Large handful mixed nuts
Item fruit
Drink water
Lunch2 chicken breasts or 200g tuna (canned in water)
100g Basmati rice or wholewheat pasta
Tbsp sunflower seeds
Large mixed salad
Low fat yoghurt
Mid-afternoon4-6 oatcakes
250g cottage cheese / quark
Large handful mixed nuts
Large banana
Mug green tea
30 mins pre-workout4 squares Easy Flapjacks
Tbsp sunflower seeds
Drink water
Immediately pre-workout20g whey protein + 30g dextrose in water
TRAINduring workout sip 20g whey protein
Immediately post workout40g scoop whey protein + 30g dextrose + 30g maltodextrin in water
Evening meal
(60 mins later)250g lean red meat or 250g chicken / turkey or 300g white fish
100g basmati rice or 100g wholewheat pasta or 6-8 small boiled new potatoes or 1-2 large sweet potato (dry roasted)
Large serving of vegetables / salad
Low fat yoghurt
Mid-EveningLarge bowl high fibre cereal (like Weetabix, bran flakes, Shreddies, muesli, porridge, etc) + 200ml skimmed milk + 1 tsp sugar
200ml fresh fruit juice
Late snackServing of James' Super Smoothie The JSS Bulker
As with all the meal plans this is merely a guide and must not be stuck to rigidly! Ensure you eat a variety of different meats / fish / alternatives, complex carbohydrates, fruit and vegetables every day, and drink plenty of water. Adapt the plan to suit your own needs and lifestyle and adjust with progress.

May I ask po kung kailan nagsstart yung white coat ceremony for medical students sa NU? Anong year po nagaganap yun? Ty in advance!😊

24m white 210lbs generalized anxiety disorder and asthma. no meds.
4 days ago I noticed a pain when taking a shower on the bottom right part of my belly, and it felt like the muscle was hurting. it hurt to press there. the 2nd day it was near my belly button and again it felt like the muscles. the 3rd day it was near my belly button and both the right and left lower part of my stomach.i dont get consistent pain pressing on parts of my stomach now. yesterday I had some loose stools and had to go to the bathroom 3 times. today it's just very mild intermittent pain (1-3/10) like it has been the last few days and it affects random spots on my lower stomach, 1/2 is on either side and 1/2 is around the belly button. it's brief, pinching, and cramp like. when I get pain it feels like it's in a small area and I can point exactly where it is but sometimes it's a larger area. it lasts about a second then goes away.
I did the test where you land hard on your heels, no pain. I tried the test where you raise your right leg under resistance, no pain. no consistent pain while walking. yesterday I started not feeling hungry but probably because I was scared of appendicitis but I still ate. not really feeling that hungry now but I will probably eat later. no rebound pain. I had a brief fever after eating once but it went away with no meds.no nausea. feeling a little tired but most likely from staying up late.

I’m taking three arrows iron

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WaveOfWire Edits :D
- - - - -
Harrison’s vision was still foggy from waking up, several blinks failing to clear the tears from his drawn-out yawn. He just escaped the encompassing embrace of his four-armed guardian, leaving their shared bed for the bathroom, where he would have to say goodbye to his beard. If he was going to travel out of the settlement, a proper seal on his gas mask was a must.
It was a shame. The slow buildup of the hair over the last month or so was a representation of his growth in a way, building up alongside his experiences in this hellhole, be they life-threatening or informative. It was almost like wiping the slate clean, even if cutting some chin scruff didn’t really change anything at all—he’d never be able to forget anything he had seen here for as long as he lived.
And there was no telling how long that’d be.
The engineer sighed, splashing the lukewarm barracks water into his face from one of the many wall-attached sinks, allowing him to fully open his eyes and size up the damage done to his favorite black blood-and-sweat-stained t-shirt. It always stayed in good condition with washing and fabricator repairs, but somehow Shar’s talons always found a way to make small holes in it. She wasn’t trying to, but with the way she fully wrapped her arms around him, the tips of her sharp fingers sometimes ended up poking into the fabric and causing some cuts.
It was such a small issue that he never considered bringing it up to her. Plus, she’d probably do her whole guilty talon-tapping thing with puppy eyes and all… He shook his head, letting the stray beads of water on his face drip into the sink.
His palm ran across his beard while his other hand reached for the razor. There wasn’t any shaving cream or the like, but he’d make do. At least he had one of the proper tools for the job. He went into the task, the blade driving through his scruff, slopping off wide areas of his hair from jaw to chin for a few seconds before it was interrupted.
A short ‘woosh’ of the entrance caught his attention.
“Aww, you’re shavin’ it off?” Tracy commented dejectedly through a yawn, the lazy drawl reinforcing the fact that she just woke up. “Th’ beard was sorta growin’ on me.”
He eyed her through the mirror, his voice coming out in a dull tone. “Yeah. I feel the same.”
She squinted under the bright bathroom lights, rubbing an eye with her wrist as she walked up to the sink beside him and started her own morning routine. “Mmm… Womp womp. Why though?”
“Need it to get a gas mask seal,” he stated flatly, focusing on the task at hand.
The technician stopped momentarily, the gears turning in her head before she gave him a downcast frown. “You’re still set on going for the vehicle bay? You know we can just send some long-range drones out there, right?”
His short exhale echoed throughout the tiled room. The engineer closed his eyes, already mentally withdrawn from the conversation. They've had this discussion twice now. “It’s to be better prepared for any chemical, biological, or radiological surprises that might come up—not just for the excursion. Even more importantly, there’s no guarantee the module is in perfect shape. If I’m there in person, I’ll have the means to get through anything for those blueprints. Plus, it should only be four days, so the only issues we have are my beard and finding a way to protect the Malkrin from the radiation while we’re out.”
Tracy looked like she wanted to say something back, but bit her lip and cast her eyes down at the sink in front of her, twisting the knob before mumbling a quiet response. “I don’t think you need to protect them from radiation at all…”
“Hmm?”
She stared at him meekly, his dismissal of her worries having clearly dampened her mood. Guilt tugged at the back of his mind before her words further caught his interest. “I think they’re immune… or resistant or something. Radiation immunity is the whole reason they were sent here. You’ve added up the pieces together too, right?”
He stared down at her, running a hand through his hair with tired exasperation depressing his voice. “Tracy, I’ve been trying my hardest to just make it another day on this God-forsaken planet, not dig into their religion. So, no. I have not spent the time to add up the pieces. Enlighten me, please.”
“…S-Sorry. I just, you know, get a lot of time to think when working on drones, and Cera has been drawing all kinds of representations of these things.” Tracy paused, gesturing toward the engineer. “Okay, so you remember the whole backstory for why the Malkrin are on the mainland in the first place?”
“Pseudo-eugenics?” he commented dryly.
“Yeah.” She nodded, a sense of excitement leaking into her voice. “And what were the parameters of banishing someone?”
“Not getting sick from a rock.”
She eyed him feverishly, brows raised with a sudden zeal. “Aaaaand that rock represented the Sky Goddess’ wrath, which did what?”
“Uhhh…” He looked upward in thought, recalling his conversation with the paladin. “I think Shar mentioned nausea, vomiting, blisters, skin melting… off…” He froze, the pieces forming. “Wait, you don’t think…”
“I do. Those symptoms could mean a lot of things, but the anomaly field was the real kicker. You know that Shar just straight up didn’t have any lingering radiation effects or anything while you were nearly put… six feet under…” Her voice quieted momentarily, the speed of her speech outpacing her train of thought. “Sorry. Um… so, I was gonna say that she, uh, I mean the scanner mentioned she had damage from ‘alpha particles’ on her skin, but nothing else happened to her organs or anything.”
Harrison squinted at her for a moment, mouth slightly opened and prepared to give some alternative reasoning besides ‘immunity.’ Maybe her armor protected her from it? No… she didn’t even have full protection, radiation would have certainly gotten around her eyes or snout. What about her height? What if… No.
He didn’t just want to believe that somehow the Malkrin could just evade a force of nature, but he didn’t have any way of proving or disproving it on hand… Well, no humane way of testing it.
“I… guess?” the engineer grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Even then, they still need armor and gas masks. The worst part of the radiation isn’t even the ionizing part. It’s the trace elements that get into your lungs and decay there. So it doesn’t hurt to use some CBRN filters.”
“Fair… but it’s interesting, isn’t it?” Tracy beamed. “Like, what kind of evolutionary factors lead to radiation immunity? Why do only some of the Malkrin have it and others don’t?”
The only real cause of radiation he could think of would be a massive nuclear proliferation of some sort. Maybe the anomalies? He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the lingering thoughts away. “I wouldn’t know. You could always ask Sebas to bring up some papers about it or generate some theories when you get the chance.”
“I probably will at some point… Maybe while I’m working.” She poked him in the bicep. “You’re still helping me with the mule, right?”
He bobbed his head, loose beard hairs itching up his chin. “Sure am. Gimme a bit to shave and test the fifty-cal ammo, then I’ll be free to assist.”
“Kay Kay.” The tradeswoman smiled and returned to the sink, washing her face.
- - - - -
“What the hell did you do to your shield?” a stunned Harrison asked the paladin, his face scrunching up in concern… and confusion.
Sharky proudly held up her once grungy orange shield with a smile, looking at its new… paint job? “Artificer Tracy has s—n to imbue my bulwark with the crest of the Sky Goddess herself! Observe the b—utiful wings that cover it!”
The engineer had just got back from setting up and overseeing the automated mule’s first excursion to the mine and back. It was a grueling task, requiring him to reset its pathing several times before it was able to make a round trip without input. Now, the maroon-skinned Malkrin in front of him had apparently gotten her massive aegis laser imprinted with crossing wings in the two hours or so he’d been gone. The areas between the black feather decals were colored with white and blue paints, contrasting with the new dark gray background.
A small weight was placed on his shoulder, Tracy’s forearm suddenly appearing atop it despite her being nearly a foot shorter than him. She beamed, staring up at him with all-too-proud eyes. “The scout regiment symbol looks good on it, right? Cera helped me with the laser engraving.”
“I…” His brows raised in perplexity. “The scout regiment?”
She shrugged, watching the paladin observe her shield from all sorts of different angles underneath the workshop’s light fixtures. “From an anime I used to watch. Men and women who were sent out to battle against massive titans for the greater good of the last settlement of humanity. Somewhat fitting, and fuckin’ awesome on her big-ass shield! Matches the bird’s wings on her armor too.”
He loudly sighed. “You wasted materials on imprinting wings on Shar’s shield? Really?”
“Hey!” Her brows furrowed into faux-annoyance, a smug grin betraying it. “It’s not a waste if you were never gonna use the paint we had on hand. Plus, we’ve got energy to spare with all the wind turbines and power cells you’ve been printing out.”
“Those paints probably could have been used for important designations… or something…” he grumbled.
“Doesn’t matter.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Anyway, want me to put some scary teeth or something on that big ‘ol fist-sized muzzle break on your shotgun?”
“No?” he took an incredulous step away from her, letting her arm fall off his shoulder and to her side.
“It’s okay to admit you’re jealous of Shar’s awesome decals, bro,” Tracy teased, her smugness growing tenfold. “No need to get defensive.”
He groaned, figuring there wasn’t a point in staying to bicker with the tradeswoman, leaving the two vanity-focused females to their devices. He still had to figure out how to fabricate armor and gas masks for the Malkrin and himself.
“Hey! Where ya goin?” the technician called out, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t indulged in her taunts.
“Work.”
Short taps against the hard floor sounded out as she caught up to him. She leaned forward and curiously looked up at him as she walked, holding her hands behind the small of her back. “What kind? Can I help?”
“Just need to take some measurements and compare options. Right… Speaking of which.” He turned around and cupped his palms around his mouth. “Hey Shar! Get over here, I need your help!”
The addressed Malkrin perked up, snapping out of the small haze of admiring her new shield and happily making her way toward him. She stood at attention, her tail oscillating side to side. “What n—d do you have of me?”
“Just a quick task,” he briefed her, grabbing some measuring tape from his desk… that Tracy had decided was her new chair. He sighed and turned his attention back to the paladin. “Can I bother you to lean down for a few seconds while I take some measurements?”
“Of course. Pl—se, take your time.” She stepped forward and kneeled, her head brought down to his height. Her face wore that simple content look he was growing all too accustomed to by now—slightly vibrating frills, a little curl upward of her lips, and warmly glowing eyes.
He wasted no time getting to work, noting down the various distances around her jaws, snout, eyes, and ears, already piecing together how he could cobble together some gas mask designs to fit the dimensions. She sat there quietly, sometimes leaning into the accidental head scratches adorably. It contrasted heavily with the cold-sweat-inducing layers of razor-sharp teeth within her muzzle as he measured the angle her maw opened at, bringing an idle curiosity prodded his mind.
“Say, Shar, do your teeth grow back if they fall out?” he poked, absently observing the dozens of triangular bone protrusions in her mouth as he held the underside of her jaw.
“They do,” she confirmed, the way she was able to speak despite not moving her mouth still messing with his head. “Do y—rs not?”
“Nope. Only once.”
She attempted to tilt her head, but quickly returned it when it left the embrace of his palm. “Only once?”
He nodded. “Yeah, sometime a few years after birth. They’re replaced with the teeth I have now. Don’t get any new ones, so we gotta take care of ‘em.”
“Birth?” The Malkrin’s eyes widened. “You were not cr—ted as you are now?”
A shock of stress poured down his spine like a bucket of ice water, raising the hairs on his back. Fuck. How did he let that slip? He was supposed to have just appeared from the sky to her, right…? He was doing so well for so long in keeping that in. God, had he really gotten so comfortable with the paladin that he simply forgot what he was to her? His teeth clenched, a huff of air escaping his nostrils as he lightly shook his head. It was a bit too late to backtrack. It could be explained vaguely and brushed off, right?
“Yeah. I was born,” he affirmed flatly. His hand dropped away from Shar’s muzzle, her head falling an inch or two before she registered that she couldn’t keep leaning into his touch. “That’s it for measurements, so you’re free to leave.”
A frown carved through her small smile. “I… See… F—give me if I have brought up someth—g improper.”
His exhalation burned through his frustration at himself, his hand running through his hair to wash away the spike of anxiety. “You’re fine. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Th-Then I shall take my leave,” the massive alien stated softly.
He nodded, feeling a little regretful for pushing the kindhearted Malkrin away as he shuffled back to his desk. Tracy was still sitting atop it, giving him a disappointed reaction with low brows, forcing a pointed reaction from him. “What?”
The technician took a long inhale before shrugging. “Nothin’.”
“…Alright.”
The rolling chair squeaked lightly as he rested himself, his hands already going through the motions of opening the computer and the blueprint folders. There were plenty of tabs open of sensors and motor assemblies he hadn’t closed from the previous night. That wasn’t even mentioning the pile of notes he had on proper radio-protective methods, their corners bent from his frequent flipping through them.
“Soooo…” The short black-haired woman leaned forward from her perch atop the only clear part of his desk. “Can I help you with your ‘comparing options’ work, mister busyman?”
“Sure…” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, raising a brow. “How much do you know about armor?”
- - - - -
“No way. The back support is a must, so you can have extra plating over your shoulders and chest.” Tracy pointed out from her seat beside Harrison’s, all but forcing him to pause his Malkrin gas mask designing to give her argument his full attention.
He calmly took his hands off the mouse and keyboard. “A back support needs leg assistants, which means I’ll need to have at least a fifteen pound battery pack somewhere. Those kinds of exosuits are either all in or not at all. You can go full armor and engine, or lightweight protection and simple limb support.”
“So you’re just gonna go out there with normal armor? Just run-of-the-mill plates and gear? Those fucking things would go through that shit like butter! I know we can’t make synthetic muscle yet, but at least consider wearing something a bit more. Please. Even Sharky has heavy armor!”
Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose, his brows furrowed. “Do I look like a several-hundred kilogram monster of pure muscle to you? I’m more than willing to put on a few extra kilos for protection, but I’m trying to weigh the pros and cons of putting on more armor rather than more equipment. I’d rather fifty pounds of magazines and ammo than fifty pounds of armor. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah yeah… You and your storage space…” she mumbled, swiping through a few more images on her data pad when a familiar Mars-pattern suit showed up, catching his eye.
“Hey, wait, pull that one up…”
She rotated the tablet for him to see a little better—despite already being shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “This one? What’s so special about it?”
He analyzed the few pieces of equipment on screen, noting the rusty-orange and tan color scheme, the old Martian-American flag attached to its breastplate, and the iconic quad-nod integrated helmet. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “That’s… We have that in our blueprints?”
She raised a brow, clearly confused. “Whaddya mean?”
“That’s an Orbital Drop Ranger’s standard kit,” he stated slowly, a simmering sense of awe bubbling up—why the hell was it in their blueprints folder? “It was used during the Sino-Venusian incursion of southern Mars. It still has the Old Earth American flag embedded into it, so you know it’s pre twenty-two-hundred C.E.”
“Oh shit… Pre-St.Loual’s construction? This is ancient, then, huh? Would it be any good?” She leaned in closer to him, eying the tablet further.
“Does it have the assembly view of the armored pieces?”
“Mmhmm.” She tapped a few icons, showing an isometric, exploded view of all the parts and their individual components.
It was a piece of history alright. The armor was produced just about the time when Mars was connecting their orbital stations and ground colonies to work in tandem, allowing for specialized forces to be trained in space and launched anywhere across the planet from drop pods in mere minutes, leading to common nickname of ‘Minutemen’ given to the troopers. The suits were expertly designed to withstand the harsh environments of Mars and give the soldiers the ability to engage with enemy combatants for several days before extraction, though the adept units usually completed their objectives within twenty-four hours of their landing.
The helmet was very angular and blended in with the expected rocky terrain of Mars, each component taking on a sloped frontal design with rectangular prisms flowing behind—radio, breathing apparatus, and vision modules all sharing a sleek, yet bulky look in their own right. It reminded him of some in-atmosphere ships, with the overhanging visor above the quad-nod viewport being the only non-aerodynamic pieces.
The chest and legs were a bit different, following the design of late twenty-second-century operators with tan lightweight rigs, and ammunition pouches alongside armored plates that ran from the shoulders to wrists in segments. There was a rusty-orange undersuit beneath it all for the purpose of keeping air in, which required some sturdy polymer structures to ensure it didn’t rip. Then, of course, there were the classic shock-absorbing leg supports. They weren’t too far off what Tracy was asking about earlier, but these ones didn’t provide any assistance in moving with any motors—just straight-up structural reinforcements.
Hell, the blueprints on screen even had the mag-grip gloves used to scale domes, buildings, and satellites alike. There was no doubt that the Orbital Drop Rangers had some of the coolest equipment on Mars, especially considering that it was the last to keep the ‘operator’ look… It was such a shame the government decided the orb-like helmets and rounded bubble armors were more effective.
“Hey, you know what?” he asked the technician, a shot of excitement in his voice. “This might actually work out as a suitable armor replacement.”
She perked up, her brows raised. “Oh? Actually?”
He shrugged, trying to play off the smirk plastered on his face. “Wouldn’t need a horrible amount of changes to work for our purposes. Just need to remove the oxygen converter on the back and put a gas mask replacement in the front portion of the helmet. Plus, we could probably get rid of the airtight aspect and just keep the undersuit for scratch protection. And, most importantly, it’s radio-protective.”
“Meets all your criteria, then?” She tapped through some UI interfaces, sending the armor assembly to Harrison’s monitor, which he accepted quickly.
“Sure does.” He readily clicked through the different parts and systems to differentiate what needed to be kept. “We have the resources for it, and all it needs is a layer of cadmium plus a few replacements. Definitely doesn’t need the heads-up display since there’s nothing for it to interact with either, so that’ll save on print time and materials too. Shame I cut up the beard… the Orbital Drop Rangers were allowed to have some cool ones.”
The tradeswoman scooted in even closer, practically resting her chin on his shoulder and watching him sift through the working parts. “Yeah, rest in peace, beard. Still, your armor situation is solved. What about the Malkrin?”
“I’ll be working on their gas masks, then I was thinking I’d use another one of your modeled armors for their protection since they’ve helped Shar a hell of a lot. Do you have any recommendations?”
“Mmmmm…” She looked up in thought, a smile forming along her cheeks. “You know, until we can make them any real power armor, I was thinking just some regular phobos-pattern armor. Could color ‘em based on their skin too.”
“Phobos-pattern armor?” he hummed to himself, clicking through the folder to find it. It was just as bulky as Shar’s armor, except it appeared a good bit smoother, with more rounded edges compared to her horns-and-spike-lined gauntlets and pauldrons. The blue suit Tracy was proposing didn’t have the four-armed protection compared to the chaos version, but it certainly had the same thickness of its metal plates. “Looks like it’d work pretty well. Does it have any electric components or anything?”
“No…” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not so good with designing that stuff in the modeling program I did the WarHarberd stuff in. Could add in more sophisticated leg support or whatever if you gave me time, but for now it’s just maneuverable slabs of alloy.”
“I think that’s all we need for the time being.” He shrugged. “I just don’t want the others to be vulnerable to getting cut up by the little spider-crab grunts.”
“As long as it works for what we need, then.” Her elbow poked into his arm. “Here, how about I take care of that armor stuff while you finish up the gas masks? They need the extra arm slots too, yeah?”
“I’d actually appreciate that a lot.” He offered her a back-palm fist bump, to which she eagerly took, taking on a grin that he mirrored. “Thanks, Trace.”
“Don’t mention it. I wish work was always just doing my hobbies like this.”
\= = = = =
A grand pylon of metal construction taller than the mightiest female’s frills stood atop the beach. Blue-scaled surfaces extended near the foot of the tower, gathering the power of the sun itself. The lattice layering upon their sides hid the weaving wires and Goddess-blessed machinery. A staff the same as Shar’khee’s peeked from its top, the glass eye on its side given a wide view of the sandy environment it resided on, the defense it now provided becoming absolute. The aura it exuded as a creature of pure metal was awe-inspiring, its mere presence a showing of Harrison’s might and domain.
No abhorrent would dare step foot upon the meadow’s rolling hills, for such a mistake would ensure their immediate execution for encroaching upon his settlement—the ‘fifty-cal-e-bur’ bullet is not one to rend any beast with only simple injuries, especially with three hundred of them available at once.
The maroon-skinned paladin treaded up the hill, having completed her task of setting up the last turret. The craftsman, the juvenile, and the lumberjack had also assisted with its setup, pulling their weight in both mind and muscles to piece the components together. They completed a few others around the modules already, but this one was done without the star-sents’ oversight. The four Malkrin had practiced and learned enough to be entrusted with such.
The idea of Harrison having enough confidence in them sparked much conviction in the group, each of them more than eager to prove him right—none more so than Shar’khee herself, of course.
She finally returned to the workshop, the sun’s last rays pressing into the back of her head and frills as she crouched beneath the doorway, a small gnawing hunger for dinner digging within her stomach. The cacophony of machines soon reached her ears, the sounds of their efforts almost working in tandem with the strange melodic music playing from an unseen source above her.
Tracy was in her corner, working on new beings of metal as always. The bright lights above were turned off in favor of smaller, warmer emplacements atop her surrounding circle of desks. A hard worker, that star-sent was, though both of them were like that, the paladin supposed. Their kind was certainly intent on keeping their hands busy.
Shar’khee passed through the snakes of machines, finding her way to Harrison’s desk with an increasingly strong sway in her tail. He was working with a black object with light gray accents. It appeared to be partially flexible, yet firm in other places—notably, a large glass fixture on one side of it. There was very little she could make out about its purpose, but with the delicate touches he applied, it appeared to be quite important.
Her tongue clicked twice, garnering the attention of the Creator. He paused his work, swiveling his chair to face her and revealing a long blue-leaf jutting from his mouth. Her male appeared quite tired, but his voice did not show it.
“Oh, Shar, what’s up? Did y’all need any help with the last turret?”
She shook her head. “We do not n—d such, for it is completed. Would you care to join me for din—r? The rest of the settlem—t is enjoying their meals as of now. ”
He raised his brows before looking back at the myriad of notes, tools, and materials atop his cluttered desk. “Well, I’m kinda busy, but…” His jaw rolled around in contemplation. “Here. Let’s just test this thing real quick.”
Her head tilted. “What sh—l we be testing?”
“Your gas mask… er, well, a Malkrin gas mask. Kneel down real quick, I’ll run ya through putting it on.” He stepped off his chair and grabbed the equipment, uncomfortably rotating his shoulders. How long was he sitting on that chair? The male approached her and she did as requested. “I had the sewist help me with some of the design. Never considered you guys would ever wear hats.”
She nodded. “It is unh—lthy for one to have their frills touched by the sun for so long. Adequate shade is a must, and trees are not so p—valent along farm land.”
“Mmhmm. Shame this is just a mask… Alright, this might be a bit uncomfortable, but it’ll do the job.”
He stepped forward and slipped the black apparel onto her snout, pushing it over her face until it pressed against the sides of her head. A cool material rubbed against her skin, locking her into its embrace. It was encapsulating, surrounding her wholly.
Her breaths strengthened as she allowed the mask to cover her, a short shock of nervousness riding down her spine. She was only now registering how vulnerable she was, allowing him to possibly suffocate her… but she stayed put, keeping her four palms rested within her lap as he continued to apply the straps around her ears. She would allow it. She trusted him with her life. She would not falter.
The cords around the back of her head were tight, a few of which went along both sides of her frills, pushing up against their sides. He kept going, ensuring a ‘seal,’ but it was getting much too—
Pop.
A lightning bolt of pain rolled throughout the top of her head, sending her reeling. It stung for the briefest of moments, but its effects rebounded through her entire body, short sparks pulsing from its origin. She felt nothing but its agonizing hold for several more moments as the rest of her body caught up.
When her eyes opened once more, she found herself on the floor and staring at the ceiling. The star-sent rushed to her side, appearing to ask many questions while looking over her head, but all she heard was a piercing ring and the gruff vocalization he made whenever he shared his intent. No words reached her mind, only the now faint phantom pains from where her frills met her skull. It put everything in a haze, her eyes barely settling on her dearest’s, despite how nauseous she had become.
His deft hands quickly worked to loosen the straps, practically ripping them off until his voice suddenly reached her, like breaching the surface of the water. His voice was deep, attempting to be calculating, yet despite his calmly created stoic demeanor… she could feel his panic, his sheer worry almost flooding her senses through practiced medical queries. She slowly sat up on the floor, holding herself with two arms while the other pair quelled the kneeling male, assuring him that she was alright with their weight resting atop his shoulders.
“I am well, dearest Harrison. Do not fret for me. The straps were simply too tight.”
His anxious breaths barely slowed, narrowly allowing for his exclamation. “Too tight? Shar, you practically blacked out!”
“Too tight upon my frills, I mean. There was a pain there for a few moments, but it has passed,” she returned calmly, softly kneading his stiff shoulders with the joints of her digits.
He exhaled sharply, matching her gaze with regret in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Shar. I should’ve known. I was just trying to see how…” He paused, resting his palm atop her forearm. “Nevermind. I just… Are you alright? Should I get you to the med bay for a quick scan?”
“I do not believe that to be necessary, no.”
His guard finally fell. “If… If you say so. Guess I have to redo the straps then. Definitely gotta make sure they’re not pressing on your frills like that.”
She smiled, appreciating his dedication. “Would you like my assistance?”
“As long as you don’t have anything else to do.” He shrugged, his shoulders barely moving upward against her massaging hands.
“There is no greater wish of mine than to be by your side,” she stated warmly.
He was frozen, the soft ministrations of his digits along her arm slowly stopping in contrast to the red flush growing from his cheeks to his ears. The crack of a smirk on his face finally with a short, heart-warming chuckle brought the statue back to life after a few moments. “You know… that’s probably the sweetest thing I’ve heard for years.”
Her brows raised in subtle surprise at his response. “It… was not intended to be such… However… you are more than welcome. You must understand by now that I am speaking only the truth.”
The two of them sat there in relative silence amongst the desks and machines; her half laying on the ground with her hands on his shoulder, and him on his knees by her side, a singular hand running up and down her comparatively large forearm. She felt… weak, in a way. A vibrating sensation rummaged through her stomach, attempting to pull her muscles and nerves astray.
It was warm, just like his palm, each motion of his hand sending lightning through her skin. The upward curl of her lips into her cheeks was suddenly an insurmountable force, incapable of being put down by a thousand females. There was a tear within her to either look away or… close the distance, and she suddenly found looking anywhere but his curious green eyes to be a waste of her time.
Her talons wrapped further around his shoulders and his back, ever so slightly bringing him into her embrace—
“A-HEM.” A voice cut the moment down to its knees. “The fuck happened here?” Tracy’s swift interjection caused the paladin to flinch backwards, allowing her to see that Harrison’s other hand had been hovering right beneath her snout. The female star-sent wore a furrowed brow and crossed arms, looking down at them. “I heard a crash and came over. Are you two alright?”
Harrison cleared his throat, ever-so-subtly scooting away from the paladin. “Uh, yeah. Shar fell because, um, I tied the gas mask a lil’ too tight.”
The artificer wore an expression that told of her disbelief. “She fell because of the gas mask?”
“It was something with her frills.” The male returned with a shrug, picking himself off the floor before offering the paladin a hand up.
She took it, despite not requiring it, and wiped off some loose dust from her pants. The three of them quickly returned to work soon after, with both her and the black-haired star-sent joining Harrison in his quest to produce the gas mask. She was much less… What did the Creator call it? Bubbly? Yes, that was it. She was much less bubbly than usual, sometimes sending a cold yet emotionless glare toward Shar’khee… Nevertheless, the two females offered input on the design and applied help where they could, eventually creating the final piece of equipment.
Tracy commented on its looks, apparently drawing inspiration from the Leviathan itself, as she believed it to be like that of a ‘Sea Dragon’s.’ The maw-covering portion held two cylindrical canisters on the adjacent sides, the bottom portion being capable of distention, so that the user’s mouth may open somewhat. Its motion created what the female star-sent believed to be ‘the coolest teeth design on a mask’ she’d ever seen with how the separation formed alternating triangles.
The monster-like appearance was furthered by her own frills and horns that peeked out from behind the mask. That was not even mentioning the see-through visor that formed a malicious glare of sharp brows. The paladin looked through a hand-held mirror, finding it difficult to disagree with the look. She could imagine the horror on a fisherwoman’s face as such a terrifying creature approached from the depths.
And yet, despite its nightmarish visage, it was apparel designed to save lives, not take them—much unlike the unassuming metal rods that spewed fire with a mere flick of a lever. Curious indeed. The star-sents were seemingly never out of surprises. They even spoke of grand robots and firearms larger than Shar’khee herself as possible future projects.
Only time could tell what machinations of alloy would be birthed from their hands.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Under The Milky Way

I’m 6 days post op. My left side looks like it’s gone back to normal (no swelling and no redness, just the white blood clot) but my lower right has been irritating me. I only have a very dull pain in my left that only bothers me when I don’t take the pain meds, with pain meds it goes away, but the right hurts nearly as bad as it did the third day and the inside of my cheek is so swollen my mom says it looks like I’m chewing on the inside of my mouth (from what I know, I’m most likely not, probably because it’s just really swollen) it’s really red in one area next to my gums. There’s also some kind of string that was kinda white now is turning yellow and when I use the monojection thing to clean around there it hurts really bad, I did eat string cheese two days ago so I’m hoping it’s not that but I don’t want to touch it in case it is stitches. In the picture I have to pull back on my cheek to expose everything. When I was doing that I also realized that I can pull the gum off my back tooth 🫠. I forgot to mention, yeah the yellow on my tongue won’t go away I keep scraping at it with a tongue scraper it’s not working. I was also not able to open my mouth too much until literally just a few hours ago. I still cant open it alllll the way. Another thing I forgot. Bad taste in my mouth. Just did a breath check and idk smells like normal breath to me(idk what my breath usually smells like tho). Also accidentally smelt my finger after it was in my mouth and I gagged Sorry for the bad hygiene, I’m bad at brushing my teeth in general plus I have not been able to brush back there for six days.

September 2nd - 07:00 Service to London
The morning commute always felt too early for Simon. Now autumn was rolling in, and the night ate further into the morning, he could barely keep his eyes open. So when he saw it standing across the platform, he was happy to blink and rub his eyes until it was gone.
September 9th - 07:00 Service to London
The same platform, the same spot, shivering. Why had he been this stupid not to bring a jacket? Oxford station was as nondescript as you could get, for a city so beautiful and ancient, it stood out like a big grey concrete thumb. He stood under the canopy sheltering from the rain, sadly it wasn't doing much in the way of protection. Every gust of wind brought icy shards of rain scratching at his face. Looks like he wasn't the only one suffering.
Across from him stood a man. Drenched to the bone, his white shirt clung to him, a tie stained blood red cutting through his torso. With every gust he stood still. Not flinching. Not moving. His eyes locked on Simon. Simon scanned him from head to toe, like a mirror the man responded, tracing his every move. Feeling the rush of a train approaching, Simon took a step back and like a child discovering their legs for the first time, the man stumbled forwards.
Feeling anxious warmth flooded his face, Simon scrambled onto the train. He was safe here. He was safe.
September 16th - 07:00 Service to London
He approached the platform with caution today, yes last week was weird, but it was early and he was tired. When he looked up at the departures the bad mood started. 20 minutes delayed. It was as grey as usual this morning, not raining though, that was a bonus he thought. He stood endlessly scrolling through social media, head locked down. Then he heard it, a high-pitched whistle. His head shot up, and then across from him, there he stood. The same white and red clothed man staring. Simon could feel his heart beating in his throat, his stomach turning in knots. Dark cold eyes were tied to his from across the void of the platform, sucking the warmth from his body. Simon knew he couldn't move, he couldn't bear to watch the man copy him. Breathing heavily he dragged his eyes to the departures, not daring to move a single limb. 3 minutes. He had to hold out for three minutes. He was alone out there, the platform was a lonely headland out at sea, it was just him and the man.
They stayed eyes locked, standing stock still. Simon didn't dare to breathe too heavily. Time was moving, he knew that, but every second was an eternity. Out the corner of his eye he could see a faint light growing brighter and brighter. The train was coming. He would be safe. Then in a split second the man broke his gaze. He was running. His body moved in perfect symmetry flying along the platform, getting closer and closer to the passenger bridge. He can get me. He can get me! Simon's mind was screaming. Alarm bells ringing. The man was getting closer. There was a hollow thud of thunder as the man's feet stormed across the bridge.
The train was pulling in now, its brakes hissing as it glided to a stop. Simon slammed his hand against the button frantically waiting for the doors to slide open, and they did. Inviting him into the warm comfort of the carriage. The man arrived at the bottom of the steps, fixed his gaze on Simon and ran. Gaining on him, 10 metres, 5 metres, 1 metre. The doors slid shut. And the man slammed against them. Simon’s stomach clamped in on itself; he could feel the sour taste of vomit flood his throat and mouth, pouring out onto the floor. His eyes stayed fixed on the glass of the train door. He was looking at his reflection. But this was no trick of the light. The man had his face and he was smiling.
September 16th - 16:34 Service to Worcester
Simon spent his entire day scanning faces. Anyone who crossed his path was a potential threat. He made it through the work day, he would get home, call the police and get answers. Boarding the train with hundreds of other passengers he was shielded, nothing could get him. Every station they passed he checked every face twice. But his mind and body grew tired, he’d spent the day on high alert and he was feeling the effects. His breathing was slowing down, every thought came at half speed and his eyes drooped and drooped until he slipped into a dark dreamless sleep.
The thud of closing doors ripped him from his sleep. He was awake, alert, heart pounding. He could see a station by the window. Charlbury. He'd gone too far, three stations too far. He got up and looked around the cabin and not a single face turned to meet him. He was alone. It’s fine, he thought. He'd get off at the next station and turn around. He'll be home in no time. He sat there pushing every bad thought from his mind, humming a tune he didn't even recognise for comfort. Then in a matter of minutes they were pulling into a station. Standing at the door he surveyed the platform as they slowed. Empty. Completely empty. Then from the corner of his eye he saw it, a flash of white then red, and finally that face. His face. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had to hide. He ran back into the carriage and fell to the floor between two seats, making sure no part of him could be seen above the window. He heard the door hiss shut, and they were moving. He didn't dare to move. Was he alone? He sat still, not allowing a single muscle fibre to twitch. Then like rolling thunder the sound of heavy boots progressed down the carriage. Slow and methodical, they stopped at every row before moving to the next. Fuck it was coming. They were just inches from him. He craned his head up to look.
The eyes staring down at him were pure black. Obsidian marbles studded in the face he saw every day. He tried to scream but his throat clenched shut. A smile stretched across that familiar face. It was no smile he'd ever given. His breath felt like it was coming out in chunks. He couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't move. Then out of its pocket something glinted in the light. He saw his own cowering reflection in the blade. Tears streamed down his face. He knew the pain about to follow would be the last thing he'd ever feel.

I just started hrt 2 days ago (estrogen patch 0.0375 mg 2x/week w/ 100mg progesterone for 2nd half of cycle).
My symptoms: Poor sleep Blepharitis of menopause Mood swings - depression, irritability, rage Lack of energy Lack of motivation Muscle aches/pains Brain fog Easy overwhelm Lower tolerance for other people and their BS Memories fading Constipation at times Some nightsweats
Wondering about your hrt experiences and stories! Thanks!

(I've copied this all from the beginning of a short story I want to write, so that's why it's like this)
Iseria (also Iso, Iserapia, Ishore, Ishera, Iserapis)
God/Goddess of Locusts from the mid 18th century. Usually depicted as a young girl with white/silvepale green hair, always with hair the same color as her eyes to resemble a locust. Also commonly depicted as an androgynous youth, with the same features as mentioned before. Iseria is often drawn, painted or written as wearing classic 18th century clothing, but this perception has shifted during recent times, in the very few descriptions of hehim still being written, to a more visually appealing set of clothes resembling a fashionable hooded cloak.
Iseria is associated with other aspects, other than locusts. She/he is also the god of resilience, death, ressurection, greed and very rarely duality.
Iseria's origins are murky. Some Fictologists (researchers and historians of living beings created only relatively recently by the human mind) say that the creator was a man, allegedly called Antoine Allard (most likely a false name). Allard, if he really was the creator, most likely made Iseria to gain followers amongst the poor villagers of a place he lived in from 1851 to 1863. This theory has many holes. A random person convincing an entire village to worship a god made out of thin air? Fictional gods don't appear until at the very least 50 years after conception. Another theory is that Iseria was the product of an unknown cult, though honestly I'm tired of hearing it about every single make-believe god.
Just to clarify, the reason you've had to read hehim is because Iseria does not want to be called "they", for reasons she won't tell us yet. Iseria was made up out of two male gods, Serapis and Isho, but prefers to be female.
Caorvi
Caorvi is a mysterious god of crows from the 14th century. Not much has been discovered about him, and he hasn't been very forthcoming.
Caorvi is also associated with depravity, the "shadow of death", bravery, and peace.
He is depicted as a dark-haired young man with pale skin and red eyes, similar to modern vampires. He is often dressed, in pictures or in real-life, in a black coat with a black shirt and black pants underneath. But he also wears a heavy black cloak at times. Despite many people tellig him to "dress more brightly" he ignores them.
Caorvi's origin has not been discovered yet, but he may have been the product of a 13th century cult. His name most likely comes from a fusion of the word "cari", meaning "dear people" in italian and "corvi", meaning crows.
Zapozzerina (also Pozzerina, Pozzangherina, Pozzina, Zaponerina)
Zapozzerina was made in the 16th century, originally as a new commedia dell'arte character that failed. Her creator, Carlo D'Angelo, started writing a short story about her that failed as well. But the story was found by Fictologists in the 1901 and became a living being in 1962.
At first, she was an attributeless God, until she became associated with puddles and rainfall.
She is depicted as a girl in a blue dress with red, purple, green and white patches, wearing a black mask that covers three-quarters of her face.
​​​​​​​

Proof! https://imgur.com/a/8ftCO9j
Zelle and Venmo accepted, add $5 for GA shipping
Small sale today, some fun stuff on offer as per usual. Thanks for stopping by :)
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🔸Bohemond III Principality of Antioch Silver Denier $55 obo

Synopsis:
An engineer from earth blends science and magic to achieve greatness in another world where skills and levels reign supreme.
—
Ethan was just a plain old engineer, but everything changed when he was reborn into a world of skills, levels, and magic. With his advanced knowledge far ahead of the time period he finds himself in, this new reincarnated life will be much different than his last, especially because he can construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct runes—something no one else can do.
But with royal politics, looming tax collectors, a mountain of debt, dungeon incursions, cults, and hostile fantasy races mixing together into a cocktail of bullshit that threatens to bury his dreams; Ethan must bridge the gap between steel and sorcery to grow stronger. — What to Expect:
- Weak to very strong progression with a Sword & Magic MC that kicks a whole lotta ass. - Fast pacing. A balance of action galore, politics, kingdom building, and slow-burn runecrafting. - Fun, satisfying moments. An extra shot of happiness when reading. Hardcore wish fulfillment. Hyper competent MC. - MC will trigger an industrial revolution, abolish slavery, revolutionize magic, modernize agriculture, communication, commerce, textile production, education, transportation, sanitation, weapons manufacturing, leisure & entertainment, and medicine. - Dark truths of a medieval-esque society going under change.
Join my Discord Server to have chat, bother me, ask me questions, or just genuine fun really - https://discord.gg/d57v5upvcx
First < Previous Next > (Royal Road)

Chapter 11

Congratulations! You have unlocked the skill: [Meditation]!
Meditation – Level 1
Type: Passive
Effect: This basic meditation technique focuses on bringing your awareness to the present moment. By calming your thoughts and observing your breath, you create a state of inner peace that fosters the natural restoration of your mana. It’s a simple practice that can be maintained throughout the day, even while traveling or performing light tasks. However, that requires a higher level of the skill. Connections: [Meditation] has formed Connections with [Magic Sensitivity] and [Magic Perception], enhancing all three skills’ effects.
A smile spread across Ethan’s face. He continued his routine like usual, albeit with one addition: daily meditation. It took some time, but slowly—ever so slowly—the dull aches behind his eyes receded, replaced by a refreshing coolness as his mana regeneration speed increased. Meditation indeed helped.
[Meditation] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
[Magic Sensitivity] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
[Magic Perception] — Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
“Finally!”
Unexpected bonuses! Ethan chuckled. It seemed even seemingly basic skills could have hidden relations. He closed his eyes once more. He had a feeling this was just the beginning.
Time passed, and he continued making rune motes. But a new kind of worry furrowed his brow. The novelty of handcrafted soap had its limits. The initial batch was sent to potential investors, nobles, merchants, et cetera—and it had indeed vanished like suds in a rainstorm. He’d even managed to train a couple of the more eager servants, turning them into his first, albeit slightly nervous, soap-makers. But scaling things up? That presented a whole new bar (pun entirely intended) of challenges.
First, there was the money issue. His pockets were starting to feel empty. Expanding his operation meant serious investment, something he could only take so far.
Investors. Ethan grimaced. The word conjured images of stuffy suits picking apart his plans with a practiced sneer. He shuddered. Funding everything himself was a pipe dream. He needed someone to believe in his vision, a knight in shining armor wielding a hefty bag of gold.
But the bigger challenge, the one that kept him up at night, was the production line. Hand-making was a labor of love, not large-scale commerce. He wanted a streamlined process—bubbling vats and efficient filling. Factories, of course, were out of the question. But the principles could be adapted, scaled down for his humble little workshop.
Large, sturdy vats, fire-resistant, and big enough to hold gallons of bubbling lye solution, were a must. Then came the pouring—tedious and time-consuming by hand but he would find a solution somehow. Safety, of course, was a large concern in his mind. Lye was a fickle thing. He needed proper ventilation systems, thick gloves for handling the caustic solution, and clear safety protocols practically drilled into his fledgling soap-making team. Maintaining quality was another worry. With increased volume, ensuring each bar possessed the same level of perfection became a concern.
Not to mention delays. Delays—that word was the entrepreneur’s nightmare. Machines breaking down, surprise ingredient shortages, unexpected problems in the production line… Ethan knew they were inevitable. He needed a buffer—a reserve of supplies and a maintenance plan to weather the inevitable storms. It was hardly rocket science, but the logistics of it all made his head spin.
Regardless, Ethan worked on the investor pitch, the design for the assembly line, the contingencies for delays—and with each minute, they solidified.
There’s so much to do...
***
Ethan ran a hand through his hair, standing inside the makeshift workshop they’d made to produce more soap. The latest batch of soap sat on the wooden table—smooth, white ovals that lathered luxuriously and left a hint of calming fragrance. The results were undeniable. Now, he had quite the amount of soap made already; it was time to get his creation into the hands of those who needed it most.
Selling within the barony was the easiest option. He could hire someone to hawk his wares at the market, catch the eye of housewives in need. But Holden was small, and the potential customer pool was limited. Not to mention folks knew him, and they didn’t trust him. Regardless, a well-placed stall at the weekly market would likely do the trick—meager returns, however, given that majority of the people were poor. Thankfully, they could afford it.
Ethan needed to be bold, however. The grimy hands of miners in neighboring Corinth, and the mud-caked travelers passing through the bustling border town of Westford—they all needed to experience the excellent product he’d made. Catching the eyes of a noble or two would be even better. Spreading the word beyond Holden presented a problem.
Trade fairs, perhaps. Grand events held a few times a year, attracting merchants from far and wide. The thought of securing a stall at the Westford fair, a place that would be teeming with potential buyers—and the biggest Bordertown that could arguably be called a city—was indeed enticing. But that would require waiting.
Nah, can’t wait. I need money. Merchants themselves would be it. Partnering with a reliable merchant who frequented the border towns could be a more strategic approach. He’d provide the soap, the merchant would handle the transportation and distribution, sharing the profits. But finding such a partner would be rather hard considering his reputation with the Merchants Guild...
Ethan sighed. He needed a plan that would push his soap beyond Holden and into the wider world. I should contact some of Theo’s friends...
Thinking of those “friends” that were indeed just like Theo if not worse, Ethan weighed his options, but settled for it regardless. He had no choice.
“Excellent work, everyone,” Ethan praised the workers, then walked outside where he boarded his carriage. Sitting down, Ethan looked at Roland.
“Roland. Send a letter to Hector asking if we could arrange a meeting,” Ethan ordered. “If he isn’t willing, contact every merchant of worth in Holden—contact the Merchants Guild, they will likely ignore me, given my reputation; however, even if one of them agrees to come, arrange a meeting. I will not be taking a bad deal, but we need to try anyway. Surely not all of them hate my guts...”
Roland looked doubtful of that possibility. Ethan coughed.
“As you wish, my lord.”
...
The carriage was going through the town to his manor when Ethan received a letter from Jack—through one of his undead ravens—regarding the base spell’s situation. The man had been using himself as the nexus, and the spell was working, analyzing the blight-organism’s patterns, recording them, sending them back to the nexus (Jack), and then those instructions would be sent to the base spell in every soap. The process was costing the man quite some mana, and he’d been requesting a mana crystal so he could make it the nexus instead of himself.
Mana crystals were unique, naturally forming gemstones that were imbued with magical properties They formed in regions with a high concentration of mana, often in places where the veil between the physical and magical realms was thin. These regions typically formed deep underground, in caves or ancient ruins, making them difficult to access. The formation of a mana crystal itself a slow process. Over centuries, the ambient mana in these regions coalesces and crystallizes, forming these precious gemstones. The size, purity, and power of a mana crystal depend on the concentration of mana in the area and the length of time it has had to form.
Procuring mana crystals was a dangerous and costly endeavor because it required skilled miners and mages to safely extract the crystals without damaging them or causing magical backlash—it could even be called magical cancer. Worse yet, they could explode. Thus, all the mana crystal areas were akin to area-51 back on Earth. Heavily secured, well-guarded, with possibly several types of magical alarms and defenses to detect intruders, and these mines were watched very, very closely by whoever could. Once extracted, the crystals must be carefully handled and stored to prevent their magical energy from dissipating. Due to their rarity, power, and the difficulty in procuring them, mana crystals were highly valuable. Often used in powerful spells, magical research, and as a power source for magical devices.
The flow of Mana Crystals into the market is strictly controlled due to their potential for misuse—though, if Ethan was being true to himself, it was most likely so the crystals could be sold at exorbitant prices. Though, the “official” reasoning by the mining guilds was that in the wrong hands, a mana crystal could be used to fuel destructive spells or create forbidden magical artifacts. As such, governments and guilds often regulated their sale and distribution, requiring permits and licenses for their purchase and use.
That’s why it’s quite understandable that a mana crystal would be the best nexus. Thinking so, Ethan rubbed his chin. However, mana crystals are expensive...
Ethan wrote back to Jack, penning his concerns and reassuring Jack that he would try to get his hands on a mana crystal as soon as possible. However, it would take time as they’re hard to come by. Not to mention, they cost a hefty sum, and Ethan lacked money at the moment. I need a way to make it absolutely certain that Hector will agree to be an investor. I also need people in the Merchants Guild backing me up—
As he was writing to Jack, Ethan suddenly had an idea. He paused, blinking, staring at the raven. Hmmm. I wonder if I can use these little guys to gather dirt on nobles. The morality of doing such a thing was questionable, and he would rather not do it, but he was in a world that required such actions if he wanted to survive.
Ethan leaned back into the soft backrest inside the carriage, a pensive look on his face as his mind raced with possibilities. He knew the noble houses of the kingdom engaged in all manner of unsavory dealings—corruption, bribery, smuggling, tax evasion on a grand scale, illegal trade in magical artifacts, forced labor in hidden mines, pregnant prostitutes, bastard sons and daughters, and even human trafficking. Heck, he was sure many secretly engaged in trafficking exotic Beastkin from the other continent. A cold disgust settled in Ethan’s stomach. Some Noblewomen with harems of human-looking Beastkin for their amusement. Men who lusted after feline Beastkin, keeping them chained and collared, using their enhanced senses for perverse pleasures. Sadists, the entire lot of them.
The children of these unions were another layer of tragedy. Then there were the barbaric collectors, humans who craved the immense strength of the Minotaurs, using them as gladiatorial entertainment or worse, in underground fighting rings where blood painted the cobblestones—heck, he was sure many were breeding monstrous Chimera for use in their personal fighting ring. The Beastkin weren’t livestock, they were sentient beings, their cultures and traditions as rich and varied as any human kingdom. Yet, here, in the supposed bastion of civilization, they were nothing more than exotic commodities to fuel the insatiable desires of some of the elite.
Lucianos Solarian IV, the Emperor, had outlawed Beastkin trafficking decades ago, and the punishment for defiance was a brutal lesson etched in blood. The first year after Beastkin slavery and trafficking were outlawed was etched into history.
Public execution wasn’t harsh enough. Traffickers were broken first—physically and mentally. Men and women alike. Weeks of torture were standard, designed to make them not only regret their crimes but also serve as a terrifying public reminder of the Emperor’s wrath. Ethan shuddered. He’d heard about men and women being flayed alive, their screams echoing through the city squares. They were forced to march through the city squares, stripped of their finery and any magical glamours that masked their appearance, stoned. Their crimes were announced to the jeering crowds, their faces branded with a mark signifying their depravity. They were then forced into hard labor, their bodies broken and their vanity shattered.
Surely, the Emperor was no kind man, and the message was clear: Beastkin were not slaves, not pets, not trophies. They were sentient beings deserving of respect, and the Emperor would tolerate no violation of their rights. Theodore’s father was the same, Obsidian was one of the better Kingdoms under the Empire. Heck, it could be said to be the best.
However, just like always, people still participated in sick behavior. Not everyone, to be fair. But a minority, still. And given how large the Solaris Empire was—and not to mention the other Empires that were worse than Solaris—there were bound to be dark secrets that they would do anything to keep buried. It was just how things were, and Ethan doubted it would ever end (the continent of Beastkin wasn’t any better; humans were the ones exotic there).
Thus, Jack’s undead ravens could be the perfect spies, slipping into noble manors and gatherings unnoticed, their beady eyes and keen senses recording every sordid detail. With enough incriminating evidence, he could blackmail these nobles into supporting his business ventures, ensuring they backed his proposals and used their influence to aid the common folk. Ethan would feel no remorse, regret, or apprehension for doing. The thought of wielding such leverage would give him a significant advantage when he inevitably threw his hat into the political arena. He refused to be a mere pawn, manipulated by those with wealth and status.
This way, he could control the game from the start.
However, a nagging voice in the back of his mind cautioned him. Using necromantic summons for espionage was hardly an original idea. Surely, some of the more paranoid nobles would have measures in place to detect and counter such tactics. He would need to tread carefully, lest the ravens be discovered and his plans unraveled before they began.
Still, the potential rewards outweighed the risks. With careful planning and execution, he could amass a wealth of compromising information, giving him the power to shape the kingdom’s policies for the betterment of its people. It was an ambitious gambit, but one he felt was worth pursuing despite the moral wound he’d receive from doing it.
Then, when the time is right—I can report them to the Emperor.
Ethan’s gaze drifted back to the raven, its lifeless eyes seeming to bore into him.
A wry smile tugged at his lips. Let’s see what secrets you can uncover for me, my little friend. Thinking so, he added a line saying that he would like to meet Jack sometime and talk about a “business opportunity”—after all, talking about such illegal activities that he was thinking of doing wouldn’t be wise over a letter.
...
A pleasant surprise awaited Ethan in his manor. A middle-aged man in simple attire paced within the living room. He had light, close-cut brown hair and brown skin. The stranger had sharp features, a salt-and-pepper beard, and a kind face that seemed easy on the eyes. Upon seeing Ethan, the man’s features stretched into a deeper smile as he bowed.
“Lord Theodore. I am Derrick. My apologies for the unscheduled visit.”
“It’s alright. I’m not sure if we have met before, Sir Derrick,” Ethan responded, glancing at Roland who appeared to have recognized the man. Roland gave Ethan a look that said I know this man, and he’s here for business.
“Indeed, we haven’t, my lord. I am Derrick, and I used to be a member of the Red Tower. I come here to talk about introductory books that you might interested in—and a far better deal that could benefit the both of us.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow, then smiled.
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Synopsis:
An engineer from earth blends science and magic to achieve greatness in another world where skills and levels reign supreme.
—
Ethan was just a plain old engineer, but everything changed when he was reborn into a world of skills, levels, and magic. With his advanced knowledge far ahead of the time period he finds himself in, this new reincarnated life will be much different than his last, especially because he can construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct runes—something no one else can do.
But with royal politics, looming tax collectors, a mountain of debt, dungeon incursions, cults, and hostile fantasy races mixing together into a cocktail of bullshit that threatens to bury his dreams; Ethan must bridge the gap between steel and sorcery to grow stronger. — What to Expect:
- Weak to very strong progression with a Sword & Magic MC that kicks a whole lotta ass. - Fast pacing. A balance of action galore, politics, kingdom building, and slow-burn runecrafting. - Fun, satisfying moments. An extra shot of happiness when reading. Hardcore wish fulfillment. Hyper competent MC. - MC will trigger an industrial revolution, abolish slavery, revolutionize magic, modernize agriculture, communication, commerce, textile production, education, transportation, sanitation, weapons manufacturing, leisure & entertainment, and medicine. - Dark truths of a medieval-esque society going under change.
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Chapter 10

Ethan surveyed the men before him, schooling his expression. Cedric was one of his advisors, a lean man, taller than the average in Holden, and wiry, but with the unmistakable long and callused fingers of someone well skilled with a bow. It was odd to see such features, but Ethan wasn’t one to point it out or talk about it. A perpetual worried crease etched between his brows; he shuffled a stack of parchments.
Beside him, Roland stood with a hand on the pommel of his sword—a habit Ethan had grown accustomed to. Leaning back, Ethan opened his mouth.
“Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get through this.”
Cedric cleared his throat. “First, my lord, the harvest report.” He unfolded the top parchment. “The rains were late this year, my lord. We’re looking at a significant shortfall in barley and oats.”
Ethan frowned. “Roland,” he switched focus. “The scouting report on the bandits? Has Sir Thomas revealed something? What about the brigands?”
“Sir Thomas has been tight-lipped. The brigands have been bolder, my lord. Spotted them harassing farmsteads near Holden’s western border.
“Have we identified the culprits?”
“No, my Lord. But they seem organized, well-equipped. Too well-equipped, I might say.”
Ethan drummed his fingers on the desk. This wasn’t your typical ragtag group of cutthroats, that much was clear. “Some sort of a group, then.”
“Yes.”
“Mobilize a patrol. Set a few archers down range. Kill the bandits on sight, we can’t have them acting bolder.”
Roland nodded, his chin bobbing, face emotionless.
“Any other news? Have we received word from the neighboring barons regarding the proposed trade agreement?” Ethan asked.
“Yes, my lord. Sir Jack informed me that one of his ravens returned this morning; he says they spotted two men bearing the crest of the crown—”
“Tax collectors,” Ethan interrupted. “They should already be in Siez by now, then.”
Siez was a city two weeks’ ride from Holden.
“Well then, we must do something about the harvest,” Ethan murmured. He had some ideas, but all of them would require money.
“As for trade... Everyone has denied, like usual. Lord Ashton has been with Holden since Lord Baelgard’s death, but even he appears hesitant now. Cites concerns about the quality of our goods.”
“Hmm. Excuses.” Ethan sighed. “He doesn’t want to work with us anymore. He’s likely receiving pressure; I don’t blame him. I’ve offended quite a lot of nobles in my... teen years.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “We’ll send another sample,” Ethan decided, his voice firm. “Along with a personal letter outlining the benefits of trade with Holden, only this time, including soap; I’m sure he’ll latch onto the opportunity if he has some foresight.”
Ashton was playing politics, but they couldn’t afford to alienate their only potential trading partner.
The rest of the morning was spent in a similar vein—discussing minor squabbles amongst the populace, a few dead bodies that were reported, potential repairs needed on the crumbling town walls, and other matters regarding Holden.
***
Ethan entered the space sectioned off by iron grills inside the quarantined house in the outskirts of Holden. Covering his in a mask, he stepped over the grills, into the open hall with rows of beds lining both sides. He was here to take a look at the patients and if they were getting treated. They were. Undoubtedly. Some even showed signs of recovery. They stood up spotting him, then bowed.
“Lord Theodore! What an honor!” A woman said, then burst into tears holding onto her daughter’s hand. “Thank you for letting me live, Lord.” She sobbed as she buried her face on the sleeping child.
Ethan frowned, feeling uncomfortable. They hadn’t gone past their third stages of the disease. They weren’t even on their second one. That was why it’d been easier to treat them.
“Yes, my lord,” a man joined them, speaking. “You’re the only noble that’s spared us peasants a glance. Truly, thank you.”
Feeling even more uncomfortable, Ethan gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “I only hope you all get better.”
They smiled as he smiled back through the mask. Ethan quickly made his way out, then furrowed his brows as he met Miller outside. “Miller, why have you not pulled out those that have recovered? Letting them stay inside would only get them infected again or cause their condition to worsen.”
Miller’s face turned white. “My—my lord, but—but we cannot just remove them!” He took a deep breath. “If we let them go, they could infect others in Holden. If those infected catch wind of their neighbors recovering, wouldn’t they try to force their way into quarantine just to get healed and recover?” His eyes turned shifty, showing some sort of apprehension and panic.
Ethan glared. “Miller, you’re smart, are you not?” He narrowed his eyes. “Get them out of here, as soon as possible. I ordered everyone infected be brought in, logistics be damned! I’m paying it out of my pockets! You need not worry about those that might be infected. What do you even mean? We’re constantly on the lookout, if we found someone, they’d be here already.”
“Yes, about that, my lord,” Miller said nervously, looking away. “People fear. Many would rather stay quiet than let others know if they’re infected. Plus, it’s easier said than done. My men would get attacked. Anyone can get killed easily, they’re not Classed. or a large horde of desperate people might push forward in an instant.”
Ethan didn’t say anything. Gulping, Miller continued.
“And, my men are too few. There are not enough men to patrol and get the affected. Not to mention people would riot against it, fearing their loved ones are getting slaughtered for some ritual and that there’s no salvation. Especially given that a few dead bodies have been found recently,” Miller bowed, swallowed. “Forgive me for saying this, my lord, but people do not trust you.”
Miller slumped against his chair, staring at the ceiling. Ethan silently took his seat, thinking over what Miller had said. In the end, he could only sigh. “Get every infected here, do not worry about aurums.” It costed a lot of money—aurums—to get people treated. However, it wasn’t that much. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Ethan changed the subject. “Miller,” Ethan said. “How’re tests going?”
Miller frowned, a finger on his chin as he hummed thoughtfully. “We’ve encountered an issue; mostly with the later stage tainted. We’d expected it, too, however, we need some kind of a solution.”
“What issue?”
“Their skin is rotting; we cannot just have them use soap and hot water to keep clean. There needs to be something to address their wounds directly, first.” Miller sighed. “A [Healer], perhaps. But they’re expensive, my Lord. I am not sure if that is what you would want. Not to mention, another issue is that Sir Jack has yet to build something he calls nexus—he says you would know what that is. He’s currently using himself as said nexus, but says he would need to talk to you on that matter later to figure out some solution.”
“Is that so?” Ethan hummed, reclining back into his chair. Hiring a [Healer] would indeed be a pain. He was already paying Jack quite the sum each day, not to mention the [Beast Tamer] he’d had to hire to take care of Wynd. If he were to hire a [Healer] now, it would make a dent on his pockets that he wouldn’t be able to recover from. Not to mention, he needed to worry more about the financial situation now—the tax collectors would be arriving sooner or later, and the Merchants Guild would want their debt paid with interest. He couldn’t be stuck in a rut of indebtedness forever.
That said, soap would be excellent for the majority of the populace, the only time there would be an issue would be when someone’s already at the stage where their flesh starts to rot. If there were something, he had to consider it*... Are there alternatives?*
Unlikely.
Ethan took a breath, then leaned back into his chair, steepling his hands. What do I currently need?
Money. Money would solve a lot of his issues. Ethan hummed, stood up, then turned on his heel and walked out. Before getting out, however, he looked over his shoulder. “Tell Jack to keep working on updating the base spell. Make it more efficient, if possible. Leave the rest to me.”
I’ll figure something out...
He needed to—he wanted to.
Roland stood outside the carriage, and as he saw Ethan approaching, he turned to him. “My Lord.”
“Roland, let’s go,” Ethan said, grabbing the carriage’s handle, pulling the door open, and climbing inside. “We have work to do.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
Reclined against the cushioned seat of the carriage, Ethan hummed. The solution to getting more money was rather simple.
My masterpiece needs to hit the market. Ethan smiled.
***
Ethan settled into a routine; he’d wake up with the first rays of sunlight filtering through his window. He’d stretch, and feel the satisfying pops in his back before heading outside to find Wynd already waiting for him, tail wagging excitedly. They’d take a brisk run through the dewy field. Ethan would spend a good hour playing with Wynd. The [Beast Tamer] Grandma Millie had a natural connection with Wynd, and Ethan was learning to understand how to handle a wolf under her guidance. Ethan knew that Wynd wasn’t quite a normal magical beast, heck, he was sure that Wynd would sooner or later hit some kind of magical puberty that’ll sky rocket his intelligence and allow him to speak or whatever, but regardless of everything, learning how to handle him was a good move. He was, after all, quite like a pet right now.
Regardless, he’d practice the [Elemental Spells] he knew: fire and water.
One day, he finally leveled it up.
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 9 -> Lvl 10!
Warning: Level cap for [Elemental Spells] reached; satisfy the conditions to upgrade [Elemental Spells].
Interesting. Ethan thought, rubbing his chin. However, given that there was no information, he was confused so as to how to satisfy said conditions. I will figure it out, he shrugged, for now, I need to learn the other elements first.
Aside from that particular day’s highlight, his routine would continue as usual. After a satisfying breakfast, it would be time to get down to business. He’d perfected the basic soap recipe, and now it was time to ramp up production. With the success in making the first batch of soap, and the thought of making money, quick, in his mind, he’d started working extra hard to get more soap made. He found himself busier than ever. He’d sit in there for hours and create rune motes after rune motes. One by one, they’d materialize on top of his palms, swirling tiny fireflies.
Just like usual, one particular day, he was creating rune motes.
Ten… twenty… thirty… his brow furrowed in concentration.
Forty… fifty… and then, sixty rune motes. [Basic Rune Creation] skill leveled up, too, and a satisfied grin spread across his face the two times it did level up.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 5 -> Lvl 6!
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 6 -> Lvl 7!
The number of motes he could create and the speed at which he did it had noticeably improved after each level. It drained his mana reserves daily. He’d often find himself with a dull ache behind his eyes, but he’d pushed on regardless, ignoring the beginnings of a headache and sometimes it’d blow into a full-blown migraine due to his stubbornness.
One such afternoon, as he slumped, massaging his temples, an idea struck him.
“Meditation,” he murmured. Perhaps focusing his mind inward, like calming a churning lake, could help manage his mana pool. It was usually like that in those novels he used to read back in middle school.
The first few days were frustrating. He sat cross-legged on a cushion, eyes closed, trying to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept flitting back to the ever-growing pile of soap base and the dwindling supply of rune motes (Jack hadn’t disappointed him, after all; the man was fast and his money’s worth, if not more. In fact, Ethan found it harder to keep up). Just as he was getting frustrated, a warmth bloomed within him, a gentle hum that resonated deep within something he could only describe as a core. He cracked open his eyes, a surprised gasp escaping his lips.
A notification appeared before him.
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While uncommon, you can get yeast infection sores. But genital sores can also occur with health conditions like genital herpes. Thrush, a yeast infection that affects the mouth and tongue, also causes sores.
Yes, you can get yeast infection sores, but they’re not common in most yeast infections. Sores or blisters usually form from other skin conditions, such as a rash, that stem from the yeast infection.
If you have sores or blisters, you should see your doctor to make sure they’re not caused by a more serious condition such as herpes.
east infections are caused by an overgrowth of Candida. Candida is a family of yeast that occurs naturally within your body. When there’s an imbalance of yeast versus good bacteria, the yeast takes over in the form of a fungal infection called candidiasis.
Symptoms of genital yeast infections include:
pain while urinating
itching of the genitals
redness around the genitals
pain with intercourse
thick white discharge