Quizzes for human muscles
Face_Yoga
2020.04.22 01:14 allokaynow Face_Yoga
The Face Yoga is a series of face exercises developed to exercise all major muscle groups in the face. Those exercises can easily take five years off of your face in several short months if done correctly. This system is for anyone, effective for both males and females, who want to put their best face forward. Each one of those face muscles can be exercised which can drastically improve facial appearance.
2018.12.04 05:00 Bahamut6sic6 Crushers out to play
Do you find yourself enjoying crush play, watching those with super-human strength using their size, muscles and incredible power for something other than just for show? Maybe, you're a crusher yourself? This group could be for you! Possible +18 NSFW content ahead
2011.08.03 19:13 amIstillHere Human Anatomy & Physiology I
2024.05.18 22:04 lolswainbot [GHS.] 2omething Sacred
OCD
This is a story about humans and animals,
In the same way a story may be about dogs and animals, cats and animals, fish and animals, bugs and animals, or birds and animals.
Snow.
All Sacrosanct could see for a million paces was snow — or were they clouds? The two began to merge at the boundaries of his sight as he stood at the peak of a national mountain. It must’ve been the tallest in town — or at least the top five.
It was a scenic landscape. A blank canvas accentuated by the unoften protrusions of mountain peaks. No trees, no birds, no plants, no animals. Only stone and snow. It was the type of serenity the usually outgoing Sacrosanct couldn’t help but be entranced by. It was an infectious zen.
He had never been this high up in the sky before — never above the clouds. Perhaps this was how the Goddess and the demon God viewed the world — or once viewed it, anyway. Blinding. Both the light that reflected off the white, and the clouds that obscured the sight. It was blinding to be a god.
The hero somehow felt that the mountain seemed familiar. If the nature of the monument was anything to go by — its dramatic shape as if it had received an earth-shattering blow against its side — this must’ve been New Amstangrad. The home of the humans.
“...Now how the hell do I get down from here?”
Before the blistering cold could begin to seep into his skin, Sacrosanct quickly activated his talent to keep himself warm. He hated the cold more than anything else, and it’d been terrible to arrive at the castle cold-ridden. The hero first began to move himself around, gaining momentum and tempo. It would be important to keep conscious amidst the blinding snow and to not fall asleep. Thankfully, it was he who found himself mysteriously atop a mountain and not anyone else.
Before he knew it, his body already began to warm up, then in an instant, his body was lit ablaze by his internal ‘passion’.
Now that he was warm and alive, he could finally begin critically processing the information he was given. Two main aspects of his current situation bothered him:
Firstly, he felt a bit younger, by around 4 or 5 years. Perhaps something had healed him from his injuries over the years, and his joints felt better than ever. The massive scar on his back stayed intact though, but then again, it was almost a part of his identity now anyways. This was one of the greatest consequences of being in the hero ‘business’; the deterioration of the body.
Day in and day out, he always worked his muscles off his bones. It must’ve been especially difficult compared to other historic heroes as he was a hero in a newly built nation under a new King. But then again, that King was his friend, June, so perhaps he had it better than he thought.
A core memory of his was when June celebrated Wundermastenn for the first time as a King. It had been an especially long and difficult year, as she rebuilt the nation from its core with the help of neighbouring kingdoms. The winter season was the only time she could relax and celebrate their achievements.
Sacrosanct still remembered her face when the mountain of presents for her was unveiled on the day of Wundermastenn. As a former thief, she must’ve never seen so many valuable items — for her to legally own. However, it was not about the value of the gifts, nor their quality or quantity. The true Wundermastenn gift was the love that June now knew she received. She no longer had to steal in the cold, unforgiving streets of Amstangrad, but now celebrated in the warm company of others, and worked to build a nation in which no one would ever have to suffer as she did.
Cold. Warm. It is vital for all creatures to be together, but sometimes, people need to be away and alone from each other. This was the first time in a while that he had the leisure to reminisce about the past. This was the first time in a while that he was alone. Alone with his thoughts. In the company of nothing but snow, Sacrosanct could finally see how much he had changed on the inside over these last few years, but on the outside, he was not much different. In the end, he was still an elf named Sacrosanct, and probably not the only one.
Secondly… why was he atop a mountain? The last memory he could conjure was of the time when he battled his greatest foe, the demon lord… Baroque — that was his name. Though to be completely honest, his true greatest foe was the old Amstangrad.
The hero supposed that the demon lord was a sort of manifestation of Amstangrad. Its fascistic qualities inspired Baroque and many others. It was a sort of intrinsic genetic disease in all sentient life, though there were many such things. Sacrosanct believed that the human evils — greed, lust, pride and such — were not human evils. Rather, they were universal evils shared by all sentient life forms. He knew best as an elf.
He believed that if dogs were smart enough, with enough time, they would also create a fascist nation. The real question would be how long they would last, and how large of an impact it would make.
It was just that kind of world. A world that encouraged dogs to eat dogs, and humans to eat humans. None were any different. Given weapons, life will kill.
And given a weapon he was. Sacrosanct had one of the greatest weapons of them all. A talent originating from the heavens, granted by the Goddess.
On that Wundermastenn day, June too was given a gift. An extraordinary gift from the kingdom of Sonosis. A weapon of mass destruction.
At the corner of his eye, he spotted a white rabbit, cleverly hiding amidst the winter snow. From the look of things, it would take hours to hike down the mountains, and like all animals, Sacrosanct had to eat somehow.
“...Well, sorry, little guy,” said Sacrosanct, “I need to return to New Amstangrad as soon as possible!”
Return to New Amstangrad… Sacrosanct had said so as if it was his second nature, but he remembered his promise to June, to never look back. He would return to his home in Championnat, and he’d reunite with his dear friend if fate willed it so.
Sacrosanct wondered if June had any plans to use the weapon, as he aimed his finger to blast it with a fire spell.
In a single moment, the heat travelled through the air, the intensity of the passion transforming all air in the way to plasma. The surrounding area became blinding as the white snow reflected the shining fireball. It was like a shooting star or a meteorite, travelling and lighting up the sky until it met its target.
However, as Sacrosanct walked to retrieve the body of the rabbit before it burned too much, the snow atop the mountain began crumbling as an avalanche began.
“Woah?!”
It seemed that a single spell was all it took to destabilize the carefully stacked snow, and soon, the hero was swept away in a torrent of white, sending him away again into another place, another time.
submitted by lolswainbot to EonsRequiem [link] [comments]
This is a story about humans and animals,
In the same way a story may be about dogs and animals, cats and animals, fish and animals, bugs and animals, or birds and animals.
Snow.
All Sacrosanct could see for a million paces was snow — or were they clouds? The two began to merge at the boundaries of his sight as he stood at the peak of a national mountain. It must’ve been the tallest in town — or at least the top five.
It was a scenic landscape. A blank canvas accentuated by the unoften protrusions of mountain peaks. No trees, no birds, no plants, no animals. Only stone and snow. It was the type of serenity the usually outgoing Sacrosanct couldn’t help but be entranced by. It was an infectious zen.
He had never been this high up in the sky before — never above the clouds. Perhaps this was how the Goddess and the demon God viewed the world — or once viewed it, anyway. Blinding. Both the light that reflected off the white, and the clouds that obscured the sight. It was blinding to be a god.
The hero somehow felt that the mountain seemed familiar. If the nature of the monument was anything to go by — its dramatic shape as if it had received an earth-shattering blow against its side — this must’ve been New Amstangrad. The home of the humans.
“...Now how the hell do I get down from here?”
Before the blistering cold could begin to seep into his skin, Sacrosanct quickly activated his talent to keep himself warm. He hated the cold more than anything else, and it’d been terrible to arrive at the castle cold-ridden. The hero first began to move himself around, gaining momentum and tempo. It would be important to keep conscious amidst the blinding snow and to not fall asleep. Thankfully, it was he who found himself mysteriously atop a mountain and not anyone else.
Before he knew it, his body already began to warm up, then in an instant, his body was lit ablaze by his internal ‘passion’.
Now that he was warm and alive, he could finally begin critically processing the information he was given. Two main aspects of his current situation bothered him:
Firstly, he felt a bit younger, by around 4 or 5 years. Perhaps something had healed him from his injuries over the years, and his joints felt better than ever. The massive scar on his back stayed intact though, but then again, it was almost a part of his identity now anyways. This was one of the greatest consequences of being in the hero ‘business’; the deterioration of the body.
Day in and day out, he always worked his muscles off his bones. It must’ve been especially difficult compared to other historic heroes as he was a hero in a newly built nation under a new King. But then again, that King was his friend, June, so perhaps he had it better than he thought.
A core memory of his was when June celebrated Wundermastenn for the first time as a King. It had been an especially long and difficult year, as she rebuilt the nation from its core with the help of neighbouring kingdoms. The winter season was the only time she could relax and celebrate their achievements.
Sacrosanct still remembered her face when the mountain of presents for her was unveiled on the day of Wundermastenn. As a former thief, she must’ve never seen so many valuable items — for her to legally own. However, it was not about the value of the gifts, nor their quality or quantity. The true Wundermastenn gift was the love that June now knew she received. She no longer had to steal in the cold, unforgiving streets of Amstangrad, but now celebrated in the warm company of others, and worked to build a nation in which no one would ever have to suffer as she did.
Cold. Warm. It is vital for all creatures to be together, but sometimes, people need to be away and alone from each other. This was the first time in a while that he had the leisure to reminisce about the past. This was the first time in a while that he was alone. Alone with his thoughts. In the company of nothing but snow, Sacrosanct could finally see how much he had changed on the inside over these last few years, but on the outside, he was not much different. In the end, he was still an elf named Sacrosanct, and probably not the only one.
Secondly… why was he atop a mountain? The last memory he could conjure was of the time when he battled his greatest foe, the demon lord… Baroque — that was his name. Though to be completely honest, his true greatest foe was the old Amstangrad.
The hero supposed that the demon lord was a sort of manifestation of Amstangrad. Its fascistic qualities inspired Baroque and many others. It was a sort of intrinsic genetic disease in all sentient life, though there were many such things. Sacrosanct believed that the human evils — greed, lust, pride and such — were not human evils. Rather, they were universal evils shared by all sentient life forms. He knew best as an elf.
He believed that if dogs were smart enough, with enough time, they would also create a fascist nation. The real question would be how long they would last, and how large of an impact it would make.
It was just that kind of world. A world that encouraged dogs to eat dogs, and humans to eat humans. None were any different. Given weapons, life will kill.
And given a weapon he was. Sacrosanct had one of the greatest weapons of them all. A talent originating from the heavens, granted by the Goddess.
On that Wundermastenn day, June too was given a gift. An extraordinary gift from the kingdom of Sonosis. A weapon of mass destruction.
At the corner of his eye, he spotted a white rabbit, cleverly hiding amidst the winter snow. From the look of things, it would take hours to hike down the mountains, and like all animals, Sacrosanct had to eat somehow.
“...Well, sorry, little guy,” said Sacrosanct, “I need to return to New Amstangrad as soon as possible!”
Return to New Amstangrad… Sacrosanct had said so as if it was his second nature, but he remembered his promise to June, to never look back. He would return to his home in Championnat, and he’d reunite with his dear friend if fate willed it so.
Sacrosanct wondered if June had any plans to use the weapon, as he aimed his finger to blast it with a fire spell.
In a single moment, the heat travelled through the air, the intensity of the passion transforming all air in the way to plasma. The surrounding area became blinding as the white snow reflected the shining fireball. It was like a shooting star or a meteorite, travelling and lighting up the sky until it met its target.
However, as Sacrosanct walked to retrieve the body of the rabbit before it burned too much, the snow atop the mountain began crumbling as an avalanche began.
“Woah?!”
It seemed that a single spell was all it took to destabilize the carefully stacked snow, and soon, the hero was swept away in a torrent of white, sending him away again into another place, another time.
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submitted by MortgageRich3613 to Statisticshelpers_ [link] [comments]
ASSESSMENTS I CAN COMPLETE:
- Online Courses (1 - 20 Weeks Long)
- Homework Assignments
- Exams Quizzes Tests
- Excel Projects
- Discussion Forum Posts
- Research Papers Term Papers Essays
- Employment Assessments
I am very knowledgeable and proficient in assisting students in a wide range of mathematics classes. I can help students complete their homework assignments and other projects get an A on quizzes, tests, and exams (including proctored assessments) answer online discussion posts write essays & papers in MLA APA Chicago format and provide general overall academic help in each math course listed below:
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- AP Statistics
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- Business Calculus
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- Geometry
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2024.05.18 21:52 Jaded-Mycologist-831 Anyways here’s poems + History Boys
Tissue
Polysemous title- Tissue • Tissue- paper + skin (human life is fragile [criticises arrogance, encourages us to protect]) • Also paper (not alive) + skin (alive)- criticises monotony of life, not really living • Tissue paper- found in bibles and holy texts, but fragile (overinflated importance of identity causing wars and discrimination, really it’s very fragile and identity isn’t real, we’re all just people (tissue as in skin)) • Tissue- used to wipe away tears, togetherness can reduce suffering • Tissue- medical term for deep skin- poem shows deeper nature of humans and our potential for goodness, can be wounded and damaged by outside influences but can always heal
"Paper that lets the light shine through, this is what could alter things" - reference to religious texts paper, light as Jesus and Allah (power of religion) - or coexistence with nature (Dharker is a Muslim Calvinist)
Enjambment- freedom, lack of control of humans, rejecting constraints
Free verse- same thing
"Let the daylight break through capitals and monoliths" - power of nature, criticism of authority, weakness of humans- “break” violent personification, destroying authority, daylight + break = sunrise + hope
"The sun shines through their borderlines" - nature overcomes human segregation identity, criticism of war, power of nature) sibilance shows power, “their” still shows separation, criticise that
"fly our lives like paper kites" - childish metaphor, mocking control of money over life (criticism of authority)
"the back of the Koran" - “the” repetition shows importance, “back” shows it is hidden/shunned by society, still holding onto identity
"Transparent" - repetition, criticism of dishonesty of authority
Exposure
"Merciless iced east winds that knive us" - personification of wind shanking people (first line not about war but nature- more significant) (power of nature)- subtle sibilance (just as dangerous as bullets but most people don’t realise)- Germans were in the east, but the only thing from there is wind
ABBAC rhyme, structure is built only to be taken down (tension of soldiers expecting fight but let down)
Pararhyme- unsatisfying for reader, reflects how the soldiers are always nervous but never get to chill
“What are we doing here?” Rhetorical question to criticise authority, or actual question to show PTSD confusion, can be asking what they are DOING or why they are HERE
"For love of God seems dying" ok 1. The soldier's love of God is dying 2. God's love for the soldiers is dying 3. To show love of God, you should die
"forgotten dreams" - juxtaposition, loss of hope, forgotten dreams on purpose to be less sad? war made them forget? “forgotten” disassociated from PTSD, “dreams” as happiness from the past that seems unreal
“a dull rumour of some other war" reference to the Bible and Armageddon, metaphorical end of the world for the soldiers be suffering "sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence" - sibilance represents sound of bullets, jolting reader out of relative lack of noises, feel like soldiers
Epistrophe "but nothing happens" cyclical structure, stuck in suffering
“we” “us” “our” collective pronouns, shared experience, comradeship, loss of identity, relatable to all soldiers
Kamikaze
Title- single word, only military rank- only seen as a kamikaze pilot by others
Structure- 6 lines per stanza but free verse and lots of enjambment- conflict between control and freedom (military/social expectations/duty vs love for family/nature/memories/life)
Constant shifts between first person and third person- disconnect from family due to shame
“Her father embarked at sunrise” -sunrise as power of nature + Japan’s military flag- conflict
“a shaven head full of powerful incantations” -incantations are deliberately vague- orders from military? prayers? inner conscience against it? It’s “powerful” tho and influences him, and it’s “full” showing his distress, shaved head like most kamikaze pilots
“green-blue translucent sea” beautiful imagery, “translucent” shows how things are unclear but getting clearer- nature helps him decide what to do
Describes fishes “like a huge flag”- patriotic semantic field shows brainwashing, but reduces as the poem goes on, simile shows how he is starting to disconnect and change his mind,
also as “a figure of eight”- shows thoughts of pride and prosperity-
“The dark shoals of fishes/flashing silver as their bellies/swivelled towards the sun” - • sibilance shows ocean noises and beauty, “dark” -> “flashing silver” things get brighter and easier to see- knows what to do thanks to nature • “Silver”- medals he would have gotten for being a kamikaze pilot, but true reward is in nature • “Sun”- represents beauty of nature and also Japanese flag- conflict but now there’s also nature in the mix • Belly up- death on his mind
“bringing their father’s home safe/-yes, grandfather’s boat- safe” repetition of “safe” shows reason to come back- wants to return to family, memories
“a tuna, the dark prince, muscular, dangerous.” • first mention of danger = power in the whole poem, danger to the mission as it causes the pilot to have doubts, true power is in nature and memory • First full stop in the poem and lots of commas- makes us stop and think like the pilot about what he’s abt to do
“laughed” “loved” at the end of the poem- all in past tense- nothing left for the soldier
“we too learned to be silent”- “learned” should be positive but contrasts with what they learnt- criticises how they were taught shame by the older generations- but it’s said in first person, the daughter is criticising this and teaching her children not to think that way
Poppies
Title- honours and grieves dead soldiers, short single word title shows full intent of the poem and how the mother’s life is consumed by grief
Dramatic monologue- emphasis on the domestic impact and how the soldier isn’t present in the poem
Free verse, enjambment- chaotic, lack of control over the son, distressed
Domestic + military semantic fields- life has been ruined by war
“Spasms of paper red, disrupting a blockade of yellow bias”- mix between war + domestic • “spasms” and “red” is injury and pain- mother is worried or is hurt by letting go (spasms is involuntary muscle action- involuntary letting go), • “paper” is the fragility of the son • “blockade” is military language showing her worry abt the conflict, how she wants to “block” her son from going into the military • “disrupting” the fabric - the son becoming a soldier disrupts the peace or she is trying to disrupt him from going to war
“The dove pulled freely against the sky, / an ornamental stitch”- dove represents peace and grief- she and her son is at peace with death, “pulled freely” is an oxymoron- inner conflict with grief or letting her son go, the comma shows a pause to reflect on the grief, the “ornamental stitch” metaphor for the mother (pretends to hold it together)
“I was brave”- takes down ideas of just the soldier’s bravery but also the mother’s, but past tense shows current weakness from grief
“Sellotape bandaged around my hand” • Bandage shows wounds • Sticks them together one last time- cat hairs are removed, no more reason to stay • Claustrophobic feeling- stuck in the domestic role, can’t go and protect the son
“Blackthorns of your hair”- religious connotations of Jesus on the cross, sacrificed for the country- metaphor for the son
History Boys
"Enemy of education" war metaphor and alliteration, opposition between true understanding of literature and grades only used shallowly “Cheat’s Visa”
"a fact of life" indisputable and unchangable, in opposition with Irwin's views on history (truth does not matter to him until now?)
Drummer Hodge: Intertextuality, Tom Hardy (the poet) represents Hector, sympathising with the ordeal of the youth, Drummer Hodge represents the Boys, thrown into the chaos of life without proper guidance
"She's my western front" war metaphor objectifies Fiona, personal pronoun further expresses how women were seen as objects to be owned
“... all the other shrunken violets you people line up" [you people] segregates gay people, [shrunken violets] derogatory language
"Some of the literature says it will pass" looking to literature for solace and comfort during a sexuality crisis
"All literature is consolation" Dakin changes his mind on literature symbolising him changing to Irwin's side. No need to look for solace in literature when he can pursue Irwin
Parallels with "all knowledge is precious" from Hector - A.E. Housman, one of the first intertextualities and used in the intro to establish his character
“cunt-struck” “a cunt”- Mrs Lintott repeats the colloquialism “cunt” twice, to describe Dakin as “cunt-struck” and Headmaster as “a cunt”. This is the hardest swear in the play and is used show that it wasn’t a slip of the tongue, and to break down stereotypes of women being gentle and passive
“history is women following behind with the bucket” - her big scene about women in history at the end of the play (which is typical for Alan Benett’s plays such as “Kafka’s Dick”) so it would be recent and stay in the audience’s mind when the show ended
Irwin intro as politician in the future "etc., etc." while talking abt freedom- that man gives no fucks about freedom really, just waffling on (first impression for the audience too!!)
Parallel with Holocaust debate- Lockwood uses the SAME EXACT PHRASE while talking abt how the holocaust was bad, (dismissiveness of mass genocide? in this education system? it’s more likely than you think) then goes on to argue that they should be unique with their arguments- Irwin passed on thr mindset even on such an important subject
Hector is set up to be looking cool and all (motorcycle scene dramaticness, greek name connotations, fav teacher) but is absolutely uncool when we get to know him- purposeful? "studied eccentricity" and all. clinging onto youth?
Posner is actually rather helpful as the "dictionary person" bc i doubt the audiences know what "otiose" means
SCRIPPS IS THE MOST RELIGIOUS ONE AND CLOSEST TO POSNER it can dismantle the idea that religion is against queerness
Irwin didnt know how nietzche was pronounced bc from what we know of him he would call Dakin out on that
submitted by Jaded-Mycologist-831 to GCSE [link] [comments]
Polysemous title- Tissue • Tissue- paper + skin (human life is fragile [criticises arrogance, encourages us to protect]) • Also paper (not alive) + skin (alive)- criticises monotony of life, not really living • Tissue paper- found in bibles and holy texts, but fragile (overinflated importance of identity causing wars and discrimination, really it’s very fragile and identity isn’t real, we’re all just people (tissue as in skin)) • Tissue- used to wipe away tears, togetherness can reduce suffering • Tissue- medical term for deep skin- poem shows deeper nature of humans and our potential for goodness, can be wounded and damaged by outside influences but can always heal
"Paper that lets the light shine through, this is what could alter things" - reference to religious texts paper, light as Jesus and Allah (power of religion) - or coexistence with nature (Dharker is a Muslim Calvinist)
Enjambment- freedom, lack of control of humans, rejecting constraints
Free verse- same thing
"Let the daylight break through capitals and monoliths" - power of nature, criticism of authority, weakness of humans- “break” violent personification, destroying authority, daylight + break = sunrise + hope
"The sun shines through their borderlines" - nature overcomes human segregation identity, criticism of war, power of nature) sibilance shows power, “their” still shows separation, criticise that
"fly our lives like paper kites" - childish metaphor, mocking control of money over life (criticism of authority)
"the back of the Koran" - “the” repetition shows importance, “back” shows it is hidden/shunned by society, still holding onto identity
"Transparent" - repetition, criticism of dishonesty of authority
Exposure
"Merciless iced east winds that knive us" - personification of wind shanking people (first line not about war but nature- more significant) (power of nature)- subtle sibilance (just as dangerous as bullets but most people don’t realise)- Germans were in the east, but the only thing from there is wind
ABBAC rhyme, structure is built only to be taken down (tension of soldiers expecting fight but let down)
Pararhyme- unsatisfying for reader, reflects how the soldiers are always nervous but never get to chill
“What are we doing here?” Rhetorical question to criticise authority, or actual question to show PTSD confusion, can be asking what they are DOING or why they are HERE
"For love of God seems dying" ok 1. The soldier's love of God is dying 2. God's love for the soldiers is dying 3. To show love of God, you should die
"forgotten dreams" - juxtaposition, loss of hope, forgotten dreams on purpose to be less sad? war made them forget? “forgotten” disassociated from PTSD, “dreams” as happiness from the past that seems unreal
“a dull rumour of some other war" reference to the Bible and Armageddon, metaphorical end of the world for the soldiers be suffering "sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence" - sibilance represents sound of bullets, jolting reader out of relative lack of noises, feel like soldiers
Epistrophe "but nothing happens" cyclical structure, stuck in suffering
“we” “us” “our” collective pronouns, shared experience, comradeship, loss of identity, relatable to all soldiers
Kamikaze
Title- single word, only military rank- only seen as a kamikaze pilot by others
Structure- 6 lines per stanza but free verse and lots of enjambment- conflict between control and freedom (military/social expectations/duty vs love for family/nature/memories/life)
Constant shifts between first person and third person- disconnect from family due to shame
“Her father embarked at sunrise” -sunrise as power of nature + Japan’s military flag- conflict
“a shaven head full of powerful incantations” -incantations are deliberately vague- orders from military? prayers? inner conscience against it? It’s “powerful” tho and influences him, and it’s “full” showing his distress, shaved head like most kamikaze pilots
“green-blue translucent sea” beautiful imagery, “translucent” shows how things are unclear but getting clearer- nature helps him decide what to do
Describes fishes “like a huge flag”- patriotic semantic field shows brainwashing, but reduces as the poem goes on, simile shows how he is starting to disconnect and change his mind,
also as “a figure of eight”- shows thoughts of pride and prosperity-
“The dark shoals of fishes/flashing silver as their bellies/swivelled towards the sun” - • sibilance shows ocean noises and beauty, “dark” -> “flashing silver” things get brighter and easier to see- knows what to do thanks to nature • “Silver”- medals he would have gotten for being a kamikaze pilot, but true reward is in nature • “Sun”- represents beauty of nature and also Japanese flag- conflict but now there’s also nature in the mix • Belly up- death on his mind
“bringing their father’s home safe/-yes, grandfather’s boat- safe” repetition of “safe” shows reason to come back- wants to return to family, memories
“a tuna, the dark prince, muscular, dangerous.” • first mention of danger = power in the whole poem, danger to the mission as it causes the pilot to have doubts, true power is in nature and memory • First full stop in the poem and lots of commas- makes us stop and think like the pilot about what he’s abt to do
“laughed” “loved” at the end of the poem- all in past tense- nothing left for the soldier
“we too learned to be silent”- “learned” should be positive but contrasts with what they learnt- criticises how they were taught shame by the older generations- but it’s said in first person, the daughter is criticising this and teaching her children not to think that way
Poppies
Title- honours and grieves dead soldiers, short single word title shows full intent of the poem and how the mother’s life is consumed by grief
Dramatic monologue- emphasis on the domestic impact and how the soldier isn’t present in the poem
Free verse, enjambment- chaotic, lack of control over the son, distressed
Domestic + military semantic fields- life has been ruined by war
“Spasms of paper red, disrupting a blockade of yellow bias”- mix between war + domestic • “spasms” and “red” is injury and pain- mother is worried or is hurt by letting go (spasms is involuntary muscle action- involuntary letting go), • “paper” is the fragility of the son • “blockade” is military language showing her worry abt the conflict, how she wants to “block” her son from going into the military • “disrupting” the fabric - the son becoming a soldier disrupts the peace or she is trying to disrupt him from going to war
“The dove pulled freely against the sky, / an ornamental stitch”- dove represents peace and grief- she and her son is at peace with death, “pulled freely” is an oxymoron- inner conflict with grief or letting her son go, the comma shows a pause to reflect on the grief, the “ornamental stitch” metaphor for the mother (pretends to hold it together)
“I was brave”- takes down ideas of just the soldier’s bravery but also the mother’s, but past tense shows current weakness from grief
“Sellotape bandaged around my hand” • Bandage shows wounds • Sticks them together one last time- cat hairs are removed, no more reason to stay • Claustrophobic feeling- stuck in the domestic role, can’t go and protect the son
“Blackthorns of your hair”- religious connotations of Jesus on the cross, sacrificed for the country- metaphor for the son
History Boys
"Enemy of education" war metaphor and alliteration, opposition between true understanding of literature and grades only used shallowly “Cheat’s Visa”
"a fact of life" indisputable and unchangable, in opposition with Irwin's views on history (truth does not matter to him until now?)
Drummer Hodge: Intertextuality, Tom Hardy (the poet) represents Hector, sympathising with the ordeal of the youth, Drummer Hodge represents the Boys, thrown into the chaos of life without proper guidance
"She's my western front" war metaphor objectifies Fiona, personal pronoun further expresses how women were seen as objects to be owned
“... all the other shrunken violets you people line up" [you people] segregates gay people, [shrunken violets] derogatory language
"Some of the literature says it will pass" looking to literature for solace and comfort during a sexuality crisis
"All literature is consolation" Dakin changes his mind on literature symbolising him changing to Irwin's side. No need to look for solace in literature when he can pursue Irwin
Parallels with "all knowledge is precious" from Hector - A.E. Housman, one of the first intertextualities and used in the intro to establish his character
“cunt-struck” “a cunt”- Mrs Lintott repeats the colloquialism “cunt” twice, to describe Dakin as “cunt-struck” and Headmaster as “a cunt”. This is the hardest swear in the play and is used show that it wasn’t a slip of the tongue, and to break down stereotypes of women being gentle and passive
“history is women following behind with the bucket” - her big scene about women in history at the end of the play (which is typical for Alan Benett’s plays such as “Kafka’s Dick”) so it would be recent and stay in the audience’s mind when the show ended
Irwin intro as politician in the future "etc., etc." while talking abt freedom- that man gives no fucks about freedom really, just waffling on (first impression for the audience too!!)
Parallel with Holocaust debate- Lockwood uses the SAME EXACT PHRASE while talking abt how the holocaust was bad, (dismissiveness of mass genocide? in this education system? it’s more likely than you think) then goes on to argue that they should be unique with their arguments- Irwin passed on thr mindset even on such an important subject
Hector is set up to be looking cool and all (motorcycle scene dramaticness, greek name connotations, fav teacher) but is absolutely uncool when we get to know him- purposeful? "studied eccentricity" and all. clinging onto youth?
Posner is actually rather helpful as the "dictionary person" bc i doubt the audiences know what "otiose" means
SCRIPPS IS THE MOST RELIGIOUS ONE AND CLOSEST TO POSNER it can dismantle the idea that religion is against queerness
Irwin didnt know how nietzche was pronounced bc from what we know of him he would call Dakin out on that
2024.05.18 21:32 Azurecertificates Best online statistics class help Reddit
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Website: hiraedu. com
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2024.05.18 21:29 Kuroihane Feathers (Kassandra Curze focused little funny short story)
(Premise: Kassandra stays loyal, she was helped with her condition regarding visions by her sister Sanguinia with whom she grew close.)
Night Hauntress’ sister knelt next to their Father’s mutilated body. Ignoring all pleas, Kassandra went past the bleeding Emperor and came up to another body lying on the floor of Vengeful Spirit.
Constillation of rubies, Great Angel’s blood covered her blindingly white wings, horrifically decorated her beautiful face. Painting of gold, white and red, Kassandra Curze saw the world in wide strokes of brush, unable to perceive what she saw before her eyes. Unwilling to perceive. Night Hauntress stood there, staring at Sanguinia’s body, her eyes just gazing in nothingness. She never noticed as her Praetorian sister left, holding the Emperor of Mankind under arms.
Lagging units finally caught up to them, entering the sanctum. Warriors from Regalia’s Fists, their Father’s personal guard, Kassandra’s own Atramaentar.
Why did you come? she wanted to ask, The battle is over.
No one dared to come closer to the Night Hauntress as she froze over the Angel. Only Jago made a few steps, approaching the moveless figure of his Mother. Blood Angels were nowhere to be seen, while sounds of rampaging battle were coming closer to the sanctum.
Sudden scream of agony woke Kassandra from this trance. She turned to see the source of the sound. One man, whose height was so unnaturally smaller than that of super-humans he was surrounded by. Young man’s body twitched and squirmed in pain, as he grasped his head, covering eyes, as if trying not to see, pulling hair, as if trying not to think.
Ah, that mortal Sanguinia fancied, the thought was so mundane, it almost seemed as she simply met him in one of Red Tear’s golden corridors, she called him Dove, as I recall. Why is he weeping?
Figure of similar stature came up to Dove. Morgenstern placed a hand on the grieving man’s shoulder. Impression persisting on the assassin's face was impenetrable, but those standing close to him could notice as knuckles on his hand whitened.
Curze once again turned, returning gaze to her beloved sister. The only sister Kassandra could call beloved, even if she was shrugging, doing so. The only sister she wanted to call sister at all. Night Hauntress lowered herself, coming closer to Angel’s face.
You must be tired, she thought, your battle lasted for too long.
In one swift and tender motion Kassandra closed her sister’s eyes.
Night Hauntress stood up. Only now she noticed another figure lying on the deck. Her other sister sprawled dead in the puddle of liquefied flesh and blood, only her bare skull showing from terminator armor. As she slowly came up to Warmistress’ corpse, Kassandra's blank face finally changed, a mask of utter disdain and rage distorting Night Hauntress’ face. Long seconds passed until she moved again.
Loud crunch filled the sanctum, as Kassandra Curze lowered her boot.
***
“No.”
“Listen, you–”
“Ceremony protocol has already been decided. You’ll be near her as everyone else.”
Why, once in your damned life, why can’t you stop being an accursed wall of rockcreat bricks?! Kassandra Curze wanted to scream on top of her lungs, as she faced Praetorian of Terra. Night Hauntress wanted to strike her sister down right here and there, she wanted to keep punching this dull stone face, until it would turn into a bloody mush.
She could never understand, thought Kassandra bitterly, I doubt she ever tried.
Image of the past, image of Sanguinia, laughing at something that had seemed funny to her in Night Hauntress words, flashed Kassandra’s mind. She lowered her gaze, trying to hold her composure. Not for herself, but for someone who would be greatly disappointed in her, if she didn’t.
“If that’s all you wanted to talk about, then I shall leave”, Regalia turned, starting to walk away, “I have still many things to ate–”
“Wait!” Kassandra growled.
She dashed, catching her sister’s shoulder. Suddenly, an agonizing flash burned her mind. It was the second time her mind was attacked by a vision of a torn off hand, drifting in space among the debris. As Night Hauntress twitched in pain, she grabbed her head pushing nails deep into skin, trying to dull the vision.
Regalia turned back, embers of blazing anger started to appear in her eyes.
“Ngh–” Kassandra slightly groaned, trying to compose herself.
She managed to stand straight and, heavily breathing, looked in Regalia’s eyes.
“Re– Sister, please, it has to be me”, for the first time Unyielding One saw Night Hauntress to plead, and to plead so sincerely.
For some long moments they looked each other in the eyes, but now Regalia’s contained no fire. She saw something new in those purple eyes. Where previously lived only bitter irony and despair, now flickered determination.
Praetorian’s face softened up, enough only for the primarch to notice. Silent nod answered Kassandra’s plea.
***
Holding Angel in her arms, Kassandra Curze stepped into the biggest ceremonial hall on Terra. The biggest that wasn’t ruined by the Siege.
The hall seemed endless, countless caryatids supporting the enormous dome of the building, that became a new sky for all those present here. Images of marble and gold covered walls of the hall, images of the Emperor's most glorious victories, most fruitful of his conquests. Seeing them anywhere her eyes could reach, Kassandra felt sick.
What a jest.
She directed her gaze forward. As endless was this hall, as countless were people present here today. All those who fought and survived the Siege, all those who did not make it on time, standards for all those who fell. From simple guardsman to finest warrior of Adeptus Astartes, all these men and women were here today for the guard of honour. The last guard of honour for her who rested in Kassandra’s arms. Honour that could never be enough.
Complete silence. Complete silence surrounded Night Hauntress as she walked forward, only sounds echoing through the space being her own steps and steps of the two Astartes, Night Lord and Blood Angel, carrying Imperial and Blood Angel’s standards. Kassandra felt as if time slowed down the more steps she took.
As she went closer to the stairs of rockcreat podium, Imperial Guard at her sides changed with space-marine legions. Their halved number still seemed as something surreal to her. Night Hauntress knew her Father’s actions will lead to unspeakable tragedy, but to see it herself was something different.
The last of the Astartes were Blood Angels. Five hundred of the entire legion. All that left after the cursed insanity that consumed them. As Kassandra went past and came up to the stairs, with thunderous sound, five hundred warriors knelt in the final personal sign of honour to their Mother. Two Astartes behind Night Hauntress followed them, staying kneeling at the bottom of podium stairs.
Kassandra made a step up. And then another. As she made more steps up that damned stairs, she felt weaker and weaker, as if life itself was sucked out of her body. She did not understand this. All since the battle on Vengeful Spirit, Night Hauntress felt empty, and now an unfamiliar feeling was filling her, as she looked down at her sister's face.
Her sister was dead.
Kassandra felt a lump forming in her throat. She felt as if any other step she took could be the last before she collapses. But she could not allow herself this.
Fighting herself, Night Hauntress reached the top of the podium. She walked up to the stone bed, covered with finest silks, a red pillow laying on them looked as the softest and the most comfortable thing in the world. Kassandra never noticed other primarchs standing near.
Strength was leaving her, her whole existence trembled as she lowered Angel onto the crimson bed.Kneeling of the countless thousands of people shook the ceremonial hall. Kassandra held out a trembling hand to touch Angel’s face, to get one final moment with her sister.
And then she felt something. Something so familiar. Something so similar to Sanguinia playfully brushing Kassandra’s cheek with her wing, once again annoyed with her sister’s fatalistic nonsense.
Kassandra’s muscles finally gave in to her grief. She collapsed to her knees holding on to red silks.
And then the Dark Queen cried.
submitted by Kuroihane to PrimarchGFs [link] [comments]
Feathers
“-andra! Kassandra, damn you, help me!” called Regalia. It was so unlike her.Night Hauntress’ sister knelt next to their Father’s mutilated body. Ignoring all pleas, Kassandra went past the bleeding Emperor and came up to another body lying on the floor of Vengeful Spirit.
Constillation of rubies, Great Angel’s blood covered her blindingly white wings, horrifically decorated her beautiful face. Painting of gold, white and red, Kassandra Curze saw the world in wide strokes of brush, unable to perceive what she saw before her eyes. Unwilling to perceive. Night Hauntress stood there, staring at Sanguinia’s body, her eyes just gazing in nothingness. She never noticed as her Praetorian sister left, holding the Emperor of Mankind under arms.
Lagging units finally caught up to them, entering the sanctum. Warriors from Regalia’s Fists, their Father’s personal guard, Kassandra’s own Atramaentar.
Why did you come? she wanted to ask, The battle is over.
No one dared to come closer to the Night Hauntress as she froze over the Angel. Only Jago made a few steps, approaching the moveless figure of his Mother. Blood Angels were nowhere to be seen, while sounds of rampaging battle were coming closer to the sanctum.
Sudden scream of agony woke Kassandra from this trance. She turned to see the source of the sound. One man, whose height was so unnaturally smaller than that of super-humans he was surrounded by. Young man’s body twitched and squirmed in pain, as he grasped his head, covering eyes, as if trying not to see, pulling hair, as if trying not to think.
Ah, that mortal Sanguinia fancied, the thought was so mundane, it almost seemed as she simply met him in one of Red Tear’s golden corridors, she called him Dove, as I recall. Why is he weeping?
Figure of similar stature came up to Dove. Morgenstern placed a hand on the grieving man’s shoulder. Impression persisting on the assassin's face was impenetrable, but those standing close to him could notice as knuckles on his hand whitened.
Curze once again turned, returning gaze to her beloved sister. The only sister Kassandra could call beloved, even if she was shrugging, doing so. The only sister she wanted to call sister at all. Night Hauntress lowered herself, coming closer to Angel’s face.
You must be tired, she thought, your battle lasted for too long.
In one swift and tender motion Kassandra closed her sister’s eyes.
Night Hauntress stood up. Only now she noticed another figure lying on the deck. Her other sister sprawled dead in the puddle of liquefied flesh and blood, only her bare skull showing from terminator armor. As she slowly came up to Warmistress’ corpse, Kassandra's blank face finally changed, a mask of utter disdain and rage distorting Night Hauntress’ face. Long seconds passed until she moved again.
Loud crunch filled the sanctum, as Kassandra Curze lowered her boot.
***
“No.”
“Listen, you–”
“Ceremony protocol has already been decided. You’ll be near her as everyone else.”
Why, once in your damned life, why can’t you stop being an accursed wall of rockcreat bricks?! Kassandra Curze wanted to scream on top of her lungs, as she faced Praetorian of Terra. Night Hauntress wanted to strike her sister down right here and there, she wanted to keep punching this dull stone face, until it would turn into a bloody mush.
She could never understand, thought Kassandra bitterly, I doubt she ever tried.
Image of the past, image of Sanguinia, laughing at something that had seemed funny to her in Night Hauntress words, flashed Kassandra’s mind. She lowered her gaze, trying to hold her composure. Not for herself, but for someone who would be greatly disappointed in her, if she didn’t.
“If that’s all you wanted to talk about, then I shall leave”, Regalia turned, starting to walk away, “I have still many things to ate–”
“Wait!” Kassandra growled.
She dashed, catching her sister’s shoulder. Suddenly, an agonizing flash burned her mind. It was the second time her mind was attacked by a vision of a torn off hand, drifting in space among the debris. As Night Hauntress twitched in pain, she grabbed her head pushing nails deep into skin, trying to dull the vision.
Regalia turned back, embers of blazing anger started to appear in her eyes.
“Ngh–” Kassandra slightly groaned, trying to compose herself.
She managed to stand straight and, heavily breathing, looked in Regalia’s eyes.
“Re– Sister, please, it has to be me”, for the first time Unyielding One saw Night Hauntress to plead, and to plead so sincerely.
For some long moments they looked each other in the eyes, but now Regalia’s contained no fire. She saw something new in those purple eyes. Where previously lived only bitter irony and despair, now flickered determination.
Praetorian’s face softened up, enough only for the primarch to notice. Silent nod answered Kassandra’s plea.
***
Holding Angel in her arms, Kassandra Curze stepped into the biggest ceremonial hall on Terra. The biggest that wasn’t ruined by the Siege.
The hall seemed endless, countless caryatids supporting the enormous dome of the building, that became a new sky for all those present here. Images of marble and gold covered walls of the hall, images of the Emperor's most glorious victories, most fruitful of his conquests. Seeing them anywhere her eyes could reach, Kassandra felt sick.
What a jest.
She directed her gaze forward. As endless was this hall, as countless were people present here today. All those who fought and survived the Siege, all those who did not make it on time, standards for all those who fell. From simple guardsman to finest warrior of Adeptus Astartes, all these men and women were here today for the guard of honour. The last guard of honour for her who rested in Kassandra’s arms. Honour that could never be enough.
Complete silence. Complete silence surrounded Night Hauntress as she walked forward, only sounds echoing through the space being her own steps and steps of the two Astartes, Night Lord and Blood Angel, carrying Imperial and Blood Angel’s standards. Kassandra felt as if time slowed down the more steps she took.
As she went closer to the stairs of rockcreat podium, Imperial Guard at her sides changed with space-marine legions. Their halved number still seemed as something surreal to her. Night Hauntress knew her Father’s actions will lead to unspeakable tragedy, but to see it herself was something different.
The last of the Astartes were Blood Angels. Five hundred of the entire legion. All that left after the cursed insanity that consumed them. As Kassandra went past and came up to the stairs, with thunderous sound, five hundred warriors knelt in the final personal sign of honour to their Mother. Two Astartes behind Night Hauntress followed them, staying kneeling at the bottom of podium stairs.
Kassandra made a step up. And then another. As she made more steps up that damned stairs, she felt weaker and weaker, as if life itself was sucked out of her body. She did not understand this. All since the battle on Vengeful Spirit, Night Hauntress felt empty, and now an unfamiliar feeling was filling her, as she looked down at her sister's face.
Her sister was dead.
Kassandra felt a lump forming in her throat. She felt as if any other step she took could be the last before she collapses. But she could not allow herself this.
Fighting herself, Night Hauntress reached the top of the podium. She walked up to the stone bed, covered with finest silks, a red pillow laying on them looked as the softest and the most comfortable thing in the world. Kassandra never noticed other primarchs standing near.
Strength was leaving her, her whole existence trembled as she lowered Angel onto the crimson bed.Kneeling of the countless thousands of people shook the ceremonial hall. Kassandra held out a trembling hand to touch Angel’s face, to get one final moment with her sister.
And then she felt something. Something so familiar. Something so similar to Sanguinia playfully brushing Kassandra’s cheek with her wing, once again annoyed with her sister’s fatalistic nonsense.
Kassandra’s muscles finally gave in to her grief. She collapsed to her knees holding on to red silks.
And then the Dark Queen cried.
2024.05.18 21:18 ApprehensiveCap6525 Earth is a Lost Colony (28)
A/N: yeah I changed up the Alliance admiral's name from Shepard Adama to Sheparda Dama (so creative i know) because the old one was going to fuck me over badly at some point. It would be like trying to make a legitimate, serious fantasy novel with a wizard named Albus Gandalf. I was NOT cooking when I came up with that shit.
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It was said that no plan ever survived contact with the enemy. That, at least in the case of Marcus Wayne’s infiltration of Neldia, was proven entirely true.
His ship, the Peacemaker, had undergone an extensive refit before its jump to Neldia to both modify its sensor signature and repair its failing Aegis barrier. The first objective succeeded. The second did not.
One day later, leaving the derelict Ultimate Vigil behind in deep space, the United Human Alliance courier ship Winged Deliverance logged a real space entry at the edge of the Neldia system. Its crew, having spent their waking hours plagued by hallucinations and enduring horrible nightmares as they slept, found this shift very welcome. The worst, though they could hardly believe it, was still yet to come.
“The Neldian fleet is mustering for war,” rumbled the man who had once held the title and security codes of an Alliance sector admiral. Now, he was a traitor to his homeland. “Security will be high.”
“No need to worry, Admiral,” said Marcus Wayne. “Your code will get us through.” It would not.
It took two hours for the Peacemaker, disguised as the Winged Deliverance, to be challenged by the Neldian Armada. “Transmit clearance code,” said an automated voice. Marcus took out a data disc with the admiral's clearance code on it.
“Hold,” said Terris. She was clad in black, her active camouflage offline to save battery, and she had been sitting at the passive sensor console for the past three hours. “Look at this.” A news broadcast popped up in front of Marcus Wayne and his officers. Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama, or at least he was once a sector admiral, had been tried and convicted of high treason.
“It was a secret trial,” Dama said, still in shock at the revelation. “I had no knowledge of this.”
“Well, that tracks, but what do we do now? What code gets us through?”
“Transmit clearance code,” the voice said again, “or adjust course.”
Dama thought for a moment. “Change course,” he said. “We’re not getting through.”
They did. A great sense of defeat took hold in the hearts of the crew. They would never reach the Neldian hypercom. Sheparda Dama, who would have gladly given his life in defense of humankind, would never get the chance to be the man who broke their chains.
The Peacemaker was halfway out of the Neldia system before Terris spoke again. “Hold it,” she said. “I have an idea.”
That was why she had been placed where she was. Clad in an airtight stealth suit. Inside a hollowed-out asteroid. On a ballistic journey to the heart of Neldian space. It was the most insane idea that Marcus Wayne had ever seen.
But, sometimes, insanity was a symptom of genius.
Terris flew past the Neldian Armada undetected. Many asteroids entered the inner system this way, flung by outer-system prospecting ships to the foundries and shipyards in Neldian orbit, and they were thrown and caught so frequently that only the most cursory of inspections was put upon each one. Terris passed the Alliance fleet entirely undetected.
Terris’ chameleon suit could mimic the sensor return of the precious metals it was buried in, at least enough to fool a probing scan, and the cuts made by Protectoral engineers had been so precise that Terris had fit inside there with barely a centimeter of space to spare. She was effectively entombed inside sixty meters of solid rock.
Interstellar espionage was not a job for the claustrophobic.
Finally, after days of waiting, the signal came. She was in range. A mental command triggered a series of shaped charges in the rock above her, if such directions existed in microgravity, and forty pea-sized explosives blasted a circular tunnel all the way to the asteroid surface. If just one of them had failed, that rock might have been her tomb.
Terris tried not to think about that as she began climbing her way out. A brief burst from her suit’s EVA thrusters was enough to start her on her way, and the tunnel out was wide enough for her to use her arms and legs to speed things up. Finally, after too long a wait, Terris saw the Neldian sun for the very first time.
There was fire in the distance. Comm chatter on every band. Warships burning hard for the outer system. The Coalition fleet was here.
She zoomed in, far more than she had ever had to before, and she could pick out the faintest flashes of blue as warships exploded in the black. A brief crawl around the asteroid, which also helped to warm up her muscles after days of inactivity, let her discern an attack force engaging the Alliance fleet. After a moment’s hesitation, weighing the risks, Terris activated her passive sensor suite to try and decrypt Alliance military chatter.
Instantly, her sensors were flooded with noise from the defensive bastions. The fleet base at the L5 point was loudest, its comm operators screaming indecipherably at fellow Alliance elements fighting in the black. Neldian orbit, where the hypercom station was, seemed to be the centerpiece of all the communications traffic. The hypercom, unsurprisingly, was being used as a relay for comm traffic all across the system. Terris made a note to hack its server banks for intelligence, and perhaps leave a timed virus or two to shut down the system after she was gone.
Her suit bleeped, alerting her that she was in optimum position to make the leap to the hypercom. She zoomed in on it, a red and spiked thing just like everything else the Alliance made, and calculated the right trajectory to land right on its metal surface.
Trying to jump from a moving asteroid out past Neldia’s rings and hit a hypercom station barely three hundred meters in diameter was like shooting a rifle from a jumbo jet in hopes of hitting a mosquito down on Earth. A nearly impossible shot, even with Coalition computers to help make the jump, and anyone lucky enough to make it would have been better served bankrupting their local casino at the slot machines.
Terris gave a command to her suit, activating a set of ion thrusters to boost her off the asteroid and adjust her course mid-flight. She’d never believed in luck.
She coasted silent and graceful past the particle guns in high orbit, like a majestic swan flying on a summer wind. Their sensor arrays were directed out, past her, to the far distant parts of space where a trillion tons of steel were locked in deadly battle. Terris really did wish she could smile at the moment. She was about to have unrestricted access to the biggest communications relay in the star system, able to send out viruses and receive vital intelligence that could cripple the Alliance fleet if placed in the right hands. Terris, confident as ever, knew they would be.
She would make the Neldian Armada burn, and they had no idea she was even coming.
She reached the hypercom station in just under a day, agonizingly slow for a woman like her, hovering just above its surface to avoid triggering pressure sensors. After that, it was simple enough to get inside. Terris found it almost trivial to bypass the airlock sensor grid and trigger the outer bulkhead to open unnoticed, its report to the command room destroyed before it ever arrived. Entering the station itself was easy after that.
Here, there was gravity. She could not hover like she had on the outside of the station. But here, there were no pressure sensors. She really had no need to hover.
The corridor she found herself in was large enough, though nothing like the expansive halls of a dreadnought, and a patrol of marines in powered suits trundled towards her obliviously. Terris had made the right call not to wear a Phantom powered suit. She ducked into an alcove, the chameleon suit concealing her from even their impressive sensor batteries, and they passed by with no clue at all.
Terris made it to the server banks with ease. Most of the hypercom’s security measures took the form of warships in orbit, clustered tightly around the planet to prevent exactly this scenario from happening, but those warships were off waging war. The station defenses were hopeless now that she was actually inside.
The data was encrypted, and she could neither access it nor copy it without potentially fatal consequences, but she wasn’t there to steal data. A brief, milliseconds-long connection to the primary server was all it took to riddle the entire system with custom-tailored computer viruses. The viruses were self-replicating, rather like an electronic version of the biological ones on Earth. They worked similarly, too, meant to latch onto outgoing communications signals and remain inert for a certain amount of time before activating and wreaking havoc across cyberspace.
The program would be scoured from the net in seconds once it began its assault, but it would cause plenty of chaos before then. And, with another critical transmission being scheduled to send at around that time, Terris knew her mostly-ineffective virus attack would be just enough of a distraction to make sure its message was heard.
Terris planned to leave the station in approximately thirty minutes. Shortly after that, the fireworks would begin. It was going to be beautiful.
She heard footsteps. A maintenance worker, no doubt. It was time for her to go. She disconnected from the server, taking pains to hide her involvement, and snuck out of the server room like a ghost in the night.
Next was the transmission array. This room was better-guarded, its door being flanked by marines, but Terris slipped inside by trailing behind an officer as he entered on some unknown pretext. After that, her daring and sleight of hand made sure Admiral Dama’s pre-recorded propaganda transmission was uploaded to the hypercom transmitter. It came with a set of instructions bearing the Admiralty’s seal, changed to be anonymous, to ensure as many people as possible heard his message.
In just under one standard hour, the United Human Alliance would be shaken to its very core. Terris had just made sure of it.
It took longer than she had expected for the door to open again and give her a chance to slip out. Terris had spent that time quite productively, downloading as many incoming and outgoing messages as she could to the internal hard drive just by her spinal cord. Even if they were encrypted, they’d be useful intelligence once Coalition codebreakers took a crack at them.
After that, it was trivial to slip past marine patrols and escape to the hull of the hypercom station. Terris found her ride, an Alliance warship by the name of Brightest Thunder, holding orbit just near the hypercom station. Admiral Dama, even if he was no longer an admiral, still had connections.
She charged her ion thrusters by tapping into the station reactor, an act which did not go unnoticed, but by then it was too late to respond. She had completed her incursion. The damage had been done. Perhaps if the Alliance acted swiftly and accurately, they could undo it, but Terris was a careful woman. She had covered her tracks well.
Waving one final goodbye to the crew of the hypercom station, Terris triggered her thrust pack and shot off into the ink.
“You must be my passenger.” A man in an Alliance captain’s uniform was waiting for her in the Brightest Thunder’s airlock. He wore a helmet and gloves, hermetically sealed to his airtight outfit, so he felt no effects from the vacuum of space. “I was sent by Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama,” he announced after a period of silence, “To transport you and whatever you may have safely to the Coalition fleet.” Nothing. Apart from the dull thudding of the ship’s railgun batteries, firing missiles at range to ward off a strike force of Coalition ships, the airlock was quiet as a ghost.
“You cannot expect me to endanger my life and the lives of my crew without at least some identification that you are who you claim to be!” Silence. Captain Senar Trevy had been standing in that airlock for three and a half hours, while his ship was tasked with screening Neldia and her eighteen billion inhabitants from harm, and he was just now wondering if he had been talking to a ghost.
“I am,” came a voice. Cold. Sterile. Inhuman. Exactly the kind Trevy expected from the secret spies of his former admiral.
“So you are.” Captain Trevy thought for a moment. He cycled the airlock. If his guest held hostile intent, one steel bulkhead would make no difference. “I’ve been stocking the crew with handpicked men and women since I received word of the operation,” he explained as they walked through the ship’s corridors. The crewmen he passed thought him insane. “I can’t vouch for them all, but the ship as a whole will obey me.” No response. Sometimes, Captain Trevy thought himself insane as well.
“This is my personal quarters,” he told the specter, stepping inside and sealing the door behind him. “I must warn you, for your own safety, it would be best not to leave it. The crew are mostly still Alliance loyalists.” He looked around, paying no heed to the decorated furniture or artificial sky, and finally shrugged and sighed. “Are you even here, still?”
Terris decloaked. She stood between him and the door, winged and cloaked in black like a demon of ancient myth. “I am.”
“You’re a black angel.” Senar Trevy, to his credit, kept his composure well. “A spy for the Ierad Republic.” He questioned her purpose here. They both knew it.
“You weren’t told?”
“I was told an alien would be coming aboard, but…” Trevy shrugged again, as if to say ‘what am I supposed to do?’ “The admiral vouched for you. That much is enough for me.” He also knew he had no choice in the matter. From what he knew about black angels, his ship had been lost the moment she boarded.
“I could have impersonated him,” said Terris, voice a perfect replica of Captain Trevy’s own. Even his own mother could not have told the difference. “And I’m trained to lie.” She was testing him, gauging his reaction to assess his personality. She was good at that.
“I could have you screened for deception,” Trevy countered, pointing up at a pearl-sized camera in the ceiling. Terris made a note that it was disabled. “And I could have had the technology officers vet your transmission.”
“I’m trained to lie well.” Terris sat down on Captain Trevy’s bed, a spartan thing compared to the sleeping quarters of most officers. There were no chairs in the room, so her options were few. She took off her helmet and tried to at least appear relaxed. In reality, she was anything but. “It comes with the job, really.”
“Fair,” Trevy chuckled, feigning calm. “I suppose the question now becomes whether or not you can trust me.”
“It’s a safe gamble.” Terris made a mental calculation. It would take her between thirty and fifty seconds to kill Captain Trevy, take the bridge, and vent the ship. That was a very safe gamble. “Besides, that’s what a peace treaty is.” Trevy looked confused. “A leap of faith. You trust your enemy to back their word, and you trust them to trust you as well. If we can’t get along here, can’t put aside our differences to work toward a common goal, then the Alliance will be right. And I hate it when they’re right.”
“I’m speaking to you now because I know they are wrong.” That came as no surprise to either of them. “You know, I was once a foreman of a labor crew in the munitions factories. The most productive unit in my sector.” That one did come as a surprise. “As a foreman, you get leeway to make certain decisions regarding the… well, I suppose they are slaves, under your command. Food intake and the like.” Captain Trevy looked pained when he brought up such memories. Terris wasn’t convinced that was how he really felt. “They use it to weed out any potential xeno sympathizers from the populace. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t so empathetic.”
“So you were a slave driver, and you beat your slaves to make them work. I hope every one of those shells was sabotaged.” Terris’ voice dripped with disdain. She had almost forgotten the Alliance captain was her enemy.
“No, I showed mercy,” Trevy defended himself. “I was generous.” This made Terris reconsider. Perhaps Senar Trevy could be an ally, if not a friend. “I won’t say I was a good man, but I wasn’t cruel. I was practical. Strong, healthy, well-treated workers are more productive than the beaten sacks of flesh in the other factories. My crew’s output was unmatched.”
“And?” Terris cocked her head inquisitively. For a high-ranking officer in the space navy of a genocidal regime, Senar Trevy really did not seem so bad. To be fair, however, she had set the bar pretty low.
“I was investigated for anti-human activity.” Terris could have predicted that. She almost did, too. “They sent me to the fleet, and my labor crew was reacquainted with the energy whips and pain beams.” There was no carrot for an Alliance labor slave. Only the stick. “Their productivity fell thirty percent in the first two weeks alone.” He sounded almost mournful as he said that. He was not lamenting the loss in productivity.
“You see,” said Trevy, “Hatred is not natural. It has to be caused, sustained, nurtured from the day a man is born until the day he dies.” With that, at least, Terris agreed. “And, as you’re about to see, a nation built around cruelty or prejudice cannot sustain itself. It will have to apply pressure to maintain its flawed status quo, like it did with me, and the pressure will build and build until it cannot build anymore.” He tapped a few buttons on the data disc in his hand. It began projecting an image of the battle for Neldia. He placed it on the bed next to Terris. “Now it’s breaking.”
“I wonder if they’ll find themselves in need of more shells.” Terris knew it wasn’t just shells. Every time a slave driver prioritized hatred over hard work, put cruelty over their quota, or even just bowed their head and obeyed the traditional dogma, they hurt the Alliance. Across nine worlds, with billions of slaves not working as they could have, things started to add up. “You know, for a superior species, your fleet is really getting its ass kicked right now. Might want to work on that.”
Captain Trevy nodded. His data disc beeped. He was needed on the bridge. “Agreed,” he said. “I hope this war ends soon, and to our mutual benefit. I’d hate to face you on the battlefield.” He picked up the data disc and turned to leave.
“Oh, forgot to mention, there’s a virus embedded in the transmissions you’ve received. Self-replicating. Nasty piece of work.” Terris shifted a bit in her seat. “Almost forgot about that.”
“Well, better to know now than when it’s activated,” Trevy smiled. “I’ll have Technology Officer Galdir investigate it.” With that, he left. His duty to the Alliance was nonexistent, but the men and women under his command still needed him. He had waited too long in the stateroom.
Terris, with nothing better to do, got to work on cracking the encryption in the transmissions she had copied. She failed. A transmission from deep in unknown space, sent from a dreadnought at the head of a task force known only as the Deep Expedition Fleet, was the only message she could read. Its contents, while troubling, mattered little at the moment. What was far more crucial, however, was the message Terris could not decipher. The military battle plan of Janus Ora’s personal armada.
The battle plan that, when analyzed on a Republic starship, would reveal its terrible secret too late.
The Coalition fleet was walking into a trap.
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submitted by ApprehensiveCap6525 to HFY [link] [comments]
It was said that no plan ever survived contact with the enemy. That, at least in the case of Marcus Wayne’s infiltration of Neldia, was proven entirely true.
His ship, the Peacemaker, had undergone an extensive refit before its jump to Neldia to both modify its sensor signature and repair its failing Aegis barrier. The first objective succeeded. The second did not.
One day later, leaving the derelict Ultimate Vigil behind in deep space, the United Human Alliance courier ship Winged Deliverance logged a real space entry at the edge of the Neldia system. Its crew, having spent their waking hours plagued by hallucinations and enduring horrible nightmares as they slept, found this shift very welcome. The worst, though they could hardly believe it, was still yet to come.
“The Neldian fleet is mustering for war,” rumbled the man who had once held the title and security codes of an Alliance sector admiral. Now, he was a traitor to his homeland. “Security will be high.”
“No need to worry, Admiral,” said Marcus Wayne. “Your code will get us through.” It would not.
It took two hours for the Peacemaker, disguised as the Winged Deliverance, to be challenged by the Neldian Armada. “Transmit clearance code,” said an automated voice. Marcus took out a data disc with the admiral's clearance code on it.
“Hold,” said Terris. She was clad in black, her active camouflage offline to save battery, and she had been sitting at the passive sensor console for the past three hours. “Look at this.” A news broadcast popped up in front of Marcus Wayne and his officers. Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama, or at least he was once a sector admiral, had been tried and convicted of high treason.
“It was a secret trial,” Dama said, still in shock at the revelation. “I had no knowledge of this.”
“Well, that tracks, but what do we do now? What code gets us through?”
“Transmit clearance code,” the voice said again, “or adjust course.”
Dama thought for a moment. “Change course,” he said. “We’re not getting through.”
They did. A great sense of defeat took hold in the hearts of the crew. They would never reach the Neldian hypercom. Sheparda Dama, who would have gladly given his life in defense of humankind, would never get the chance to be the man who broke their chains.
The Peacemaker was halfway out of the Neldia system before Terris spoke again. “Hold it,” she said. “I have an idea.”
That was why she had been placed where she was. Clad in an airtight stealth suit. Inside a hollowed-out asteroid. On a ballistic journey to the heart of Neldian space. It was the most insane idea that Marcus Wayne had ever seen.
But, sometimes, insanity was a symptom of genius.
Terris flew past the Neldian Armada undetected. Many asteroids entered the inner system this way, flung by outer-system prospecting ships to the foundries and shipyards in Neldian orbit, and they were thrown and caught so frequently that only the most cursory of inspections was put upon each one. Terris passed the Alliance fleet entirely undetected.
Terris’ chameleon suit could mimic the sensor return of the precious metals it was buried in, at least enough to fool a probing scan, and the cuts made by Protectoral engineers had been so precise that Terris had fit inside there with barely a centimeter of space to spare. She was effectively entombed inside sixty meters of solid rock.
Interstellar espionage was not a job for the claustrophobic.
Finally, after days of waiting, the signal came. She was in range. A mental command triggered a series of shaped charges in the rock above her, if such directions existed in microgravity, and forty pea-sized explosives blasted a circular tunnel all the way to the asteroid surface. If just one of them had failed, that rock might have been her tomb.
Terris tried not to think about that as she began climbing her way out. A brief burst from her suit’s EVA thrusters was enough to start her on her way, and the tunnel out was wide enough for her to use her arms and legs to speed things up. Finally, after too long a wait, Terris saw the Neldian sun for the very first time.
There was fire in the distance. Comm chatter on every band. Warships burning hard for the outer system. The Coalition fleet was here.
She zoomed in, far more than she had ever had to before, and she could pick out the faintest flashes of blue as warships exploded in the black. A brief crawl around the asteroid, which also helped to warm up her muscles after days of inactivity, let her discern an attack force engaging the Alliance fleet. After a moment’s hesitation, weighing the risks, Terris activated her passive sensor suite to try and decrypt Alliance military chatter.
Instantly, her sensors were flooded with noise from the defensive bastions. The fleet base at the L5 point was loudest, its comm operators screaming indecipherably at fellow Alliance elements fighting in the black. Neldian orbit, where the hypercom station was, seemed to be the centerpiece of all the communications traffic. The hypercom, unsurprisingly, was being used as a relay for comm traffic all across the system. Terris made a note to hack its server banks for intelligence, and perhaps leave a timed virus or two to shut down the system after she was gone.
Her suit bleeped, alerting her that she was in optimum position to make the leap to the hypercom. She zoomed in on it, a red and spiked thing just like everything else the Alliance made, and calculated the right trajectory to land right on its metal surface.
Trying to jump from a moving asteroid out past Neldia’s rings and hit a hypercom station barely three hundred meters in diameter was like shooting a rifle from a jumbo jet in hopes of hitting a mosquito down on Earth. A nearly impossible shot, even with Coalition computers to help make the jump, and anyone lucky enough to make it would have been better served bankrupting their local casino at the slot machines.
Terris gave a command to her suit, activating a set of ion thrusters to boost her off the asteroid and adjust her course mid-flight. She’d never believed in luck.
She coasted silent and graceful past the particle guns in high orbit, like a majestic swan flying on a summer wind. Their sensor arrays were directed out, past her, to the far distant parts of space where a trillion tons of steel were locked in deadly battle. Terris really did wish she could smile at the moment. She was about to have unrestricted access to the biggest communications relay in the star system, able to send out viruses and receive vital intelligence that could cripple the Alliance fleet if placed in the right hands. Terris, confident as ever, knew they would be.
She would make the Neldian Armada burn, and they had no idea she was even coming.
She reached the hypercom station in just under a day, agonizingly slow for a woman like her, hovering just above its surface to avoid triggering pressure sensors. After that, it was simple enough to get inside. Terris found it almost trivial to bypass the airlock sensor grid and trigger the outer bulkhead to open unnoticed, its report to the command room destroyed before it ever arrived. Entering the station itself was easy after that.
Here, there was gravity. She could not hover like she had on the outside of the station. But here, there were no pressure sensors. She really had no need to hover.
The corridor she found herself in was large enough, though nothing like the expansive halls of a dreadnought, and a patrol of marines in powered suits trundled towards her obliviously. Terris had made the right call not to wear a Phantom powered suit. She ducked into an alcove, the chameleon suit concealing her from even their impressive sensor batteries, and they passed by with no clue at all.
Terris made it to the server banks with ease. Most of the hypercom’s security measures took the form of warships in orbit, clustered tightly around the planet to prevent exactly this scenario from happening, but those warships were off waging war. The station defenses were hopeless now that she was actually inside.
The data was encrypted, and she could neither access it nor copy it without potentially fatal consequences, but she wasn’t there to steal data. A brief, milliseconds-long connection to the primary server was all it took to riddle the entire system with custom-tailored computer viruses. The viruses were self-replicating, rather like an electronic version of the biological ones on Earth. They worked similarly, too, meant to latch onto outgoing communications signals and remain inert for a certain amount of time before activating and wreaking havoc across cyberspace.
The program would be scoured from the net in seconds once it began its assault, but it would cause plenty of chaos before then. And, with another critical transmission being scheduled to send at around that time, Terris knew her mostly-ineffective virus attack would be just enough of a distraction to make sure its message was heard.
Terris planned to leave the station in approximately thirty minutes. Shortly after that, the fireworks would begin. It was going to be beautiful.
She heard footsteps. A maintenance worker, no doubt. It was time for her to go. She disconnected from the server, taking pains to hide her involvement, and snuck out of the server room like a ghost in the night.
Next was the transmission array. This room was better-guarded, its door being flanked by marines, but Terris slipped inside by trailing behind an officer as he entered on some unknown pretext. After that, her daring and sleight of hand made sure Admiral Dama’s pre-recorded propaganda transmission was uploaded to the hypercom transmitter. It came with a set of instructions bearing the Admiralty’s seal, changed to be anonymous, to ensure as many people as possible heard his message.
In just under one standard hour, the United Human Alliance would be shaken to its very core. Terris had just made sure of it.
It took longer than she had expected for the door to open again and give her a chance to slip out. Terris had spent that time quite productively, downloading as many incoming and outgoing messages as she could to the internal hard drive just by her spinal cord. Even if they were encrypted, they’d be useful intelligence once Coalition codebreakers took a crack at them.
After that, it was trivial to slip past marine patrols and escape to the hull of the hypercom station. Terris found her ride, an Alliance warship by the name of Brightest Thunder, holding orbit just near the hypercom station. Admiral Dama, even if he was no longer an admiral, still had connections.
She charged her ion thrusters by tapping into the station reactor, an act which did not go unnoticed, but by then it was too late to respond. She had completed her incursion. The damage had been done. Perhaps if the Alliance acted swiftly and accurately, they could undo it, but Terris was a careful woman. She had covered her tracks well.
Waving one final goodbye to the crew of the hypercom station, Terris triggered her thrust pack and shot off into the ink.
“You must be my passenger.” A man in an Alliance captain’s uniform was waiting for her in the Brightest Thunder’s airlock. He wore a helmet and gloves, hermetically sealed to his airtight outfit, so he felt no effects from the vacuum of space. “I was sent by Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama,” he announced after a period of silence, “To transport you and whatever you may have safely to the Coalition fleet.” Nothing. Apart from the dull thudding of the ship’s railgun batteries, firing missiles at range to ward off a strike force of Coalition ships, the airlock was quiet as a ghost.
“You cannot expect me to endanger my life and the lives of my crew without at least some identification that you are who you claim to be!” Silence. Captain Senar Trevy had been standing in that airlock for three and a half hours, while his ship was tasked with screening Neldia and her eighteen billion inhabitants from harm, and he was just now wondering if he had been talking to a ghost.
“I am,” came a voice. Cold. Sterile. Inhuman. Exactly the kind Trevy expected from the secret spies of his former admiral.
“So you are.” Captain Trevy thought for a moment. He cycled the airlock. If his guest held hostile intent, one steel bulkhead would make no difference. “I’ve been stocking the crew with handpicked men and women since I received word of the operation,” he explained as they walked through the ship’s corridors. The crewmen he passed thought him insane. “I can’t vouch for them all, but the ship as a whole will obey me.” No response. Sometimes, Captain Trevy thought himself insane as well.
“This is my personal quarters,” he told the specter, stepping inside and sealing the door behind him. “I must warn you, for your own safety, it would be best not to leave it. The crew are mostly still Alliance loyalists.” He looked around, paying no heed to the decorated furniture or artificial sky, and finally shrugged and sighed. “Are you even here, still?”
Terris decloaked. She stood between him and the door, winged and cloaked in black like a demon of ancient myth. “I am.”
“You’re a black angel.” Senar Trevy, to his credit, kept his composure well. “A spy for the Ierad Republic.” He questioned her purpose here. They both knew it.
“You weren’t told?”
“I was told an alien would be coming aboard, but…” Trevy shrugged again, as if to say ‘what am I supposed to do?’ “The admiral vouched for you. That much is enough for me.” He also knew he had no choice in the matter. From what he knew about black angels, his ship had been lost the moment she boarded.
“I could have impersonated him,” said Terris, voice a perfect replica of Captain Trevy’s own. Even his own mother could not have told the difference. “And I’m trained to lie.” She was testing him, gauging his reaction to assess his personality. She was good at that.
“I could have you screened for deception,” Trevy countered, pointing up at a pearl-sized camera in the ceiling. Terris made a note that it was disabled. “And I could have had the technology officers vet your transmission.”
“I’m trained to lie well.” Terris sat down on Captain Trevy’s bed, a spartan thing compared to the sleeping quarters of most officers. There were no chairs in the room, so her options were few. She took off her helmet and tried to at least appear relaxed. In reality, she was anything but. “It comes with the job, really.”
“Fair,” Trevy chuckled, feigning calm. “I suppose the question now becomes whether or not you can trust me.”
“It’s a safe gamble.” Terris made a mental calculation. It would take her between thirty and fifty seconds to kill Captain Trevy, take the bridge, and vent the ship. That was a very safe gamble. “Besides, that’s what a peace treaty is.” Trevy looked confused. “A leap of faith. You trust your enemy to back their word, and you trust them to trust you as well. If we can’t get along here, can’t put aside our differences to work toward a common goal, then the Alliance will be right. And I hate it when they’re right.”
“I’m speaking to you now because I know they are wrong.” That came as no surprise to either of them. “You know, I was once a foreman of a labor crew in the munitions factories. The most productive unit in my sector.” That one did come as a surprise. “As a foreman, you get leeway to make certain decisions regarding the… well, I suppose they are slaves, under your command. Food intake and the like.” Captain Trevy looked pained when he brought up such memories. Terris wasn’t convinced that was how he really felt. “They use it to weed out any potential xeno sympathizers from the populace. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t so empathetic.”
“So you were a slave driver, and you beat your slaves to make them work. I hope every one of those shells was sabotaged.” Terris’ voice dripped with disdain. She had almost forgotten the Alliance captain was her enemy.
“No, I showed mercy,” Trevy defended himself. “I was generous.” This made Terris reconsider. Perhaps Senar Trevy could be an ally, if not a friend. “I won’t say I was a good man, but I wasn’t cruel. I was practical. Strong, healthy, well-treated workers are more productive than the beaten sacks of flesh in the other factories. My crew’s output was unmatched.”
“And?” Terris cocked her head inquisitively. For a high-ranking officer in the space navy of a genocidal regime, Senar Trevy really did not seem so bad. To be fair, however, she had set the bar pretty low.
“I was investigated for anti-human activity.” Terris could have predicted that. She almost did, too. “They sent me to the fleet, and my labor crew was reacquainted with the energy whips and pain beams.” There was no carrot for an Alliance labor slave. Only the stick. “Their productivity fell thirty percent in the first two weeks alone.” He sounded almost mournful as he said that. He was not lamenting the loss in productivity.
“You see,” said Trevy, “Hatred is not natural. It has to be caused, sustained, nurtured from the day a man is born until the day he dies.” With that, at least, Terris agreed. “And, as you’re about to see, a nation built around cruelty or prejudice cannot sustain itself. It will have to apply pressure to maintain its flawed status quo, like it did with me, and the pressure will build and build until it cannot build anymore.” He tapped a few buttons on the data disc in his hand. It began projecting an image of the battle for Neldia. He placed it on the bed next to Terris. “Now it’s breaking.”
“I wonder if they’ll find themselves in need of more shells.” Terris knew it wasn’t just shells. Every time a slave driver prioritized hatred over hard work, put cruelty over their quota, or even just bowed their head and obeyed the traditional dogma, they hurt the Alliance. Across nine worlds, with billions of slaves not working as they could have, things started to add up. “You know, for a superior species, your fleet is really getting its ass kicked right now. Might want to work on that.”
Captain Trevy nodded. His data disc beeped. He was needed on the bridge. “Agreed,” he said. “I hope this war ends soon, and to our mutual benefit. I’d hate to face you on the battlefield.” He picked up the data disc and turned to leave.
“Oh, forgot to mention, there’s a virus embedded in the transmissions you’ve received. Self-replicating. Nasty piece of work.” Terris shifted a bit in her seat. “Almost forgot about that.”
“Well, better to know now than when it’s activated,” Trevy smiled. “I’ll have Technology Officer Galdir investigate it.” With that, he left. His duty to the Alliance was nonexistent, but the men and women under his command still needed him. He had waited too long in the stateroom.
Terris, with nothing better to do, got to work on cracking the encryption in the transmissions she had copied. She failed. A transmission from deep in unknown space, sent from a dreadnought at the head of a task force known only as the Deep Expedition Fleet, was the only message she could read. Its contents, while troubling, mattered little at the moment. What was far more crucial, however, was the message Terris could not decipher. The military battle plan of Janus Ora’s personal armada.
The battle plan that, when analyzed on a Republic starship, would reveal its terrible secret too late.
The Coalition fleet was walking into a trap.
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2024.05.18 19:49 afterandalasia Oxventure Overall: The Good and the Bad (Spoilers for the whole run!)
So, I'm seeing some mixed reactions to the last season, and honestly I'm feeling them myself as well, so I decided to sit down and sort of breakdown and analyse some of what happened over the course of Oxventure, what seemed to go well and what didn't, and maybe try to get into some litcrit of the whole thing.
Warning: I'm not always nice in this write up, though I have done my best to be fair and honest throughout in what I think the potential pitfalls were and how I hope they might be better addressed in future campaigns.
I've played D&D myself for a few years, listened to other Actual Play series (notably NADDPOD and some D20 at one end of the competency-of-players scale, and Dragon Friends and Dungeons and Drongos at the other), and write... a lot. Including over 250k of fanfic specifically for Oxventure, which started off as an excuse for smut but ended up being a lot of worldbuilding.
It was also clear that at times, none of the group seemed to know the game and the rules super well. From Mike not knowing his movement speed ("30 what? Miles an hour?") to Merilwen not using her animal forms or changing out her spells until level 8, to the underpowering of most of the classes, it became more of an issue as time when on in some ways.
It's easy enough to understand why, live on stage and starry-eyed at Harry McEntire as Aubrey, Johnny missed that in the combat Aubrey cast two levelled spells in the same round (against the rules) as well as using two sorcery spell modifiers in the same round (also against the rules, and they mentioned this on the podcast). Sorcerer was also a new class to everyone, and dealing with a new class is always going to be difficult, especially dropping them in at a higher level rather than starting from level 1 and building up.
However, bluntly, most of the guild weren't using their class/subclass abilities to the fullest. Rules lawyer Andy did the best, so he gets a pass here, and Ellen got sharper with Merilwen over time to stuff like knowing her spell components, tracking her spell slots, and preparing her spells. However, the concept of Egbert as "a paladin who doesn't do paladin things" (quote from the post-Deadlands discussion) was ultimately really limiting not just for Egbert (Mike commented in one podcast episode that he felt he'd trapped himself in only using Egbert's abilities in ways that were funny) but for the entire concept of paladins - Max might as well have been a fighter in the fight in Gnome Alone that they took part in, and we never saw Shattershield fight at all. There were references to combat offscreen in Out of Order, but... that was it. (Additionally, while paladins can be poisoned, as poison and disease are different in 5e rules, paladins can pump out a LOT of healing, and a citadel full of them should have a lot of magical reserves to draw on as a result.)
And Egbert isn't the only one who was limited. One of the biggest features of Great Old One warlocks (which Prudence is, with Cthulhu), is that from level one they have telepathy within 30ft ("Awakened Mind"). Prudence went the entire campaign without using this. Although Johnny allowed the Message cantrip to be treated like this, allowing people to reply to it when RAW it is one-way only, this meant that Dob also essentially gained Prudence's power because he also had Message. Merilwen was limited in her animal forms and the spells that she knew up until level 8, and it was noticeable how everyone was shocked at her power once she had full RAW druid range. Corazón, on the other hand, not only had Andy keeping on top of all of his class and subclass features, but got two subclasses, leaving him about on par or slightly overpowered for the level he should have been looking overpowered because the others didn't use their abilities so well. Meanwhile, Dob was given access to full bardic abilities, but only used bardic inspiration in some of their level 1 adventures and then not much again until the final season.
The counterpart to this under-utilisation of class potential was the amount of 'rule of cool' or 'rule of funny' which sometimes worked well (Merilwen befriending the owlbear in Quiet Riot, or the reflavouring of Thunder Wave to do lightning damage instead based on their initial misunderstanding) and sometimes ended up breaking the game (the "everyone can cast Moonbeam" joke that escalated to the scrolls of Moonbeam that made the finale kind of laughable). Sometimes this seemed to be the time and audience pressure of live shows (allowing Prudence to use the hammer to wheel her way through the skeletons in Stop Hammer Time), but other times it was just letting them do things that went outside the rules (Egbert body-slamming six(?) Otherberts at once in Bad Altitude, or Dob casting all his spells at once in Corpse and Robbers) seemingly preferring the immediate humour or "yes and" over the potential internal logic or end implications.
The contrast between this permissiveness, sometimes to the point of breaking logical immersion, honestly seemed sharper to me when it was laid against Andy's GMing in Deadlands. Whether it was reminding people that there were snipers on the rooftops in Dead Man's Worth or refusing to yes-and a chandelier in More Wonders Than, he made it more difficult for the players and in doing so made them work harder within their skillsets and the setting, making the victories feel harder-won as a result. I'm aware that some people didn't like Andy's GMing specifically because he was less permissive, but I believe that his intention - and the outcome - was a stronger narrative that made the characters feel active and not just lucky. (Liliana lampshaded this in Frenemy at the Gates when she asked whether things often just fell into their laps, like with knowing Binbag, and it almost felt like a spiteful comment so it surprised me to hear it from Johnny.)
What I hope: It has been indicated that Johnny has created the new setting for the next game, so hopefully they have put things more to their liking at the beginning and will not end up seeming to dunk on the premise of their own series. I'm also hoping for everyone to either use more standardised rules, or at least establish in-game standards at the beginning so that all of the characters, and players, feel like they're on a level playing field from the off. Johnny seemed to much more enjoy the systems of Blades in the Dark and Deadlands (which were designed to be less superhero-level) and even the lower levels of Oxventure (especially Tier 1) where the characters were just people who were skilled but not particularly out of the range of normality; I'd be interested to see whether they lean more in that direction and keep the characters lower-powered as a result.
Corazón - in my opinion, Corazón had one of the stronger character arcs, which may reflect Andy's interest in writing (and now being published!), going from the coward pirate-wannabe who abandoned his crew to the curse, to the person who threw himself in front of a spell meant for Merilwen. This was highlighted in his reply to Them in Prism Break, even before the Power Word Kill spell. In fact, the Power Word Kill brought a level of pathos to the fact that he had told Them that he was not even done growing as a person. Andy commented on the podcast at some point that he had expected at the beginning to be one of the more morally shady characters (as a pirate), but found himself playing a line of being immoral regarding money but caring deeply about physical hurt or harm to people. Corazón also had two layers of in-character goals - to break the curse (limited) and to become a betterichereal pirate (more open-ended) and find his own identity which allowed him to carry character development over the years even when the curse was ignored for extended periods. Goals: clear and stepped, with the curse as a plot-hook; arc: good and perfectly timed for the finale.
What I hope for: More of the same, really.
Dob - Dob came in early with a clearly defined goal (to find his sister) - but this was done in Brawl of the Wild and Dob has been sort of... undefined ever since. It absolutely makes sense that he would have floundered for a while, but Dob has gone several years without settling on new goal, and Luke also didn't seem to settle on a character arc (the romance subplot in Orbpocalypse Saga through Bride or Die seemed to be almost a character arc, but never got full payoff?) which left Dob feeling... well, at times it almost seemed like Luke wanted to get rid of him to play someone else instead. This was unfortunately also highlighted in conversation with Them, as the response that Dob gave was about him being a "mote of chaos". I obviously couldn't speak for others, but I found this underwhelming and unconvincing as an answer, as it didn't give me any sense of why a powerful celestial being would consider this an argument - if Dob had developed the argument to be that chaos is generative and creative in a way that pure order cannot be, and/or that the free will and agency of sapience demand that they be allowed to act and to try even if they make mistakes or fail, I think there might have been something there, but he didn't really seem to. Goals: had one which formed a good plot-hook, then went without; arc: unclear.
What I hope for: Luke to determine more of a character arc, or series of shorter arcs, perhaps drawing from his Blades in the Dark DMing experience, and to either pick a more open-ended goal or to move along a series of goals over time.
Egbert - Egbert came in with the vaguer goal of "atonement", which gave him more wiggle room, but unfortunately didn't seem to actively pursue it a lot of the time. In Legacy of Dragons it was revealed that he was searching for atonement for the deaths of two Dragon D'Or members - but by this time, so many people around the Oxventurers had died, including innocent bystanders, that the deaths of two other paladins felt like nothing. (Mike commented, again on the podcast, that he agreed with the commenters at the time who agreed that they knew it was his backstory from the beginning because only two paladins had died. The two figure paled next to the collateral damage that the party later caused.) Mike also commented on the podcast that during lockdown, he had made a conscious change with Egbert in to try to avoid combat as much as possible, and to avoid fatal attacks if in combat, but it wasn't clear how long that lasted. It may have been trying to avoid being the annoying/preachy paladin that stopped him from trying to influence the rest of the party or to save lives around them, but unfortunately it meant that it was difficult to see a real sense of wanting to atone in Egbert's arc. Letting innocents die around him isn't exactly less culpable than killing them himself. (Notable incidents included Mule Be Sorry, Wrangle in the Tangle, Hag Reflex, and Squid Pro Quo.) In terms of character arcs, there was definitely an element of going from seeking approval from Dragon D'Or to seeking that of his friends, but that was just a switching of approval-seeking rather than a significant change. Goals: had one, but didn't seem to actively pursue it; arc: moved from pursuing the morals of Dragon D'Or to pursuing the morals of the Oxventurers.
What I hope for: Mike to come back with a character who seeks to pursue their own goals more directly (see Barnaby and Silas, who both felt much stronger in this sense).
Merilwen - Merilwen was supposed to be about balance and protecting nature, but didn't always heavily engage with this point of view, even when the actions of the other Oxventurers should have absolutely led to discussions or disagreements between them. Many people commented on Andy being dickish about shooting seabirds in Legacy of Dragons, but there are other incidents, including the Wrangle in the Tangle (again), Eldritch or Die Trying (where it would have been interesting to see Merilwen's preference for nature clash with the need for the crystal) and the Extinction season which seemed to veer between being set up to be about Merilwen, then swapping to Dob-centric, then cleaning up Corazon's curse. In terms of character arc, I think there might be an element that can be teased out about her not fitting in with elf society and fitting in better with the faster-paced, more chaotic world of shorter-lived peoples, but this feels like speculation on my part more than something intended. Naturally, a character of around 100 is not going to feel as suited to a coming-of-age story as younger ones, but characters of all ages should be able to have character arcs. (Even if they might be slower in longer-lived people like elves - an example I can go to here is Galadriel, from Tolkien, who in her youth was proud and refused a pardon that would have allowed her to return to Valinor, but at the end of LOTR is humble enough to accept and go there. It took millennia for her, but it was a character arc all the same!) In Merilwen's conversation with Them, her uncertainty seemed to talk to this - a lack of clarity about where her characterisation was supposed to have gone over the last few years. I think there was a real opportunity here to explore Merilwen's relationship with morality and the difference between neutrality and passiveness, which unfortunately was missed. Goals: was supposed to be about nature but didn't push for it; arc: [speculation] seeking a non-elven community that she matched better with.
What I hope for: Ellen to have a character with more defined goals or arc, or gaps still to be filled in, rather than a static momentary sketch of personality/character that doesn't feel designed to be changed over time. Again, Lilith with her secrets/looking into the paranormal, and Edie with her goal to help people in a world in which monsters aren't going away, felt stronger as characters with goals and arcs, and I'd be happy to see more of that.
Prudence - Ambitious from the off, Prudence never actually struggled for goals - power, knowledge, magic, influence. The open-endedness of these goals once again served Prudence pretty well for carrying her through individual adventures/games and over the course of the whole canon, even if she didn't come in with clearly-defined (plot hook) goals like Corazón's curse. For the first few years, it felt that her character arc wasn't hugely significant, although there was certainly an element of found family over selfishness that played into it, but Jane also discussed (again, in the podcast) how the werebear element was really quite exciting for her as it allowed her to begin to explore the clash between werebear Lawful Good status and Prudence's usual Chaotic Evil desires. Eldritch or Die Trying explored this in a somewhat exaggerated way, with Cthulhu offering power in exchange for the destruction of the others (I suspect in Prudence's question about specifying people, she was trying to figure out whether she could kill just Liliana) which was a somewhat blatant nod to the character arc but did underline it. (Unlike the others, this also established Prudence's character arc before Them.) Goals: open-ended in a way that leaves them technically incomplete even now but which were stably useful throughout canon; arc: de-isolation and alignment shifting (in a way that should have been ripe for playing off against Liliana's) which played out well.
What I hope for: A character with perhaps some more specific or plot-hook goals as well as broader life goals. Prudence's character arc played out more subtly than Corazón's and sometimes perhaps got lost behind the louder personalities of some of the others, but I do think was well done. A less obvious way to explore or demonstrate it would have been nice.
Liliana - So. Here we go. Liliana was essentially a DMPC for the last season, but was a recurring character before that, with a stated goal of subjecting part or all of G'eth and broader goals (indicated or stated in Prism Break and the finale season generally) of academic/scholarly improvement, arcane knowledge, and the notion of making people appreciate what they have by threatening to take it from them. As a villain, she was threatening, and the layering of goals once again worked here, even with the abrupt movement to 'save G'eth' in the last season because, well, you can't rule what no longer exists. However, I am honestly confused as to what her character arc was supposed to be - whether her stated change of heart in front of Them was real, or whether that was a lie that Them somehow did not call out or challenge. Considering in Frenemy at the Gates, Liliana says that Prudence is the most like her, there was a potential here to play against Prudence's character arc of coming to trust others, even appreciate others, and facing the consequences of suffering making her realise her own flawed logic. I really do not know whether her betrayal of the guild was planned from the beginning (in which case, her talking to Them feels like it was overplayed, and Them should have challenged her on it) or whether Johnny added it because the fight against the giant was over more quickly than anticipated (compare to Dine Hard where the chef was the one person they did not stat up because they didn't expect the guild to fight him). Goals: logical, stepped, and worked for a villain; arc: ????? was there an arc? Was it fake? Was it desperation? Why did she, on 1 hitpoint, try to Power Word Kill Prudence instead of Teleporting away?
What I hope for: I don't know, with this one, really. Liliana's weird arc feels more related to the odd pacing of the last season than an underlying characterisation issue, for me, so I think it's more related to pacing/wanting Oxventure campaign 1 to close out.
I say specifically players here, because it was entirely in-character for certain characters (largely Corazón) to think of themselves as the main character and behave as such. However, even if the characters think that, is generally considered good etiquette for the players to treat each other as equals, let each other take turns in the spotlight, and have their Moments.
Good examples would be the group letting Merilwen be the main character in Peak Performance, Prudence explore her sundered relationship with Cthulhu during the Orbpocalypse Saga, or Dob showing off his acting bard chops in Dine Harder.
However, at various times, various people have overstepped. Sometimes in live shows where the audience response and excitement probably played a role (Rolling in the Deep) it's more understandable, but it also happened elsewhere. Mike got some flack for picking up the eyepatch at the end of Cursed Case Scenario and 'ruining' Corazón's moment, but even Johnny called Andy out for muscling in on Dob's subplot in Court in the Act, and Life Finds a Dob was almost uncomfortable at times. There was also something of a trend of Dob deliberately acting against the party for unclear reasons (possibly meant to be humour?) - either running away from them in Life Finds a Dob, refusing to 'share' Corazon's body in Portal Combat, or his contrary behaviour in Hunter Pressure in not wanting to fight the hunters/murderers they were facing.
I'm not sure whether this trend of contrariness fed into the unclear character arc that I mentioned above, or the other way around, or whether the two just fed into each other.
The most extreme example of this was, undoubtedly, Dob jumping in on the shoot-off between Liliana and Prudence right at the end of Portal Combat. Liliana approached Prudence in Frenemy at the Gates because they were the most alike. Prudence was the one with the first kill of the whole campaign, using Eldritch Blast, against the party's wishes and Corazón's protests specifically - how appropriate would it have been for her to get the last kill of the campaign, with Eldritch Blast, in defense of herself and her party and as retribution for Corazón? But instead, Luke inserted Dob into the standoff and Johnny played into it, even to the absurd extent of letting the skeletons use Time Stop (a 9th Level spell) just to explain why Dob's whole conversation with them could take place faster than Prudence could fire off an eldritch blast. Corazón's self-sacrifice and Merilwen's reveal of her Reincarnation spell was therefore also partially overshadowed by Dob sacrificing his magic for one more hitpoint of damage on Liliana rather than letting Prudence have her moment.
What I hope for: some of the lessons learned from other campaigns to lead the players to be better at taking turns, both in terms of people not trying to be the Main Character at inappropriate moments, players stepping up and into the leading role when it is appropriate for them to do so, and Johnny more actively monitoring the balance between the players and shutting down some of the more egregious behaviour
But it's consistency that is more of a sticking point, as well as the player treatment of the moral positions of the party. It's hard to know how to treat the morals of the party when they vary from letting a town burn for being slightly annoying (Mule Be Sorry) to most of the team being ready to forgive a hag who used to eat human(oid) children (Hag Reflex). This isn't just the players either - Stop Hammer Time used the murder of children as a joke, and marked a change in tone for the treatment of NPCs and civilians as not mattering compared to the preferences or comfort of the main characters. The skeletons killing the children wasn't even some sort of monkey's paw scenario about asking for there to be no more orphans in the town, either - it was just nasty shock value, in many ways. And playing this sort of thing for humour makes it quite hard to handle some of the rest of the series as a result.
There also felt like a dissonance, at times, between the objective morality of the characters and how the players seemed to want them to be treated. Prudence never claimed to be anything other than evil, from shooting someone with eldritch blast during the Spicy Rat Caper to enjoying Hammerdahl's necromancy in Extinction - Jane even indicated that she wanted to explore shifting Prudence's alignment post-Fast and the Furriest, which can be seen as Prudence is much less interested in random acts of destruction and seems quite happy to get her kicks scaring or torturing people (Silent Knight) or watching the gruesome spectacle at the end of Knight Shift. So Jane's plans matched Prudence's behaviour - a softening of her deliberately evil acts, but still happy to let others be evil.
For the others, though, it didn't always match. Merilwen's "True Neutral" label often felt more like passively letting her party members be evil, rather than actively seeking balance, Egbert was supposed to be on the search for atonement but regularly allowed or took part in atrocities, and Dob seemed more inclined to act on what the audience or Luke thought was funny (or even deliberately seeking to be contrary) rather than following a consistent attitude to morality. His vaguely annoyed "Skeletons!" and hands on hips in return to "It's orphans, boss" was clearly played for laughs, and in Mule Be Sorry he turns on the town easily, which then makes it feel strange when in Hag Reflex he objects to letting the hag live. Dob's infatuation with Liliana and Katie Pearlhead, both of whom have killed or caused the deaths of great numbers of people, also makes it harder to take his claims to morality at all seriously. The potential moral issues of Merilwen killing the Otherberts to prevent them from taking a message to Liliana (Bad Altitude) is turned into accusing her of "war crimes", but it is absurd in the face of how many other innocent bystanders the guild had killed or caused to die in other stories (from as early as Quiet Riot, in which the paladins were annoying but killing them was honestly overboard, to as late as Squid Pro Quo where Dob seemed to forget that five people had died and then brushed off the deaths).
NPCs also got hit by this at times, from the town mayor in Mule Be Sorry (again) who put his townsfolk on spike growth just to cross it, to the chef in Dine Harder who was abruptly made a cannibal to get a fight going, to the decay of morally Good characters like Captain Shattershield turning away from the Upside Down Mistmire when in his first appearance he had been willing to fight Death itself for being on Mistmire's grounds. It's hard to take seriously moral questions about keeping the Dragon Under Mistmire in its shelter, and the accidentally-caused deaths of two paladins, when the guild has been responsible for much worse.
What I hope for: an approach to morality that does not prioritise momentary humour over consistency; evil behaviour to be acknowledged as evil and owned rather than treated as protagonist-centric; a moral balance which makes it possible to really explore moral issues and concerns rather than extreme behaviour which then makes it impossible to treat conflict seriously. Legacy of Dragons, as a standalone arc seeking Egbert's redemption, exploring the protection vs freedom of the gold dragon, and considering how to improve vs break systems, had some really great potential - but because of extreme 'rule of funny' behaviour in the past, it was impossible to really feel that it had the moral gravitas and weight that it deserved. When the skeletons go from murdering a dozen innocent children (Stop Hammer Time) to giving Merilwen a bad haircut (Mean Gulls) and this is almost treated as somehow consistent in evilness, it makes it harder to respect the characters or the expectation of moral standards.
The Good: The humour, the quick-wittedness, the variety of stories. Roleplaying moments such as Egbert and Shattershield in Legacy of Dragons, Corazón putting his old self behind him at the Curse Hole, or Merilwen saying "I'll make you" to Vex.
The Bad: Unclear character arcs, inconsistent moralities, underpowered classes but at the same time game-breakingly permissive DMing, and some Main Character Syndrome moments.
The Hope: Learning from teething issues and setting up a game system that the DM doesn't resent so much, to better enable people to balance and play off each other in a less jarring and more consistent way.
submitted by afterandalasia to TheOxventure [link] [comments]
Warning: I'm not always nice in this write up, though I have done my best to be fair and honest throughout in what I think the potential pitfalls were and how I hope they might be better addressed in future campaigns.
I've played D&D myself for a few years, listened to other Actual Play series (notably NADDPOD and some D20 at one end of the competency-of-players scale, and Dragon Friends and Dungeons and Drongos at the other), and write... a lot. Including over 250k of fanfic specifically for Oxventure, which started off as an excuse for smut but ended up being a lot of worldbuilding.
System & Setting
Johnny has made no secret that they're not a huge fan of D&D, indicating that they feel it overshadows other systems, and given that the Spicy Rat Caper was meant to be a one-off but fans loved it perhaps they felt a little trapped in the system. This did lead to some funny moments (Faire Trial and Max commenting that they sometimes felt "like a big dice rolling around a tray" sticks with me) but sometimes felt a bit mean-spirited ("Crawl Me Maybe" and the heavy 'lol dungeon crawling is so ridiculous' comes to mind).It was also clear that at times, none of the group seemed to know the game and the rules super well. From Mike not knowing his movement speed ("30 what? Miles an hour?") to Merilwen not using her animal forms or changing out her spells until level 8, to the underpowering of most of the classes, it became more of an issue as time when on in some ways.
It's easy enough to understand why, live on stage and starry-eyed at Harry McEntire as Aubrey, Johnny missed that in the combat Aubrey cast two levelled spells in the same round (against the rules) as well as using two sorcery spell modifiers in the same round (also against the rules, and they mentioned this on the podcast). Sorcerer was also a new class to everyone, and dealing with a new class is always going to be difficult, especially dropping them in at a higher level rather than starting from level 1 and building up.
However, bluntly, most of the guild weren't using their class/subclass abilities to the fullest. Rules lawyer Andy did the best, so he gets a pass here, and Ellen got sharper with Merilwen over time to stuff like knowing her spell components, tracking her spell slots, and preparing her spells. However, the concept of Egbert as "a paladin who doesn't do paladin things" (quote from the post-Deadlands discussion) was ultimately really limiting not just for Egbert (Mike commented in one podcast episode that he felt he'd trapped himself in only using Egbert's abilities in ways that were funny) but for the entire concept of paladins - Max might as well have been a fighter in the fight in Gnome Alone that they took part in, and we never saw Shattershield fight at all. There were references to combat offscreen in Out of Order, but... that was it. (Additionally, while paladins can be poisoned, as poison and disease are different in 5e rules, paladins can pump out a LOT of healing, and a citadel full of them should have a lot of magical reserves to draw on as a result.)
And Egbert isn't the only one who was limited. One of the biggest features of Great Old One warlocks (which Prudence is, with Cthulhu), is that from level one they have telepathy within 30ft ("Awakened Mind"). Prudence went the entire campaign without using this. Although Johnny allowed the Message cantrip to be treated like this, allowing people to reply to it when RAW it is one-way only, this meant that Dob also essentially gained Prudence's power because he also had Message. Merilwen was limited in her animal forms and the spells that she knew up until level 8, and it was noticeable how everyone was shocked at her power once she had full RAW druid range. Corazón, on the other hand, not only had Andy keeping on top of all of his class and subclass features, but got two subclasses, leaving him about on par or slightly overpowered for the level he should have been looking overpowered because the others didn't use their abilities so well. Meanwhile, Dob was given access to full bardic abilities, but only used bardic inspiration in some of their level 1 adventures and then not much again until the final season.
The counterpart to this under-utilisation of class potential was the amount of 'rule of cool' or 'rule of funny' which sometimes worked well (Merilwen befriending the owlbear in Quiet Riot, or the reflavouring of Thunder Wave to do lightning damage instead based on their initial misunderstanding) and sometimes ended up breaking the game (the "everyone can cast Moonbeam" joke that escalated to the scrolls of Moonbeam that made the finale kind of laughable). Sometimes this seemed to be the time and audience pressure of live shows (allowing Prudence to use the hammer to wheel her way through the skeletons in Stop Hammer Time), but other times it was just letting them do things that went outside the rules (Egbert body-slamming six(?) Otherberts at once in Bad Altitude, or Dob casting all his spells at once in Corpse and Robbers) seemingly preferring the immediate humour or "yes and" over the potential internal logic or end implications.
The contrast between this permissiveness, sometimes to the point of breaking logical immersion, honestly seemed sharper to me when it was laid against Andy's GMing in Deadlands. Whether it was reminding people that there were snipers on the rooftops in Dead Man's Worth or refusing to yes-and a chandelier in More Wonders Than, he made it more difficult for the players and in doing so made them work harder within their skillsets and the setting, making the victories feel harder-won as a result. I'm aware that some people didn't like Andy's GMing specifically because he was less permissive, but I believe that his intention - and the outcome - was a stronger narrative that made the characters feel active and not just lucky. (Liliana lampshaded this in Frenemy at the Gates when she asked whether things often just fell into their laps, like with knowing Binbag, and it almost felt like a spiteful comment so it surprised me to hear it from Johnny.)
What I hope: It has been indicated that Johnny has created the new setting for the next game, so hopefully they have put things more to their liking at the beginning and will not end up seeming to dunk on the premise of their own series. I'm also hoping for everyone to either use more standardised rules, or at least establish in-game standards at the beginning so that all of the characters, and players, feel like they're on a level playing field from the off. Johnny seemed to much more enjoy the systems of Blades in the Dark and Deadlands (which were designed to be less superhero-level) and even the lower levels of Oxventure (especially Tier 1) where the characters were just people who were skilled but not particularly out of the range of normality; I'd be interested to see whether they lean more in that direction and keep the characters lower-powered as a result.
Characters & Character Arcs
Again, it's worth noting that the characters were initially conceived as being for a one-off game, so the initial concepts did not necessarily need planned arcs. However, the rockiness of some of the arcs overall may have contributed to issues with the series, especially as it stretched out over so many years. I'll go through the PCs alphabetically, then Liliana, then mention any other NPCs. There are two elements here - in-character goals, and character arc goals, which both play into things.Corazón - in my opinion, Corazón had one of the stronger character arcs, which may reflect Andy's interest in writing (and now being published!), going from the coward pirate-wannabe who abandoned his crew to the curse, to the person who threw himself in front of a spell meant for Merilwen. This was highlighted in his reply to Them in Prism Break, even before the Power Word Kill spell. In fact, the Power Word Kill brought a level of pathos to the fact that he had told Them that he was not even done growing as a person. Andy commented on the podcast at some point that he had expected at the beginning to be one of the more morally shady characters (as a pirate), but found himself playing a line of being immoral regarding money but caring deeply about physical hurt or harm to people. Corazón also had two layers of in-character goals - to break the curse (limited) and to become a betterichereal pirate (more open-ended) and find his own identity which allowed him to carry character development over the years even when the curse was ignored for extended periods. Goals: clear and stepped, with the curse as a plot-hook; arc: good and perfectly timed for the finale.
What I hope for: More of the same, really.
Dob - Dob came in early with a clearly defined goal (to find his sister) - but this was done in Brawl of the Wild and Dob has been sort of... undefined ever since. It absolutely makes sense that he would have floundered for a while, but Dob has gone several years without settling on new goal, and Luke also didn't seem to settle on a character arc (the romance subplot in Orbpocalypse Saga through Bride or Die seemed to be almost a character arc, but never got full payoff?) which left Dob feeling... well, at times it almost seemed like Luke wanted to get rid of him to play someone else instead. This was unfortunately also highlighted in conversation with Them, as the response that Dob gave was about him being a "mote of chaos". I obviously couldn't speak for others, but I found this underwhelming and unconvincing as an answer, as it didn't give me any sense of why a powerful celestial being would consider this an argument - if Dob had developed the argument to be that chaos is generative and creative in a way that pure order cannot be, and/or that the free will and agency of sapience demand that they be allowed to act and to try even if they make mistakes or fail, I think there might have been something there, but he didn't really seem to. Goals: had one which formed a good plot-hook, then went without; arc: unclear.
What I hope for: Luke to determine more of a character arc, or series of shorter arcs, perhaps drawing from his Blades in the Dark DMing experience, and to either pick a more open-ended goal or to move along a series of goals over time.
Egbert - Egbert came in with the vaguer goal of "atonement", which gave him more wiggle room, but unfortunately didn't seem to actively pursue it a lot of the time. In Legacy of Dragons it was revealed that he was searching for atonement for the deaths of two Dragon D'Or members - but by this time, so many people around the Oxventurers had died, including innocent bystanders, that the deaths of two other paladins felt like nothing. (Mike commented, again on the podcast, that he agreed with the commenters at the time who agreed that they knew it was his backstory from the beginning because only two paladins had died. The two figure paled next to the collateral damage that the party later caused.) Mike also commented on the podcast that during lockdown, he had made a conscious change with Egbert in to try to avoid combat as much as possible, and to avoid fatal attacks if in combat, but it wasn't clear how long that lasted. It may have been trying to avoid being the annoying/preachy paladin that stopped him from trying to influence the rest of the party or to save lives around them, but unfortunately it meant that it was difficult to see a real sense of wanting to atone in Egbert's arc. Letting innocents die around him isn't exactly less culpable than killing them himself. (Notable incidents included Mule Be Sorry, Wrangle in the Tangle, Hag Reflex, and Squid Pro Quo.) In terms of character arcs, there was definitely an element of going from seeking approval from Dragon D'Or to seeking that of his friends, but that was just a switching of approval-seeking rather than a significant change. Goals: had one, but didn't seem to actively pursue it; arc: moved from pursuing the morals of Dragon D'Or to pursuing the morals of the Oxventurers.
What I hope for: Mike to come back with a character who seeks to pursue their own goals more directly (see Barnaby and Silas, who both felt much stronger in this sense).
Merilwen - Merilwen was supposed to be about balance and protecting nature, but didn't always heavily engage with this point of view, even when the actions of the other Oxventurers should have absolutely led to discussions or disagreements between them. Many people commented on Andy being dickish about shooting seabirds in Legacy of Dragons, but there are other incidents, including the Wrangle in the Tangle (again), Eldritch or Die Trying (where it would have been interesting to see Merilwen's preference for nature clash with the need for the crystal) and the Extinction season which seemed to veer between being set up to be about Merilwen, then swapping to Dob-centric, then cleaning up Corazon's curse. In terms of character arc, I think there might be an element that can be teased out about her not fitting in with elf society and fitting in better with the faster-paced, more chaotic world of shorter-lived peoples, but this feels like speculation on my part more than something intended. Naturally, a character of around 100 is not going to feel as suited to a coming-of-age story as younger ones, but characters of all ages should be able to have character arcs. (Even if they might be slower in longer-lived people like elves - an example I can go to here is Galadriel, from Tolkien, who in her youth was proud and refused a pardon that would have allowed her to return to Valinor, but at the end of LOTR is humble enough to accept and go there. It took millennia for her, but it was a character arc all the same!) In Merilwen's conversation with Them, her uncertainty seemed to talk to this - a lack of clarity about where her characterisation was supposed to have gone over the last few years. I think there was a real opportunity here to explore Merilwen's relationship with morality and the difference between neutrality and passiveness, which unfortunately was missed. Goals: was supposed to be about nature but didn't push for it; arc: [speculation] seeking a non-elven community that she matched better with.
What I hope for: Ellen to have a character with more defined goals or arc, or gaps still to be filled in, rather than a static momentary sketch of personality/character that doesn't feel designed to be changed over time. Again, Lilith with her secrets/looking into the paranormal, and Edie with her goal to help people in a world in which monsters aren't going away, felt stronger as characters with goals and arcs, and I'd be happy to see more of that.
Prudence - Ambitious from the off, Prudence never actually struggled for goals - power, knowledge, magic, influence. The open-endedness of these goals once again served Prudence pretty well for carrying her through individual adventures/games and over the course of the whole canon, even if she didn't come in with clearly-defined (plot hook) goals like Corazón's curse. For the first few years, it felt that her character arc wasn't hugely significant, although there was certainly an element of found family over selfishness that played into it, but Jane also discussed (again, in the podcast) how the werebear element was really quite exciting for her as it allowed her to begin to explore the clash between werebear Lawful Good status and Prudence's usual Chaotic Evil desires. Eldritch or Die Trying explored this in a somewhat exaggerated way, with Cthulhu offering power in exchange for the destruction of the others (I suspect in Prudence's question about specifying people, she was trying to figure out whether she could kill just Liliana) which was a somewhat blatant nod to the character arc but did underline it. (Unlike the others, this also established Prudence's character arc before Them.) Goals: open-ended in a way that leaves them technically incomplete even now but which were stably useful throughout canon; arc: de-isolation and alignment shifting (in a way that should have been ripe for playing off against Liliana's) which played out well.
What I hope for: A character with perhaps some more specific or plot-hook goals as well as broader life goals. Prudence's character arc played out more subtly than Corazón's and sometimes perhaps got lost behind the louder personalities of some of the others, but I do think was well done. A less obvious way to explore or demonstrate it would have been nice.
Liliana - So. Here we go. Liliana was essentially a DMPC for the last season, but was a recurring character before that, with a stated goal of subjecting part or all of G'eth and broader goals (indicated or stated in Prism Break and the finale season generally) of academic/scholarly improvement, arcane knowledge, and the notion of making people appreciate what they have by threatening to take it from them. As a villain, she was threatening, and the layering of goals once again worked here, even with the abrupt movement to 'save G'eth' in the last season because, well, you can't rule what no longer exists. However, I am honestly confused as to what her character arc was supposed to be - whether her stated change of heart in front of Them was real, or whether that was a lie that Them somehow did not call out or challenge. Considering in Frenemy at the Gates, Liliana says that Prudence is the most like her, there was a potential here to play against Prudence's character arc of coming to trust others, even appreciate others, and facing the consequences of suffering making her realise her own flawed logic. I really do not know whether her betrayal of the guild was planned from the beginning (in which case, her talking to Them feels like it was overplayed, and Them should have challenged her on it) or whether Johnny added it because the fight against the giant was over more quickly than anticipated (compare to Dine Hard where the chef was the one person they did not stat up because they didn't expect the guild to fight him). Goals: logical, stepped, and worked for a villain; arc: ????? was there an arc? Was it fake? Was it desperation? Why did she, on 1 hitpoint, try to Power Word Kill Prudence instead of Teleporting away?
What I hope for: I don't know, with this one, really. Liliana's weird arc feels more related to the odd pacing of the last season than an underlying characterisation issue, for me, so I think it's more related to pacing/wanting Oxventure campaign 1 to close out.
Player Etiquette
...okay, this one is going to be a little bit harsh, perhaps. But the main campaign, more than either Blades in the Dark or Deadlands, really suffered from certain players having a bout of Main Character Syndrome.I say specifically players here, because it was entirely in-character for certain characters (largely Corazón) to think of themselves as the main character and behave as such. However, even if the characters think that, is generally considered good etiquette for the players to treat each other as equals, let each other take turns in the spotlight, and have their Moments.
Good examples would be the group letting Merilwen be the main character in Peak Performance, Prudence explore her sundered relationship with Cthulhu during the Orbpocalypse Saga, or Dob showing off his acting bard chops in Dine Harder.
However, at various times, various people have overstepped. Sometimes in live shows where the audience response and excitement probably played a role (Rolling in the Deep) it's more understandable, but it also happened elsewhere. Mike got some flack for picking up the eyepatch at the end of Cursed Case Scenario and 'ruining' Corazón's moment, but even Johnny called Andy out for muscling in on Dob's subplot in Court in the Act, and Life Finds a Dob was almost uncomfortable at times. There was also something of a trend of Dob deliberately acting against the party for unclear reasons (possibly meant to be humour?) - either running away from them in Life Finds a Dob, refusing to 'share' Corazon's body in Portal Combat, or his contrary behaviour in Hunter Pressure in not wanting to fight the hunters/murderers they were facing.
I'm not sure whether this trend of contrariness fed into the unclear character arc that I mentioned above, or the other way around, or whether the two just fed into each other.
The most extreme example of this was, undoubtedly, Dob jumping in on the shoot-off between Liliana and Prudence right at the end of Portal Combat. Liliana approached Prudence in Frenemy at the Gates because they were the most alike. Prudence was the one with the first kill of the whole campaign, using Eldritch Blast, against the party's wishes and Corazón's protests specifically - how appropriate would it have been for her to get the last kill of the campaign, with Eldritch Blast, in defense of herself and her party and as retribution for Corazón? But instead, Luke inserted Dob into the standoff and Johnny played into it, even to the absurd extent of letting the skeletons use Time Stop (a 9th Level spell) just to explain why Dob's whole conversation with them could take place faster than Prudence could fire off an eldritch blast. Corazón's self-sacrifice and Merilwen's reveal of her Reincarnation spell was therefore also partially overshadowed by Dob sacrificing his magic for one more hitpoint of damage on Liliana rather than letting Prudence have her moment.
What I hope for: some of the lessons learned from other campaigns to lead the players to be better at taking turns, both in terms of people not trying to be the Main Character at inappropriate moments, players stepping up and into the leading role when it is appropriate for them to do so, and Johnny more actively monitoring the balance between the players and shutting down some of the more egregious behaviour
Morality
This... isn't actually going to be complaining about characters behaving immorally or even being evil. Prudence is honestly a great example of how to play an evil character in a way that doesn't break a party, while Corazón works as being immoral about money but moral about hurting people (at least most of the time). I've also thoroughly enjoyed some other games in which the characters have been far from moral (NADDPOD's Trinyvale series is a good example of this - the characters are scam artists, grifters and egotists, and the DM commented that "character growth doesn't have to be positive!"; they complain the entire time while saving the world).But it's consistency that is more of a sticking point, as well as the player treatment of the moral positions of the party. It's hard to know how to treat the morals of the party when they vary from letting a town burn for being slightly annoying (Mule Be Sorry) to most of the team being ready to forgive a hag who used to eat human(oid) children (Hag Reflex). This isn't just the players either - Stop Hammer Time used the murder of children as a joke, and marked a change in tone for the treatment of NPCs and civilians as not mattering compared to the preferences or comfort of the main characters. The skeletons killing the children wasn't even some sort of monkey's paw scenario about asking for there to be no more orphans in the town, either - it was just nasty shock value, in many ways. And playing this sort of thing for humour makes it quite hard to handle some of the rest of the series as a result.
There also felt like a dissonance, at times, between the objective morality of the characters and how the players seemed to want them to be treated. Prudence never claimed to be anything other than evil, from shooting someone with eldritch blast during the Spicy Rat Caper to enjoying Hammerdahl's necromancy in Extinction - Jane even indicated that she wanted to explore shifting Prudence's alignment post-Fast and the Furriest, which can be seen as Prudence is much less interested in random acts of destruction and seems quite happy to get her kicks scaring or torturing people (Silent Knight) or watching the gruesome spectacle at the end of Knight Shift. So Jane's plans matched Prudence's behaviour - a softening of her deliberately evil acts, but still happy to let others be evil.
For the others, though, it didn't always match. Merilwen's "True Neutral" label often felt more like passively letting her party members be evil, rather than actively seeking balance, Egbert was supposed to be on the search for atonement but regularly allowed or took part in atrocities, and Dob seemed more inclined to act on what the audience or Luke thought was funny (or even deliberately seeking to be contrary) rather than following a consistent attitude to morality. His vaguely annoyed "Skeletons!" and hands on hips in return to "It's orphans, boss" was clearly played for laughs, and in Mule Be Sorry he turns on the town easily, which then makes it feel strange when in Hag Reflex he objects to letting the hag live. Dob's infatuation with Liliana and Katie Pearlhead, both of whom have killed or caused the deaths of great numbers of people, also makes it harder to take his claims to morality at all seriously. The potential moral issues of Merilwen killing the Otherberts to prevent them from taking a message to Liliana (Bad Altitude) is turned into accusing her of "war crimes", but it is absurd in the face of how many other innocent bystanders the guild had killed or caused to die in other stories (from as early as Quiet Riot, in which the paladins were annoying but killing them was honestly overboard, to as late as Squid Pro Quo where Dob seemed to forget that five people had died and then brushed off the deaths).
NPCs also got hit by this at times, from the town mayor in Mule Be Sorry (again) who put his townsfolk on spike growth just to cross it, to the chef in Dine Harder who was abruptly made a cannibal to get a fight going, to the decay of morally Good characters like Captain Shattershield turning away from the Upside Down Mistmire when in his first appearance he had been willing to fight Death itself for being on Mistmire's grounds. It's hard to take seriously moral questions about keeping the Dragon Under Mistmire in its shelter, and the accidentally-caused deaths of two paladins, when the guild has been responsible for much worse.
What I hope for: an approach to morality that does not prioritise momentary humour over consistency; evil behaviour to be acknowledged as evil and owned rather than treated as protagonist-centric; a moral balance which makes it possible to really explore moral issues and concerns rather than extreme behaviour which then makes it impossible to treat conflict seriously. Legacy of Dragons, as a standalone arc seeking Egbert's redemption, exploring the protection vs freedom of the gold dragon, and considering how to improve vs break systems, had some really great potential - but because of extreme 'rule of funny' behaviour in the past, it was impossible to really feel that it had the moral gravitas and weight that it deserved. When the skeletons go from murdering a dozen innocent children (Stop Hammer Time) to giving Merilwen a bad haircut (Mean Gulls) and this is almost treated as somehow consistent in evilness, it makes it harder to respect the characters or the expectation of moral standards.
The Good: The humour, the quick-wittedness, the variety of stories. Roleplaying moments such as Egbert and Shattershield in Legacy of Dragons, Corazón putting his old self behind him at the Curse Hole, or Merilwen saying "I'll make you" to Vex.
The Bad: Unclear character arcs, inconsistent moralities, underpowered classes but at the same time game-breakingly permissive DMing, and some Main Character Syndrome moments.
The Hope: Learning from teething issues and setting up a game system that the DM doesn't resent so much, to better enable people to balance and play off each other in a less jarring and more consistent way.
2024.05.18 19:25 SecretSquid007 Advice from my first run
Hi, just completed the London West 2024 race and thought I would give some advice to anyone looking to do it and give some insight into how it works. For reference, I did the 10+ mile Classic route.
If I had to summarize Tough Mudder, it would be this: "If you're ever doubting humanity, do a Tough Mudder" The community of people are the nicest I've met, both staff and runners. From the start, you're reminded that it's not a race, but a challenge, and you're to prioritize helping your fellow mudders than your run time. It works. Everyone is willing to help you on the obstacles, chat to you while walking, running, or anything really. I talked to two people in the queue at the start, and ended up running and chatting with them for the whole 10 miles. Don't worry about running solo, you'll meet a lot of really great people.
You don't need a lot, in terms of prep and gear. A set of clean clothes and a towel, along with some plastic bags for wet stuff, is all you really need to bring in a bag. The bag drop system is great, as are facilities to change afterwards and get food and drink to replenish calories and electrolytes. With lots at the starting areas, there are also portaloos on the course at the various water and food points. The food and water points have water and electrolyte drinks being served in small plastic cups by staff, as well as (at most) protein/energy bars which definitely help! Depending on the course/length, you'll have anywhere from 2-4 of these stations along your route. It's all well thought out and a breeze on the day.
The running. A good strategy to keep to (with exceptions ofc) is 'jog the straights and downhills, walk uphill'. This way, you won't get too exhausted and can pace yourself nicely, regardless of route length. Wear supportive footwear as the terrain can be quite precarious, with ankle injuries likely being the biggest fear. Simple shorts and a T-shirt will suffice, although scrapes from the various obstacles will occur. For me, 10 miles sounded daunting, but if you simply think about it as getting from one obstacle to the next, don't look too far ahead, you'll be fine. The first stretch will likely be running, just to space out the pack and allow the fast runners to leave the slower ones to their own devices. This is arguably the hardest part but it ends soon enough, an hour went by in what felt like 20 minutes!
The obstacles. The worst, personally, are the electric wires ones. Forgetting the name, one obstacle had us swimming in shallow water, with electric wires a few inches above the water. Swimming it submarine-style is an option, but the shocks if you get hit are powerful, akin to being punched. During my run, I got shocked twice in the lower spine on this, dived down fully, and swam underwater the rest of the way. These ones ARE optional, advised to avoid if you have any medical conditions, but for how short they are and how great a story to tell after, I'd suggest giving them a go. Train a decent amount of upper body before hand, as they can be quite intense on these muscles, but not a significant amount of gym training is required to be able to complete the run. The state you'll be in afterwards is another question (I'm writing this day-of, so I'm dreading tomorrow!) but give them all your best shot and it'll be fine, the worst you'll get is a little muddy and wet. The longer routes will include more obstacles, I personally feel I would have been unsatisfied with the shorter course, but that is completely based on individual ability and comfortability. They put more of the obstacles in the latter sections, so the former is more running-focused, but each section will go by incredibly quickly so it's not a big problem.
Spectators. Hearing various accounts, the signage is less than optimal, and you're not able to see many of the obstacles. The later ones are opened up to the spectators (their route passes the later ones more) but most of the earlier obstacles, spectators won't be able to see you. There are tons of photographers on-site and at most obstacles who are taking tons of photos, so the photo-packs may be a good purchase if you want a nice variety of pics.
At the end. You'll get a medal, a T-shirt, and a headband, all very nice quality. I'm not sure about other locations, but we got given a beer too! You get to choose the size of shirt, don't worry! As mentioned before, there are changing and rinse-off areas, women being given a closed-off section to change, while guys just wrap a towel around their waist and sort themselves out! There are plenty of food stands available, with most of the drink stands being free (I was given several energy drinks, thank God!). There is some seating available but the grass is perfectly suitable, or just stand (although that may be troublesome depending on how far you've run!).
Overall, it is one of the best experiences I've had. I'm 20, but the age range at the event, for all the lengths, were incredible diverse. Everyone is welcome, the atmosphere and comradery is infectious, and ultimately instills confidence in your fellow man (as cheesy as that sounds!). While you probably want to spend a couple weeks prior in the gym or going for runs, I know many people out there today ran it with little to no prior training, so don't be daunted. I hope this was helpful, it's probably very disjointed as I've kind of typed flow of consciousness, but wanted to cover everything that I had been concerned about prior to taking part in the event. Push yourself, you can probably do a lot more than you give yourself credit for.
Definitely doing next year 😁
submitted by SecretSquid007 to Toughmudder [link] [comments]
If I had to summarize Tough Mudder, it would be this: "If you're ever doubting humanity, do a Tough Mudder" The community of people are the nicest I've met, both staff and runners. From the start, you're reminded that it's not a race, but a challenge, and you're to prioritize helping your fellow mudders than your run time. It works. Everyone is willing to help you on the obstacles, chat to you while walking, running, or anything really. I talked to two people in the queue at the start, and ended up running and chatting with them for the whole 10 miles. Don't worry about running solo, you'll meet a lot of really great people.
You don't need a lot, in terms of prep and gear. A set of clean clothes and a towel, along with some plastic bags for wet stuff, is all you really need to bring in a bag. The bag drop system is great, as are facilities to change afterwards and get food and drink to replenish calories and electrolytes. With lots at the starting areas, there are also portaloos on the course at the various water and food points. The food and water points have water and electrolyte drinks being served in small plastic cups by staff, as well as (at most) protein/energy bars which definitely help! Depending on the course/length, you'll have anywhere from 2-4 of these stations along your route. It's all well thought out and a breeze on the day.
The running. A good strategy to keep to (with exceptions ofc) is 'jog the straights and downhills, walk uphill'. This way, you won't get too exhausted and can pace yourself nicely, regardless of route length. Wear supportive footwear as the terrain can be quite precarious, with ankle injuries likely being the biggest fear. Simple shorts and a T-shirt will suffice, although scrapes from the various obstacles will occur. For me, 10 miles sounded daunting, but if you simply think about it as getting from one obstacle to the next, don't look too far ahead, you'll be fine. The first stretch will likely be running, just to space out the pack and allow the fast runners to leave the slower ones to their own devices. This is arguably the hardest part but it ends soon enough, an hour went by in what felt like 20 minutes!
The obstacles. The worst, personally, are the electric wires ones. Forgetting the name, one obstacle had us swimming in shallow water, with electric wires a few inches above the water. Swimming it submarine-style is an option, but the shocks if you get hit are powerful, akin to being punched. During my run, I got shocked twice in the lower spine on this, dived down fully, and swam underwater the rest of the way. These ones ARE optional, advised to avoid if you have any medical conditions, but for how short they are and how great a story to tell after, I'd suggest giving them a go. Train a decent amount of upper body before hand, as they can be quite intense on these muscles, but not a significant amount of gym training is required to be able to complete the run. The state you'll be in afterwards is another question (I'm writing this day-of, so I'm dreading tomorrow!) but give them all your best shot and it'll be fine, the worst you'll get is a little muddy and wet. The longer routes will include more obstacles, I personally feel I would have been unsatisfied with the shorter course, but that is completely based on individual ability and comfortability. They put more of the obstacles in the latter sections, so the former is more running-focused, but each section will go by incredibly quickly so it's not a big problem.
Spectators. Hearing various accounts, the signage is less than optimal, and you're not able to see many of the obstacles. The later ones are opened up to the spectators (their route passes the later ones more) but most of the earlier obstacles, spectators won't be able to see you. There are tons of photographers on-site and at most obstacles who are taking tons of photos, so the photo-packs may be a good purchase if you want a nice variety of pics.
At the end. You'll get a medal, a T-shirt, and a headband, all very nice quality. I'm not sure about other locations, but we got given a beer too! You get to choose the size of shirt, don't worry! As mentioned before, there are changing and rinse-off areas, women being given a closed-off section to change, while guys just wrap a towel around their waist and sort themselves out! There are plenty of food stands available, with most of the drink stands being free (I was given several energy drinks, thank God!). There is some seating available but the grass is perfectly suitable, or just stand (although that may be troublesome depending on how far you've run!).
Overall, it is one of the best experiences I've had. I'm 20, but the age range at the event, for all the lengths, were incredible diverse. Everyone is welcome, the atmosphere and comradery is infectious, and ultimately instills confidence in your fellow man (as cheesy as that sounds!). While you probably want to spend a couple weeks prior in the gym or going for runs, I know many people out there today ran it with little to no prior training, so don't be daunted. I hope this was helpful, it's probably very disjointed as I've kind of typed flow of consciousness, but wanted to cover everything that I had been concerned about prior to taking part in the event. Push yourself, you can probably do a lot more than you give yourself credit for.
Definitely doing next year 😁
2024.05.18 19:25 Omegarus211 Ragnarok: Second Coming - Chapter 6
 | Chapter 6 – {Awakening} submitted by Omegarus211 to ShuumatsuNoValkyrie [link] [comments] “What a sudden turn of events! Camulus has undergone a startling transformation, and has now suddenly gained the advantage! Can Henry come back from this? Or will Camulus crush him like the unstoppable force he has now seem to have become.” “What are we gonna’ do nowwwwww?” Goll whined, tears streaming down her face as she shelled up on the floor. Arthur looked at her sympathetically, as if he were a dad looking at his crying daughter. Kneeling down, he placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed gently, trying to rouse her from her worry. “There, there, the fight is not over yet.” Arthur assured her softly. Snapping up into a sitting position, she grabbed a hold of whatever cloth she could get her hands on and began to shake Arthur as hard as she could. With tear now of anger rather than sadness, she began to shout at him. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, “The fights not over yet”? HE'S JUST TAKEN ON A STRONGER FORM, AND HENRY CAN BARELY KEEP UP WITH HIM AT HIS BASE LEVEL! HOW THE HELL DO YOU SUGGEST THEY GET OUT OF THIS ONE?!” He tried to get out a response as he shook back and forth wildly, “Just-keep-wa-tching-the-ma-tch.” As Goll had a meltdown up in the stands, Henry was struggling to stand on the field. His left arm had been rendered little more than a clump of bruised flesh and powdered bone, the mangled limb twisted at a truly sickening angle. The rest of his exposed form was bruised, bloodied and battered, micro cuts crisscrossed his frame alongside deeper gashes and rents in his flesh from the many blows he had endured over the course of the fight. And now he stood, staring up at his opponent, stronger than ever, like a stone wall, waiting for Henry to shatter himself on his now indomitable stature. And yet, the light still burned in Henry’s mind. Like an everlasting flame, the spark of warmth, of passion and determination still burned in Henry’s soul. He would see this fight through, no matter the odds stacked against him, or the forces that sought to block his path, he would endure. It did not matter to him that one of his arms had been mangled. The god could have a leg, if they wanted, perhaps even both. As long as he could raise his sword, he could still fight. And if he could fight, he could win. All it would take, is one good shot. “I would advise you to surrender now. Perhaps they’ll let you keep your life.” Camulus suggested, a deep grimace on his face. Planting his sword in the cracks of the stone, Henry propped himself up on the blade, his muscle screaming for release, yet he could not stop. He strained to smile, his eyes bleary as he looked at his adversary. “I’m sorry,” he declared, pride creeping into his voice, “but a King bows to no one, not mortal, and since the gods show themselves cruel and fickle, not even them. As a leader, I would be a disgrace if I chose any path other than battle.” Camulus processed his opponent’s words for a second, then a toothy grin stretched on his face, one of pride and excitement, but more worryingly, one of sheer bloodlust, “Then we’re of the same mind.” Camulus’ image blurred as he seemed to vanish into thin air. Confusion didn’t even have time to set in, as the god’s fist smashed into the plate of armour protecting Henry torso just below the sternum. The shock wave of the blow boomed throughout the stadium. Henry heaved as the hit knocked him away, but before he could go very far, a nanosecond after the punch, the sole of Camulus’ foot slammed into Henry’s face brutalizing his nose and adding more momentum in addition to the punch, sending him clear across the ring, crashing into the walls and the arena. Henry hacked up a glob of blood as his head spun for the 1-2 combo of devastation. Camulus sauntered toward Henry as if he were taking a stroll through the fields. The image vanished, before appearing directly above Henry in an instant. A wicked grin near split Camulus’ face as he began to hammer down on Henry’s form. All Henry could do was shell up in hopes to stave off the onslaught. The blows came in a million a second, embedding him deeper into the stone as the armour continued to crumple under the pressure. “It seems Camulus has this battle won.” Andrasta commented, her tone pointedly neutral. “Yes, but at what cost?” Cnabetius answered, his voice wavering as he was on the verge of tears. “The little one is right,” Caturix answered, “that form may give him great physical might, but it comes at the cost of a deteriorating mental state.” Lugh spoke up. “And you would know about this?” he prodded, trying to get more information out of the Battle King. Caturix’s jaw clenched as he watched the fight intently, his mind and body on edge from the brutal display Swinging his arm wide, he dug his arm into the arena and dragged it through the stone, palming the side of his opponent’s head and sending them flying through the air, before quickly crashing into the ground with a sickening thud. Seeing his fallen foe splayed across the ground, Camulus crouched down and tensed, as if he were an apex predator waiting for the right moment to strike his prey. Henry, meanwhile, was struggling to breathe after the bombardment of blows. He heaved as he struggled to rise to his feet, the misshapen armour now digging into his body at odd angles. His knees were shaking as the struggled to rise to his feet. In an instant, his adversary was again upon him, battering with every kind of blow at every angle one could think of. Punches, kick, elbows, knees, chops, Camulus even made use of the spikes and blades on his knuckledusters, raking and slashing them across any exposed flesh he could see. Henry struggled to withstand the hail of blows, each hits threatening to knock him over. He couldn’t dodge the assault, he could barely block or even see the hits. The sheer speed and ferocity of the onslaught made it nigh impossible to even find an opportunity to counter, let alone pull it off successfully. Camulus began to laugh uproariously, seemingly enjoying the punishment he was inflicting upon his prey, almost relishing in the game of life and death. Each blow forced Henry back, his will struggling to keep him from being knocked clean off his feet. A punch smashed into Henry’s stomach, making Henry wretch as he struggled to keep his stomach contents from being violently forced from his body. An instant later, an upper cut hammered into his jaw with the might of a catapult, launching his body high into the air. Henry’s head wrung like a gong as not even a moment later, Camulus was directly above him. Henry tried to raise his sword to strike at his foe, but he found it kicked away as Camulus began to spin, gaining momentum as he prepared to strike his opponent down. As his fists came down, for just a moment, the metals shone like diamonds in the sunlight. [Colchester Crash] This time, there was no defence, no counter to the blow. It connected squarely into Henry’s chest, as the blow slammed down both combatants like a meteor. The ground was blasted to pieces as small rock were smashed to dust in the wind, and largerocks sent flying in every direction. The building seemed to be cracking apart, sending both god and man alike into a panic as they rushed to either escape or stop the damage from becoming worse. The sound boomed throughout the entire Realm as the dust settled into a thick cloud that covered the arena. Several moments passed as the cloud slowly died away to reveal the carnage. What ever hadn’t been destroyed before the impact as certainly pulverised now. The floor was a mess, rock jutting up from the earth at random intervals, as if they were whales breaching the surface of the sea. Cracks like spider webs sectioned the ground, transforming the terrain into a grid of madness. It was from that chaos one of the combatants forced themselves into the light. The rocks moved and shifted, giving way to reveal Camulus almost completely unharmed. Physically, at least. Mentally it was clear that something was not right. His eyes were red deeply bloodshot and demented, his grin splitting his face as his teeth slowly grinded together. If his sanity hadn’t fled him before, it was certainly gone now. “Uh, guys”, Cnabetius stammered, “I don’t like that look he has.” “It’s quite worrisome.” Andrasta replied, a slight warble in her voice from fear. “Most worrisome.” Lugh added. Meanwhile, Caturix began to shake, the pace of his breath increasing steadily as he took in the sight, his worst nightmare come back to haunt him. ‘Dammit, I knew this would happen, I knew that if that form was released it would be the end for all of us.’ He remembered that day as if he were living it. The day when the true God of War was decided. The great battles of unification had taken millennia, dozens, if not hundred of God’s staking their claim as the one true God of War. It was an intense and bloody affair, but at the end, it had come down to two men, two unbroken warriors; The Battle King, Caturix and the Untameable Flame, Camulus. It had been a battle that had been brewing for centuries, and in Caturix’s mind, it did not disappoint. For days, the two warred, battering each other bloody with everything they had in their arsenal. [Magh Ithe] https://preview.redd.it/0r71zysrx71d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=70dfb70dbc3ab6c98510e84bdf98f1576ee27fde [Cicollui Clothesline] https://preview.redd.it/pijyzwkiz71d1.png?width=4096&format=png&auto=webp&s=2ac76f796bdb6a771ae5610b9d04cad53d6a266a [Helvetii] https://preview.redd.it/20lqcvwjz71d1.png?width=4096&format=png&auto=webp&s=b61ff27d99b8dbfc33cbe1a5f4d86ab91cb94478 Caturix hit Camulus with every attack in his arsenal, yet the kid refused to fall, refused to yield. Instead, the young God only used each blow as motivation to hit back harder [Colchester Crash] https://preview.redd.it/ctfzhvxzx71d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=69fe9294178bdd12e42c8ebec7681c8076beeaf8 [Gae Pretannia] https://preview.redd.it/09zykjugz71d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=d294b99e7cf9aebfa054d983c93c8f7c279b7e25 [Sacred Fire] https://preview.redd.it/rudzl0z8z71d1.png?width=4096&format=png&auto=webp&s=6660480e1a6b17f44936e9c2ad18be239d1e433b Blow after blow, each stronger than the last. But just as Camulus refused to fall, neither did Caturix. Even [Across the Channel], professed by many to be the knockout blow against him was not actually enough to drop him, not on it’s own. In fact, as the battle drew to it’s close, it seemed as if Caturix was finally beginning to get the better of his rival. He hit another [Magh Ithe] flush into Camulus’s chest. How many he had hit at that point was lost to Caturix, he lost count after 36. But this time, after so much punishment, Camulus finally looked as if he was about to drop. ‘Just one more.’ Caturix thought tiredly, yet hopefully to himself. ‘Just one more hit, and he might finally go down’. Caturix moved in, charging up a final blow, ready to finally put an end to this. “Eat this! [Europa: Overlord]” He launched the move with full might. The mere force of the group rending it asunder. Only to find a fist connecting squarely with his jaw. Now, Caturix had endured the feeling of a punch countless of his millennia of combat. He had endured countless punches in this fight alone. So it it is all the more notable that this punches, out of the uncountable masses, was the one he recognised about all others. He remembered it for one simple reason. Never before, and never since , had any one blow struck him as hard as that one punch. At that moment, Caturix knew one painful, and consuming truth. He was going to lose. The Camulus struck with [Across the Channel]. Whilst the first one had been impactful, this second flurry carried with it far greater speed and power, too great for even the battle king to withstand. It was as if Camulus had gathered a second wind, twice as strong as before. The final blow smashed into Caturix’s temple, sending his brain spinning through several dimensions as the battle king, after so long, finally fell. Camulus was the victor. Yet he did not stop. Instead, Camulus leapt upon his foe with ferocity, like a rabid animal tearing at a carcass. He began to pummel the battle king mercilessly, wanting his pound of flesh from his opponent. It was here, up close, that Caturix could see the change his opponent underwent, the strange blue markings that were spread across his body like war paint, and his deeply bloodshot eyes. The beating was relentless, as the new monster sought to punish Caturix for daring to challenge it. He knew he had to do something to seal this monster that had been unleashed from with Camulus’ soul, lest he rampage throughout the Realm. [Sheathing of the Blade] Caturix stabbed into Camulus at specific spots with the spikes on his gauntlets, finding the vital points where energy was drawn from, and sealing them. He would not know whether it worked in the moment, as he passed out a second later. It would only be when he awoke days later, did he find out his success. It would be the first and last time he would fight Camulus for the top. Not because he saw himself as lesser, but because he did not want to risk unleashing that terror again And now, that terror was staring him in the face once again. He could see that same all-consuming desire for blood and destruction. He tensed preparing to fight the one thing that put fear into his heart. He was bought out of his thought by a loud WHAM that shook the stadium as Thor rose to his feet. The God of Thunder stared down at his one challenger, ready for that long awaited rematch. “Ah, w-well...” Heimdall stuttered, still feeling from the chaos that had just occurred, “It would appear that the winner of Round 1 is...” Camulus’ Attention was now laser focused on Thor, tensing as he prepared to leap towards a new opponent. “The Celtic God of War...” Ready, set- “Camu-” A breath could be heard from the rubble. It was a quiet, rasping breath, yet it could be heard with clarity across the entire stadium. Everyone froze as they realised where that breath came from. The rocks shifted as out from the rubble emerged the battered, but still living form of Henry V. “Damn, that was too close for comfort!” Lancelot huffed, still trying to get his wits about him, “You almost got pasted there, and that means we both would have died, you damn fool. Not like that matters much now...” Camulus’ head turned to regard the bloodied king, salivating with demented glee, ready for the continued brutality. “Since we’re gonna be dead in a few seconds regardless.” As Henry lay there, broken and bloodied, he could hear voices from the audience. “HENRY!” his father yelled, “Don’t you give up now, boy! You are the best of all of us! Show that god what's what?” “Let that god know the might of the English!” Henry VII shouted. “Show them what a real warrior can do!” Richard Lionheart roared. “C’Mon dad, you can do this” Henry VI cheered. Hotspur stepped forward, gathering his breath before screaming to the Heavens, “MONMOUTH! What do want to do?! What is your one true desire?!” “To win, my way.” Pushing off his good arm, he strained to sit up, collecting his breath as he did so. “Never surrender, never retreat.” “Oh sure,” Lancelot responded, the sarcasm layered on very thick, “and how exactly are we supposed to do that.” Henry slowly stood, carefully balancing his weight between the sword and his weary legs. “There is one thing we can do... just one.” https://preview.redd.it/30opimuez71d1.png?width=4096&format=png&auto=webp&s=8725c7ced4d0cd872401fed592c0d97a92102b10 Closing his eyes, he focused deeply, bringing out every thought every emotion he had ever had, then let all of them flow from his mind. He let complete and total calm take hold in that moment. There was no emotion, there was no doubt or second guessing, there was only truth. Absolute, irrevocable truth. The deepest instinct, the greatest of them all. “[Royal instinct]” Less than a second later, Camulus had leapt to within striking distance, ready to end his foe. But whereas Henry was completely overwhelmed before, now his clarity was absolute. He knew exact what would happen, how each and every muscle within Camulus’ body would move before they even did so. Henry knew what Camulus’ second move would be before he even began his first. Camulus shot out with a wild punch, which the more focused Henry deflected with ease. If he had use of his other arm, he may have even followed up with a punch of his own. Instead, he simply let Camulus’ momentum work against him. The god overshot, and was sent crashing into the ground a few times before slamming into the wall. As the crowd looked on in shock at what had just happened, they turned to look at the man who had done it. He had change, it was clear to see for all through the change on his eyes, once filled with brown tones, now a crystalline, pale silver. The sword had morphed to reflect this new state, reflecting the mind of a king. Whatever this was, it had shifted the tide of battle yet again. https://preview.redd.it/i40thhpcz71d1.png?width=4096&format=png&auto=webp&s=8e2d91981867bbda4480edf1c3da008a9146e66a “Damn! What is this?!” Lancelot cried, “I feel my head is full of everything and nothing at the same time!” “[Royal Instinct]! A fine tuning of the instincts within all of us. By using this we, can reject all unnecessary thoughts and information, both new and old, as well as higher awareness and clarity of vital information. On the absolute truth of the situation will be known to us, truth we’ll know before the lie can even be made.” Camulus soon broke his way free from the rock and charged. He leapt forward again, this time with an elbow, again deflected. Again, Camulus skid across the rocks for several metres, but this time, he was able to right himself and charge in again. But again, the resulting attack was deflected. This repeated several more times, each attack and recovery was faster than the last. But Henry parried them all with perfect clarity, as he bided his time for the perfect moment. After another parry, Camulus righted himself and prepared the blast into Henry at full speed, all thought of technique gone from the raving gods mind. Henry readied his blade for his own strike. The mere tap of Camulus’ foot sent shock waves through the ground as he rocketed forward and max speed. But Henry was undeterred. Swiftly parrying the blow, he brought his arm in and then swung out. The pommel connected directly with Camulus’ temple, sending the force of the impact through his head, almost seeming to paralyse the god, as he crashed and skidded across the ground limply. For the first time since the transformation occurred, Henry had seized the advantage. ‘Where the hell am I?’ was Camulus’ first weary thought after being shocked back to sanity. ‘Ohhh fuck, my head hurts worse than that time me and Cna went drinking at the place the humans called Mamucium.’ Taking a moment to clear the thunderstorm in his head, he scanned over the decimated arena, his dizziness turning to confusion. ‘OK seriously, what the hell happened here?’ Pushing himself from the rubble, he survey the situation, trying to understand what was going on. Then suddenly, his skull felt as if it was about to burst, and his eyes swan with illusions and distortions of reality, hearing voices whispering behind his ears. Camulus clutched at his head, forcing the thoughts down. After a minute of excruciating pain, he finally returned to reality. 'Dammit, what's going on with me? Focus! You have a fight to win!' “Damn, we might have knocked him out cold. I’m loath to say it, but I think you were right, we may have a chance after all.” Lancelot commented, almost in awe of the current situation. Henry chuckled, “Wouldn’t have figured you to be one to admit when you were wrong.” Lancelot froze for a moment, before scoffing at Henry’s comment, “Just because you were right doesn’t mean I was wrong, jackass!” For a moment, Henry laughed at Lancelot’s Haughtiness, before that cheer was replaced by boiling pain, as he dropped to a knee. Lancelot was confused for a moment, before he felt a warm liquid pour from his eyes. As he dabbed at his eyes, he saw the crimson colouration that quickly gave away what that liquid was. Blood. “What the hell is this? What’s going on?!” Henry stammered as he spoke, still trying to get his wits about him. “A-ah yes, t-here is a cost t-to using the form.” https://preview.redd.it/bzcy3g8vz71d1.png?width=1024&format=png&auto=webp&s=a7682905a9a922d062639ce0d01afe3c1fff92e6 “And what would that be?!” “Working the mind at such an acute level can result in overload if stressed too hard, or used too long. I’ve been used to using against humans...” “...and you just now used it against a god.” Lancelot finish. “Y-yes” “Jesus Christ,” Lancelot mumbled, “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!” he them screamed. “I’ve made peace with the fact that even if I win, I likely won’t live much longer anyway. So right now, in this moment, I don’t care how much damage I do to myself, or how much time I have left is eaten away. As long as I have enough to win this fight, long enough to bring humanity, and the people I care for, one step closer to salvation, it matters not.” Both Camulus and Henry stood, readying their guard, their bodies battered and bruised, yet their spirits unbroken, they both knew one thing. Win or lose, this fight was nearing its end. |
2024.05.18 19:23 MagicBold Brief explanation of the physio-metabolic treatment method for AGA (antiandrogen+minoxidil+muscle stress+cold temperature stress).
If you're reading this, you've probably read the weird, crazy comments on tressless posts.
The essence of my AGA treatment method is to do the following during the period of using FDA-recognized medications for androgenetic alopecia (finasteride 0.25-1.25 mg everyday, minoxidil 5% topical 2ml or(and) oral minoxidil 2.5-5 mg everyday) physiotherapeutic actions:
B) Use of a cold shower on the whole body and always on the hair (thermal effect with cold water from +5 to +15 Celsius. Possible dousing with water from a bucket or tap. The effect is short, 10-20 seconds.
C) Drying the body without a towel in a room with a temperature of +18 to +22 degrees Celsius, preferably in a draft or outside in the wind. It is advisable to see traces of piloerection (raising of hair on the skin) and goosebumps on the body, this means that everything is correct. After partial drying and feeling cold, you can dry yourself with a towel as usual, the main thing is to feel the cold from drying in order to activate natural heat regulation.
The essence of the method is to increase the metabolism (anabolism) of your body to the maximum level by reducing the androgenic effect and taking minoxidil. At the same time, exercise maximizes the effects of minoxidil, and since androgens no longer harm the follicle, a growth window appears. When performing exercises and during the period of muscle recovery, many unique anabolic effects appear in the human body: activation of stem cells, improvement of fat metabolism, gene emission, emission of unique proteins, the appearance of growth and regeneration factors. Without training large muscle groups, such effects will not occur in the body of a person who does not exercise and leads a sedative lifestyle. Main pathways of muscle stress: SSH, sympathetic nerves, Foxp1, Fgf18, Adrb2, APM hypertrophy, CXCL12, FGF21, BNDF, Hedgehog-SCUBE3-TGF-β, COL17A1, Lipid metabolic acceleration, SULT1A1, IGFBP-rP1, JNK-1( cold). Also, leg exercises from weightlifting (squats, deadlifts), which have a high androgenic potential, help combat the side effects of finasteride.
At the same time, the activation by cold of the piloerection mechanism and goose bumps as part of the thermoregulation mechanism gives a signal to the follicle and the muscle of the follicle to raise the hair, if it is not there, then the body reacts accordingly, taking into account the absence of obstacles to hair growth (DHT). Cold relief has an anabolic effect and a mobilization effect on cells and the nervous system, enhancing the effects of muscle stress. Pathways of cold exposure: SSH, sympathetic nerves, Lipid metabolism acceleration, JNK-1.
The method should work quickly and have an effect in 1-3 months. The method was developed based on personal experience, taking into account the analysis of hyperresponse tressless, analysis of a large number of scientific papers from around the world. When analyzing hyperresponders, it turned out that they used finasteride and minoxidil, and also played sports indoors or outdoors, responders usually used their leg muscles. The best results were published when therapy took place during the colder months of the year. In fact, h-responders experienced similar levels of stress to the lives of the Amish and the homeless, who are famous for their hair cause hair its natural thermoregulation mechanism for bad weather environment (not for beauty). Amish and homeless both use leg muscle stress to survive. Previously, I thought that the main thing was muscle stress, but I did not take into account temperature stress. All this makes hyperresponding a unique and rare phenomenon. Moreover, the method has a huge anti-aging effect and helps in mewing.
The method should help most AGA patients achieve the hyperresponder effect. Try this!
Data table of TOP hyperresponders: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1HNW7X3hp0aKy3mVGlv2FM-DI4PfrFRCA4aW6Hn3RQlc/edit#gid=1215548399
submitted by MagicBold to u/MagicBold [link] [comments]
The essence of my AGA treatment method is to do the following during the period of using FDA-recognized medications for androgenetic alopecia (finasteride 0.25-1.25 mg everyday, minoxidil 5% topical 2ml or(and) oral minoxidil 2.5-5 mg everyday) physiotherapeutic actions:
- Do jogging, running, jump rope, running uphill, cycling, sports (football, etc.), swimming, weightlifting (squats, deadlift), calf raise, leg press and leg extension. You need to exercise in such a way that you experience failure, heavy and rapid breathing, muscle pain, and sweating. You need to work out intensively. It is enough to use different exercises 2-3 times a week, avoiding injuries and overtraining.
- On exercise days it is necessary to use cold stress i.e. Exposure to uncomfortable temperatures may include:
B) Use of a cold shower on the whole body and always on the hair (thermal effect with cold water from +5 to +15 Celsius. Possible dousing with water from a bucket or tap. The effect is short, 10-20 seconds.
C) Drying the body without a towel in a room with a temperature of +18 to +22 degrees Celsius, preferably in a draft or outside in the wind. It is advisable to see traces of piloerection (raising of hair on the skin) and goosebumps on the body, this means that everything is correct. After partial drying and feeling cold, you can dry yourself with a towel as usual, the main thing is to feel the cold from drying in order to activate natural heat regulation.
The essence of the method is to increase the metabolism (anabolism) of your body to the maximum level by reducing the androgenic effect and taking minoxidil. At the same time, exercise maximizes the effects of minoxidil, and since androgens no longer harm the follicle, a growth window appears. When performing exercises and during the period of muscle recovery, many unique anabolic effects appear in the human body: activation of stem cells, improvement of fat metabolism, gene emission, emission of unique proteins, the appearance of growth and regeneration factors. Without training large muscle groups, such effects will not occur in the body of a person who does not exercise and leads a sedative lifestyle. Main pathways of muscle stress: SSH, sympathetic nerves, Foxp1, Fgf18, Adrb2, APM hypertrophy, CXCL12, FGF21, BNDF, Hedgehog-SCUBE3-TGF-β, COL17A1, Lipid metabolic acceleration, SULT1A1, IGFBP-rP1, JNK-1( cold). Also, leg exercises from weightlifting (squats, deadlifts), which have a high androgenic potential, help combat the side effects of finasteride.
At the same time, the activation by cold of the piloerection mechanism and goose bumps as part of the thermoregulation mechanism gives a signal to the follicle and the muscle of the follicle to raise the hair, if it is not there, then the body reacts accordingly, taking into account the absence of obstacles to hair growth (DHT). Cold relief has an anabolic effect and a mobilization effect on cells and the nervous system, enhancing the effects of muscle stress. Pathways of cold exposure: SSH, sympathetic nerves, Lipid metabolism acceleration, JNK-1.
The method should work quickly and have an effect in 1-3 months. The method was developed based on personal experience, taking into account the analysis of hyperresponse tressless, analysis of a large number of scientific papers from around the world. When analyzing hyperresponders, it turned out that they used finasteride and minoxidil, and also played sports indoors or outdoors, responders usually used their leg muscles. The best results were published when therapy took place during the colder months of the year. In fact, h-responders experienced similar levels of stress to the lives of the Amish and the homeless, who are famous for their hair cause hair its natural thermoregulation mechanism for bad weather environment (not for beauty). Amish and homeless both use leg muscle stress to survive. Previously, I thought that the main thing was muscle stress, but I did not take into account temperature stress. All this makes hyperresponding a unique and rare phenomenon. Moreover, the method has a huge anti-aging effect and helps in mewing.
The method should help most AGA patients achieve the hyperresponder effect. Try this!
Data table of TOP hyperresponders: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1HNW7X3hp0aKy3mVGlv2FM-DI4PfrFRCA4aW6Hn3RQlc/edit#gid=1215548399
2024.05.18 19:13 CatherineL1031 The Beginning of my Descent [Lorepost Part 3]
![The Beginning of my Descent [Lorepost Part 3]](https://preview.redd.it/8c06qddww71d1.png?width=640&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=6bbe7ddd2b8b39cfcd833a7fb4252a0169ab6677 "The Beginning of my Descent [Lorepost Part 3]") | Hello again everyone, I’ve decided to put the baking tips here this time. This is one that has been a huge help for me when it comes to cutting cakes. It’s much easier and cleaner to cut a cake when it’s been chilled for a few hours. So, once your cake has baked and firmed up in the pan (about 15-20 minutes, you want to make sure it’s set but still slightly malleable), take it out, let it come to room temperature, and then cover with foil or plastic or something to prevent it from drying in the fridge. Let it cook for a few hours to finish solidifying, and then cut. Also, if you have the means, a sheet cake cooks and cools a lot faster and more evenly and a cutter can be used to make perfect even circles. submitted by CatherineL1031 to wizardposting [link] [comments] Now, it’s a bit strange to start with the baking tips, I know. But, those are saved as a reward for making your way through my ramblings about youth and glory and adventures. This time, I wanted to put it here as a sort of apology for what’s to come. The last two stories have been very positive, very upbeat, very fun. However, the next century of my life I’m about to share with you all… I wouldn’t blame any of you if you looked at me differently, I’ll just say that. I’ll stop beating around the bush, and get right to the point. So, my immortality was secure, I’d have my perfect body for as long as time existed or until I was killed by a stronger, more capable opponent. I had a good group of friends who knew they could depend on me whenever they needed help with something, and I got to kick the ass of a lich! I had accomplished so much in just over 100 years of life, and now I had a supposedly infinite amount of it to spare if I played my cards right! I felt unstoppable, and wanted to help others like I had helped my companions. I became a mercenary, a witch for hire for adventures that might be too dangerous for parties. I stopped lying about my strengths, making sure it was known I held Master rank in two magic fields. Most people do not like to play the role of support, and it’s never a bad idea to have extra healing, so I started to hone my craft in Healing and Protection magic as well. I was a force to be reckoned with, and I would make sure the world knew it! I had wished to continue adventuring with my previous companions, but each of them had decided to take their own path in life. Har decided to take a more involved approach with his church, Ralin returned home to overtake her brother as chief of her clan, and Vex was heading back to the mountains to further hone her building expertise and learn to become an artificer for enchanting! It was sad parting ways, we had been together for such a short time but we had accomplished something so impressive! Oh well, that’s life, you know? I made them promise to keep in touch, and we did for the most part! Har became a bit hard to reach at times due to moving around, so it was always a treat to see him when I could. Anyways, I soon began to gain some fame. I was a topic of conversation now who had been promoted to expert in the matter of a month after I helped some newbies on their quests. I was someone who everyone knew was dependable and talented. Best of all, I was a cutie, and everyone loves to have a cute witch on their team! I had all but abandoned my previous life’s calling in favor of glory seeking, which is something I still look back on with regret. I was becoming more selfish, more focused on building myself up instead of using my powers for the good of those who might not be able to ever have access to these powers. The Phoenix Rebirth had become a popular spell among us in the community, though, so people were still getting help. I had published it free to all magic shops, all magical teachers, even sent the entire process and methods for casting it through the OrbNet before I left to go on my mission to fight the lich. I just wanted to be sure it was in the world, pending the potential worst. It was at a huge loss, but it has now become the platform by which a lot of Gender spells are cast, so it was all worth it. My time as an adventurer was amazing, I met so many cool people, fought so many horrifying and awesome beasts, even got to kiss a dragon! They don’t have lips, so it’s not the best kiss, but it’s still something worth bragging about. I felt so good helping people in a different way, and I was becoming more and more popular through the years. I was now Catherine, Lady of Flames, Master of Forms, a stable in the adventuring party call list. It felt amazing. The excitement lasted for about 15 years of being called to help on missions, but then it was quickly soured after a single mission. Nobody mentions this, but once you become a powerful enough fighter, you start to garner the attention of those in need of protecting. This is definitely not a bad thing, especially when it is someone who is in genuine need of it, but that is not usually the case. Particularly, you garner the attention of the wealthy, who believe all problems can be solved with money. I would liken them to devils or demons, but that isn’t fair to them…devils and demons at least have codes they follow. Anyways, one such noble approached me. Well, not actually her, one of the elves she had employed in her service. Her name was Duchess Cordelia, Lady of Farlon, Heir to the Rose Throne, Daughter of Zavier Goradel and Collector of Fine Arts. Yes, she made you say each one of those every time you addressed her, and in the correct order. She was…there’s a word I don’t like to use to describe her, a word that to me is very offensive but to others means nothing. I’m sure you can guess the word of which I speak, I simply refuse to say it outloud. She was, though, and a massive one at that. She had called upon me after an omen in the sky had warned her of an invasion by some of the forces of hell. It was something we all saw, and while it was a terrifying experience, I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t the coolest and most spectacular shit I had ever seen. Whoever had cast it had placed some illusion magic to make the sun look like a flaming skull that called specifically her and her family out. I still remember what it said because it was just that cool. ‘Cordelia, Zavier, Helena…you have toyed with forces beyond your control, and for that you will be punished…My legions will march on your town, turning it and everything your pathetic hands have dared to touch into naught but a fine ash. You cannot stop me. You cannot persuade me. You cannot survive…’ and then it was over, the sun was back to normal. Fucking baller move, right? That’s how you threaten some assholes’ life! So, I was called, along with Magnus Haradel and Desdamona Torres. Magnus was another high ranking member of the guild, an older Drow chap who still remains the most talented sword wielder I’d ever seen. His white hair was always tied into a neat bun, and he dressed simply. His armor was enchanted, but looked similar to any generic armor you could buy. He held a very respectable air about him, a sense of power that told anyone he could easily defeat them, but a calming sense that assured them he would only do it if he was threatened. Mona was an alchemist who concocted and brewed the strangest potions I had ever seen. Some of them would cause an opponent to explode, some would freeze them in place, some when opened and poured onto the ground summoned these giant venus fly-trap looking creatures with razor sharp teeth that would devour whatever she commanded. She was a half-goblin, parents being a full goblin and an elf. Their genes worked together very well, because Mona herself was truly stunning. She has black hair, lime green skin, and wore a long back robe that flowed down her slender body. More impressive, however, was that she was Archmage levels in her Alchemical field, the highest one could get back in the day. It was our job to protect Cordelia and her parents, Zavier and Helena. They would not share any information with us about what they had done, how it had pissed something off, or what to expect, but they did tell us we’d be ‘handsomely compensated should you survive’. Assholes…we needed information to do our job! Holes in information leads to holes in strategy, holes in strategy leads to unnecessary risk, and unnecessary risk leads to uncertainty and potential death! Ugh, whatever, it was just one job, then hopefully we’d never have to deal with them again and they’d descend into obscurity. So, the job was set. Magnus, Mona and I got better acquainted with each other and started to plan our defensive means and offensive responses. We had no idea what we were facing, how many it would be, where it would be coming from, or when! We had one of the five answers we desperately needed, so we had to do the best we could. Magnus suggested we employ the help of additional adventurers; clerics, paladins and the like who are good at protecting and supporting. Their job would be to round up the town to a safe location and watch over them until one of us gave the all clear. Mona and I agreed, and I decided to spread the word that the people needed to be taken to safety and guarded until whatever was going to happen had happened; he did threaten the entire population, so better to be safe. Mona started to lay a protective parameter around the Goradel mansion in the form of explosive concoctions that seeped into the ground and bottles of Acid Arrow that, when broken, would attack the nearest hostile creature. She had also managed to brew a few potions of invisibility for the townsfolk, given the guards potions of strength, mana regeneration, health regeneration and spell boosting, and gave herself, myself and Magnus potions of regeneration, potions of Free Casting (basically downing one allows you just have a reserve of mana to pull from without worry), and potions of Iron Skin that would give us amazing defense without slowing us down. She was a really, really talented Alchemist, even crazier was that she was only 30, very young for a half-elf/half-goblin. She definitely had a gift. I, meanwhile, decided to try something new. I had been toying around with a few things in my off-time, and with my knowledge of Shifting Magics I decided to try out something that could prove beneficial. I had come across many beasts in my time, some of them easy to understand and study, others so wildly complicated that it took me years of dissecting, studying and charting to get a solid understanding of what the hell was going on internally. I had taken some lessons from Grandmaster and Archmage Shifter’s who were willing to teach, and with enough practice I was finally able to harness the form of other, less common creatures! I had mastered the standard offensive animal forms like tiger, wolf, bear and eagle, but didn’t know how dangerous our targets were going to be, so I decided that we needed to go hard, fast, and leave no possible room for error. I downed the two bottles of Free Casting that Mona has brewed, and began my shift. I had again mixed my Phoenix Rebirth with these form changes, so the only pain I was receiving was to my mana pools. However, thanks to Mona’s amazing abilities, I was able to shift without trouble! I got down on all fours, and soon my size began to expand. My teeth turned from their normal human color to a stained and dark brown. My face started to extend forward into a muzzle, my teeth being replaced by sharp, deadly fangs. My canines extended further than the rest, creating a deadly row of fangs. My lips retracted back, and my face began to turn scaly and red as my face became more and more canine. The only thing unchanged on my face was my eyes, as they were my Keepsake (many Shifters have a certain aspect of themselves they keep permanent, no matter what, to remind themselves of their true form). The scales continued down, a large, fleshy tail sprouting from my back and extending out. From snout to tail, I was now 30 feet in size, but I was not yet finished. The scales extended down my whole body, but they looked more like regular sinew and flesh as my body was covered in a protective coat of blood red scales. My legs began to crack and bend as muscle appeared to support my now larger weight and size, and my toes extended a double set of claws on each foot. The form was complete, now for one final touch. All across my red tail, bones began to jut out like my sharpened fangs, covering it from my hindquarters to the very tip of my tail. It was definitely an easy target should something decide to attack my tail, but the shards and spikes allowed me to slice through weaker enemies that dare to try. Even better, I could slam my tail against the ground to loosen some of the shards and fling them towards my target. I was a true beast, an imperfect dragon known as a fanged drake. While not near as strong as a true dragon, I had seen first-hand the damage and strength they possess, and now it was all mine. Magic was a bit harder to cast in this form, but I still had access to Apprentice level Pyromancy and some support spells like Enhance Speed, Feather Fall and Enhance Ability. The stage was set, we were ready to fight whatever came our way. Magnus had enchanted his greatsword with every enchantment he could cast without overloading it, Mona held potions in her hands, and I stood at the front, smoke coming from my body as I waited. We were ready, we were going to defend these poor villagers and the shitty people who barely even gave a shit about their safety! We waited, and waited, and waited. Seems I had used my change too early, and turning back would just be a waste of mana, so I decided to travel into town and help with carrying or leading others to safety. I had modified the vocal cords of this beast to be more in-line with standard humanoid ones, so it allowed me to speak. It was just not very fun, given my voice was incredibly gruff and deep due to the creature's size. I ran to the guards, my now muscular legs allowing me to jump great distances, my long claws able to help me climb with relative ease. It didn't take long to find the groups and their protectors as they were leaving town. I jumped down to check and make sure everything was okay, and even got to meet Har again! He looked so much more mature, his black hair and green eyes showing a bit of age, but it seemed he was happy. We used a few minutes of walking time to catch up, and I got to hear all about his journey. After our mission, he made it his job to find undead who had been driven mad, and help them see the light again. He had seen many undead who had been brought back against their will, and many who suffered purely because they weren't allowed a choice in their rest being disturbed. He had helped them find peace, shown them the light of Theia, his goddess, and allowed them to return to their peaceful slumber in their designated afterlife. He had even married the cute man at the bar that I had convinced him to chat up, and they had a daughter named Athena! Apparently she was 7 years old and the sweetest thing, according to Har. I told him he better let me visit her once this was all over, and he happily accepted. Our sweet reunion was cut short, however, as the clouds in the night sky started to swirl and gather. Once again we saw the decrepit and harrowing skull that we had seen yesterday appear again. Except, this time it didn't talk. It merely let out an ear-splitting screech that rattled your very soul. A few of the people were so terrified they had fainted, so I yelled at them to carry all they could, and run! Fast! They were quick to agree, those who could carry grabbing the unconscious and those from my back with haste so that I could rush back to the mansion. I arrived right in the nick of time to see absolute hell spewing from the mouth of this skull. We heard horrid shrieks and cries of birds, the hissing roars of giant snakes, and the unholy screams of Abyssal Spiders. The birds were like Corvids, but towering in height. They easily reached 30 feet in size, their beaks sharpened and rigged with teeth-like bumps running down the entirety of their beaks. Their eye sockets were sunken and shallow, small eyes giving off a haunting and piercing glow. Parts of their body showed their exposed, fleshy bodies underneath. Their skin was red, and covered with scars, exposed bone and sinew from what looked to be countless battles. The snakes were unlike anything I've ever seen, they were black and blue striped, with arms and legs, and stood upright! They were not as tall as the Corvids, only measuring 15 feet tall, but they possessed a whip-like tail that flowed almost the same length as their bodies. Their mouths oozed a green venom that coated their fangs, and their necks were able to flare into hoods like a cobra. Finally, were the spiders. Along with being giant, like the size of a Clydesdale giant, they possessed hundreds of eyes across their entire body. Their fangs dripped with venom, and thick hairs were present across their entire bodies. Each hair on their back was able to pierce skin and inject with the same poison in their fangs, and their webs were known to carry a necrotic slime that would eat away at skin. We definitely had our work cut out for us, this horde of creatures was coming right for the Goradel residence and they were ready to kill anything and everything in their path. The crows rushed through, their massive size crushing smaller houses and easily breaking through larger ones that were in their way. The spiders simply crawled over them, leaving a trail of webs and venom in their wake, and the snakes…apparently their tails were going to be quite the problem, as not only were they long, they were sharp enough to slice trees, wildlife and building cleanly with just a single slice of the tail. We were truly, without a doubt, up a fucking creek with this one. We sprang into action as quickly as we could. We saw our foes pouring out, and our objective was simple protection of the village, her people, and the asshole nobles that caused all this. I ran right towards the spiders, knowing that they were the threat that could cause the most damage with their necrotic webs and flesh-melting venom. The smoke coming from my mouth started to turn black as I approached one of them, letting out a blast of fire from my mouth that quickly set it and its attempted web in flames. It shrieked as it skittered and writhed in pain, trying to attack me in retaliation. I was quick to slice one of its legs off with my claws, and sink my teeth into the back of its head. It gave a few more twitches and finally fell still. I threw it to the side as I continued doing my best to draw them towards a common area, minimizing the potential risk of them running out of town and tracking down the other parties currently in hiding. It worked very well, as once they notice a threat, they will continue to attack! The problem was, it worked very well, and once they noticed a threat they would continue to attack until it died! The horde of spiders was gaining on me, all I could do was use some flames to burn the webs they attempted to ensnare me with and use my claws to slice any that came from the front. I was not doing well by any means, but I was now at least within sight of my companions. My joy was quickly cut short as I felt a burning string of web wraps itself around my tail. I had gotten careless, and was definitely paying the price. If you’ve never been hit by necrosis, allow me to explain the feeling as best I can. Imagine a hot knife being thrust deeper and deeper into your body and feeling your cells, muscles, tendons and fat dying around it. Not just cut, or severed, dying with little chance to repair it without some heavy magic. If it goes around a vital part, like a shoulder, leg or neck, you will start to slowly feel yourself losing all feeling as it just falls. It’s a truly horrible experience, avoid it if you can. This is to say, I was currently in for absolute hell as I felt this experience being run through the part of my tail that carries most of my projectile spikes. I could feel each tendon snapping, my skin burning away, and the discs of my now expended spine starting to crack and rip. I had to make a choice, fast. My desperation led me to only one single solution; I knew the tail had to go. With a pained howl I raised my claws, and sliced clean through the tail on my back. I cannot explain how truly horrible of an experience this was, mostly because I think my mind has blocked it out to protect itself. It fell to the ground with a wet squelch, blood pouring out of the open wounds on my back. I sent a breath of flame onto the spider and his silk, and sent another onto my nubbed tail. Again, another experience I believe my mind has blocked out to protect itself! Don’t get hit by necrosis, kids. I ran to Mona, who was currently being swarmed by a group of Corvids, and offered my assistance. I was pissed, I was angry, and I wanted to kill! As one of them dived down, I jumped onto its chest and sunk my fangs directly into its neck. It let out a pained screech as I felt its blood fill my mouth, my claws wildly slashing at its chest through skin, flesh, bone, whatever I could scrap and slice, I did. I had truly let this creature’s feral nature take over my mind for the time being, but I did not give a damn, we needed to win. The beast fell back to the ground, and I let out another challenging roar to the other beasts nearby. My claws and fangs erupted in flames as I continued to wildly attack the ones threatening Mona, knowing I needed to protect her as she concocted and threw brew after brew onto what she could. Magnus was doing absolutely amazing, without a doubt the best of us. He was handling the snakes by himself, expertly dodging and slashing at them each time they tried to grab him, bite him, slice with their tails, or trample him. He would wait for them to attack and in the blink of an eye, whatever they tried to attack him with would be gone. Heads, tails, legs and arms started to litter the ground near him as he showed absolute power and authority. Mona, meanwhile, had been mixing something special while I distracted the snakes and corvids. Her alchemical traps had mostly been activated already, melted and bubbling piles of what were some of our enemies scattered through the warzone. She yelled at me to give her a boost, and I managed to snap free from my feral state. She held something in her hands I cannot even begin to describe. It was completely dark, but…empty. The energy that came from it was unlike anything I have ever seen since, it was like staring into the nothingness of space while being surrounded by it on all sides. She slammed it onto the ground, and the darkness surrounded her. Flesh and feathers from the Corvids started to break from their destroyed and lifeless bodies, attaching itself to her back and clothes. One of their skulls burst into pieces as it flew towards her, reassembling itself onto her face in a makeshift mask. Their bones and talons began to collect into her hands, and within a matter of seconds she was holding a powerful, pulsating scythe. In that moment I saw something I truly hope to never see again. I saw death. The truest form of death was standing before me, and its energy chilled my very soul. I could feel the contempt the energy had for me, as if it knew I had extended my life outside of its natural reach. She ordered me to come, and I knew I had to obey. I grabbed her with my fangs, and placed her onto my back. Her body was cold, I was terrified of what I saw before me, but so was everything else. I felt a hand rest onto my head, and I could feel…warmth. Mona reassured me that it was going to be okay, and pointed her scythe forward. I collected myself again, and sprinted towards our enemies. Mona sliced and slashed them each with one clean swipe from that scythe, each of them falling dead in our path. I used my flames to burn any webs that had been placed, focusing on the ground while she focused on taking down these enemies with the grace and power of a god. As I saw this, I truly understood how far the gaps between Master and Archmage truly were when it came to the arcane arts. I still had so much to learn… Our combo attacks came to a screeching halt, however, as we heard a pained scream from behind us. We both looked to where Magnus was, and we could see that he had been injured. One of the snakes had managed to sink its tail through his shoulder, and another currently had its fangs embedded into his side. We let out a scream as we charged towards them as they bit, stabbed, and slashed poor Magnus. I tackled one of the snakes off, sinking my burning fangs into its neck and ripping its head off in one solid motion. Mona jumped from my back, holding her hand out as she said…something, and the snake was turned to dust. Magnus fell to the ground, howling in pain as he regained his footing. I cried out that he needed to be healed immediately, and begged Mona to throw him something from her belt. He paid me no mind, and just ran back into the fight. He was so badly injured, but that did not stop him for a second. He continued fighting as if nothing had happened, and we knew we had to do the same. The fight lasted for hours, the hordes of enemies seeming endless. The town had been turned to rubble at this point, any signs of life save for the Goradel mansion had vanished from this now tarnished and barren land. As the sun rose on the next day, we saw the warzone in fresh light. Mona had returned to normal, her breathing short and labored as she laid on the ground. I had turned back to normal, wounds covering my body and in desperate need of healing, but I didn’t care. I saw Magnus sitting on the corpse of one of the Corvids, a cup of ale in his hand and blood pouring from him. I rushed to him, begging him to let me help him, but he just shook his head. He took a long, slow sip of his ale, let out a deep sigh and motioned for me to sit with him. I got down as best I could, every instinct telling me to heal me, but he continued to refuse. Eventually he spoke as we stared at the sunset. ‘Catherine,’ he said to me, ‘everyone has a torch to burn. Some burn longer than others, and we don’t get to decide how long they burn…’ He leaned against his sword with a smile, taking one last sip of ale. I asked him what the hell he was talking about, but as I looked at him, I could tell… He was gone… The light had gone from his eyes, but that smile remained on his face. As I saw this, all I could do was cry. I had lost people before in my life, but I was always able to help the ones that could be helped from injuries! I just hugged him as I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. Even worse was having to heal Mona back to consciousness with the remainder of my magic and share the news with her. We cried together; we hadn’t known each other for more than a day, but we all held a deep respect for each other. Knowing that we had failed him and caused his demise, the town being destroyed, our barely achieved victory…none of it felt worth it in the end. As we cried, we heard the doors to the Goradel manor open. Out stepped Zavier, Cordelia’s father. He looked at the scene, nodding as he saw our handiwork and commended us. ‘Weren’t there three of you?’ he asked as he looked at us with such lack of regard. ‘Magnus…he’s dead…’ Mona said as I helped her up, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘Hm, pity…very well, would you like his share? We had already set aside 3 payments, we will split it between you both should you wish’. I still don’t know why what he said caused me such anger, but I could feel my blood boil. Our comrade that had been one of the best members of the guild, the one who had fought to defend his worthless ass, the reason he was standing here right now and not a pile of meat being devoured by beasts didn’t even give a shit that he was gone! ‘This isn’t fair’, I thought to myself, ‘we protected them and they are treating us like pawns!’ Mona could tell I was getting angry, so she answered that we’d take his share and have it sent to our accounts at once. She pulled me away from this pitiful excuse for a human, and I just screamed in anger. She told me that she agreed, that it wasn’t fair to Magnus, or us, or the people of this village, but that we couldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain. With his share of the cash and ours, we could afford to build a new settlement for the displaced of this village. She managed to talk me down from my anger, she was really talented like that. I took a few deep breaths, patted my cheeks, and nodded. It would be better to use the money for good in Magnus’ honor, all the stories I had heard of his exploits usually ended with him donating a large portion of his earnings to those affected by disasters such as this. Mona left to inform the survivors that the victory had been achieved, but at the loss of Magnus. While she did that, however, I began to plan. I don’t know if it was the loss of a comrade, the pain still coursing through my body, the stress and trauma of what we had just gone through, but letting it go was not an option for me at this point. I knew I had to show these fuckers torment, I knew that they needed to pay for the callous disregard for anyone who wasn’t themselves. So, I gathered samples. I had a bag of holding on my side and began to stuff it with the bodies of our defeated enemies. The spiders had all been burned and crushed beyond study, but many of the Corvids and Serpents were still able to be studied and understood. Once I had my samples, I looked at Magnus with more tears. I was going to avenge him, I was going to show these rich pieces of crap just how insignificant they were, and I was going to make sure they paid the price… There was no way I could carry his body with my strength, he was far too bulky for me, so I used my magic to carry him. Even with my weakened state I couldn’t stop myself from giving him a proper burial. He deserved it, he deserved so much more than what he got. I summoned a shovel into my hands, and began to dig. I think I made it about 3 minutes of digging before my body finally gave up on me, and I fell. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, I guess I had passed out from exhaustion. When I awoke, I heard Har’s voice calling to me. I was so tired, my body aching and burning in such pain as I tried to move every muscle I could. I looked up, and we were in a cemetery. I could see Magnus’ body laying in a now dug grave, dressed in his elegant but simple armor, eyes closed and mouth still holding that same smile as I had seen before. A ward of protection was currently being cast around his burial grounds, designating this land as sacred ground that could not be touched by any means. No necromancer could get to his body, and no thieves could rob him of his belongings. I was sitting next to a patched up and tired looking Mona, and we both just sobbed gently as we watched him being buried. Hundreds had gathered to pay their respects, all of those that Magnus had saved, protected, worked with, allied, even some who I later came to learn saw him as a rival. All of them were paying their respects to this true paragon of an adventurer, and all I could think about was getting revenge for him… Ah, sorry, I didn’t realize how long I had been sending through the OrbNet. It might be best to end this part of my life here for the time being. Thank you again for reading, if you managed to find an old witch’s story interesting. Once I work up the courage to share the next part with you all, I hope you will continue to view me in a positive light. You will hear things that…well, you’ll see. Thank you for your time, I love you all, my siblings in the arcane. |
2024.05.18 18:57 Ok-Ingenuity9833 New Family: Jerry Smith & Bones "Skin-Taker" (The Brutalizer Brothers)
- New Family: Jerry Smith
- Weapon: Switchblade
- Appearance: An old balding country man with glasses, overalls, mildly chubby your usual "Dad-bod" but more revaluating.
- Lore: Jerry Smith is the older brother to "Skin-Taker" holding him as a pet because he's too savage to live on his own, he could live a normal life but taking care of his twisted sibling lead him down a path of madness and nothing is more important than family so he joined with his brother to kill their parents after trying to send Skin-Taker to a mental hospital.
Jerry can crouch like the victims sneaking around the family property and he can peak through windows while creeping to spot any unsuspecting victims.
Secondary Ability: Peak
While creeping Jerry can stand up against wall-like surfaces and peak out at victims to see what they are doing.
Special Attack: Ambush
Sneak up behind a victim and ambush them causing a family favored struggle-fight, if successful you will cut their throat, if unsuccessful they will headbutt you with the back of their head and run away.
- New Family: Bones "Skin-Taker"
- Weapon: Boneknife
- Appearance: A bald and skinny albino man covered in scars with eyes gouged out, pulled fingernails and lips cut off showing his gummy teeth like the Chatterer, he wears nothing but disgusting bloodstained underwear and bones almost resembling some twisted armor.
- Lore: Bones "Skin-Taker" became a sort of urban legend to the Texas County leaving the skinned and mutilated remains of his victims in ditches for the authorities to find at dawn and he has been encountered by numerous passing vehicles and evening hikers alike reporting a mutilated and almost non-human creature roaming the countryside, these unrealistic depictions of Bones lead to him being thought of as more of an angry spirit than an actual serial killer when in reality he is just a maimed and incredibly traumatized individual. After an evening of skinning & slaughter Bones would come back to his bigger brother Jerry sleeping in crawl spaces beneath his house, Jerry fed and raised bones to survive and have a better understanding of the consequences to his actions when in reality this only made Bones a smarter killer.
Bones can enter crawlspaces through specific hiding spots that the victims use which will be highlighted at all times, this allows Bones to manually shift between hiding spots almost appearing as an innate form of teleportation when in reality Bones is just incredibly crafty. If Bones enters a hiding spot that the victim is currently hiding in, then they will see a hand covering their screen while hiding and hear the sound of breathing alongside cutting meat as they are soon executed.
Secondary Ability: Crawl Tunnels
There are crawl Tunnels that burrow through underground meant to just be outdoor crawlspaces, they can lead into indoor crawl spaces but are mainly connected by hatches outside.
Third Ability: Skin-Crow
Bones can skin executed victims turning them into fleshy muscle covered macabre art and making their corpse into a scarecrow that emits its own proximity warning, additionally Bones can lend Leatherface the victim's skin and allow him to craft a new victim mask which causes the "Shock effect" making any remaining victim that witnesses it to scream.
2024.05.18 18:30 adulting4kids It's Saturday!
- Fascinating Animal Kingdom Facts:
- A group of jellyfish is called a "smack."
- The fingerprints of a koala are so indistinguishable from humans that they have confused crime scene investigators.
- A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out.
- Unusual Historical Nuggets:
- Ancient Egyptians used slabs of limestone as pillows.
- The Great Pyramid of Giza was the tallest man-made structure in the world for over 3,800 years.
- The shortest war in history lasted only 38 minutes between Zanzibar and England in 1896.
- Science and Technology Oddities:
- There is a species of jellyfish that is biologically immortal.
- The world's total Internet traffic in a single year is estimated to be greater than all the data ever stored in books.
- The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar tube and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.
- Language and Linguistic Quirks:
- "Stewardesses" is the longest word typed with only the left hand, while "lollipop" is typed with only the right hand.
- The word "bed" looks like a bed.
- "Dreamt" is the only English word that ends in "mt."
- Geographical and Cultural Tidbits:
- More people live in Bangladesh than in Russia.
- Russia has 11 time zones.
- The country of Monaco is smaller than Central Park in New York City.
- Human Achievements and Records:
- The longest handstand ever held lasted for 8 hours and 15 minutes.
- The world record for the longest continuous speech is 139 hours.
- The tallest living man measures 8 feet 2.8 inches (251 cm).
- Food and Culinary Marvels:
- The world's largest pizza was 131 feet in diameter and weighed over 51,000 pounds.
- Peanuts are one of the ingredients in dynamite.
- The world's most expensive pizza costs $12,000 and includes caviar and lobster.
- Entertainment and Pop Culture Trivia:
- The longest-running TV show is "The Simpsons," which debuted in 1989 and is still ongoing.
- The word "smurf" is used 274 times in the original "The Smurfs" TV series.
- Michael Jackson's famous dance move, the Moonwalk, was first performed during a rehearsal for "Billie Jean."
- Legal Quirks and Odd Laws:
- In Victoria, Australia, it's illegal to change a light bulb unless you're a licensed electrician.
- In Alabama, it's illegal to wear a fake mustache in church that causes laughter.
- In Switzerland, it's illegal to flush the toilet after 10 PM in an apartment building.
- Miscellaneous Intriguing Facts:
- The tongue is the strongest muscle in the human body concerning its size. - The average person will spend six months of their life waiting for red traffic lights to turn green. - Russia is larger than Pluto by surface area.
2024.05.18 18:22 Edwardthecrazyman Burning Bodies and Victory! [14]
First/Previous
Satan was on the air, on the night, within everything in the long shadows cast by the setting sun and with him came a chill to the air that I could never hope to internalize; it might kill me.
From a rotted abode across the street, I watched the large outbuilding and the field in which we’d buried the hand and I found myself in prayer—among the torn and exposed studs of dry-rotted wood and rusted metal I caught my own whispers and forced myself to stop like I intended to convene with God right there in the dark; I wasn’t there for Allah. It was something else that compelled me there. I whispered the prayer and felt foolish at my own voice and ducked lowly among the rubble and held my breath to watch the sunlight go from the land and in a blink, the light was gone, and I was there in darkness that at first was a terror and then I slipped into it through blinks and the surroundings became clearer even in the dark.
Time went on.
I was exposed, but the yougins were safe—Trouble too. If nothing else mattered in the world, then they should go on without me. It had come to me so suddenly (maybe it was the prayer that withdrew such a sentimentality) that I liked them okay.
Before anything else, a cat’s hiss came so faintly that I plugged my ear with my pinky, shook it and listened again; the noise grew closer, and I could do nothing but watch the field and squint in the darkness and wait.
Fumbling, I counted the glass containers with touch only—two in my jacket pocket and the third by my feet—and my fingers then danced to the threadbare strap of the shotgun on my shoulder; I shed my pack for mobility.
The domineering creature lurched forcefully from the shadows and then went on display in the moonlight properly and its arched back protruded even over its own head till it lifted that muzzle, so its rattish face was cut out in a black outline; it was sniffing, and the hiss came through the air again. The Alukah kept a serpentine strut, smoothly gliding across the ground as it used its hands like forelegs to press its snout against the ground. In watching, I consciously relaxed my shoulders and refrained from biting my teeth together. That creature found the spot it had been searching for—it seemed roughly the place we’d buried the hand—and it took its claws there with bestial shovelfuls.
In a hurry, I gathered the jar I’d placed by my feet—it would not slide so gracefully into my jacket as the others—and as quietly as I could, I slinked around the rubble, through two studs, and onto the dirt. Within milliseconds, my own heartbeat pounded all over my body and I stood in the street and lit the Molotov cocktail with a lighter and took closer to the creature.
It shifted around and in that moment I wished I had a light source powerful enough to expose its body; I tossed the cocktail in a high arch and it exploded in a moment by the creature’s feet as it stood and pivoted to look at me fully; its solid white eyes were wide in a glance of moon-shine and it slung itself from the eruption of flames around its feet with violent speed. Its black hair hung down the sides of its face and its head parted midway to expose a snarl. It stalked in a circle around the concentration of flames, remaining mostly in the dark; the thing moved slowly nearer, those long arms swaying in front of itself with each step.
You should know better. It stopped midstride, coming no closer and we each stood there in the field roughly thirty feet from one another, and I refused to take my eyes from it. The boy’s mine. The flames began to flicker and die. For how long we stood like that, I couldn’t say, and I waited.
I couldn’t find a voice till it was all dark again, besides the moon and stars. “Why can’t you leave us be? There’s easier pickins.”
You offer yourself too much credit, Harlan. We remained in silence and in the darkness the creature may have been a statue—in a blink it seemed as much. You are a corpse, no? A walking corpse of a man! A terrible sickness is in you. I know it. I see it on you as plainly as I see your fear.
Rigidity took over my body and I puffed my chest out like it meant something and I shook my head, “I’m not afraid.”
Not of me, no. Of yourself? Something. The voice lingered with the ends of its words, drawing them out first guttural then it left them on hisses. Something I know.
I lit the next Molotov, and the creature didn’t move; I threw the bottle furiously and it went into the darkness like a far candleflame till it erupted in the spot the Alukah had been standing—the thing had leapt from there, leaving me unawares and I lowered myself to the ground in a crouch, swiveling my head around to catch the thing in the dark. The flames on the ground danced brightly, leaving me light-blinded.
Not again, said the thing, You will not catch me so easily with fire again. It was behind me, nearer the outbuilding and it took a moment through blinks for my eyesight to return well enough to see the grotesqueness of the misshapen massive humanoid thing.
The Molotov explosion burned then disappeared and we stood looking at one another again and I felt silly, foolish, radically unprepared, and overwhelmingly trivial in the grand scheme of the universe—if it wanted to, it could leap the distance between us and rip me to shreds. Why didn’t it kill me? Why wasn’t I dead?
That damnable night creature extended one of its massive forehands, flexing the digits on the end of its arm and whispered its words like a plea, The boy, Harlan. That is all. Take that brimstone smelly girl and carry that shell of a body—walk on to whatever hole you humans call home.
Hoping to not draw a movement from the creature, I pressed my forearm against my ribcage, feeling the last Molotov that was there in the inner pocket and I gently slid the strap from my shoulder, and held my shotgun in both hands, licking my dry lips, watching the dark frame of the Alukah, fearing even a moment of distraction; my eyes locked on the creature and I refused to speak.
No deal then. It wasn’t a question; its rattish snout offered a mild nod of understanding. You despise a good sense of words.
I readied the shotgun, legs spaced in proper formation—looking down the barrel, I held my breath and upon squeezing the trigger, the thing knocked into my shoulder, but the creature was gone. In scanning, I found the thing had moved from the field and bounded wildly across the street towards the dead ruins of Annapolis, its muscular limbs made short work of fleeing.
The outbuilding remained quiet and erectly tall, and I moved to its shadow and cussed whispers for wasting ammunition. Only three shells remained; worse, I’d wasted two of my explosives. I watched the horizon in the opposite direction of the crowded foundations of Annapolis and carefully held my breath in watching and I prayed again, hoping that the commotion would not draw attention.
An overwhelming sense of foolishness welled in my guts, and I trotted off towards the direction I’d watched the Alukah go, through the ramshackle streets haphazardly.
The darkness was maddeningly empty, so I filled it with shouts, “C’mon! This is your turf, ain’t it? This darkness is yours so come and take me if you can!” Rusty as I was, I held the shotgun like never before, squinting my eyes, keeping my pace in unison with my heartbeat. There’s a place in that darkness that is beyond reproach, beyond the comprehension of a city dweller, beyond even my own understanding and I found myself padding through those streets at an accelerated rate, hopeful to confront the demon and I only found more dead and vacant lots and I crossed more than two intersections where the signs were either gone or indecipherable in the black shadows cast there. I wished for a payback of the demon’s hunt or perhaps I wished for something even more than that—what did I need to prove and to who? “You sick and twisted and foul beast!” I went so loud I continued to hoarseness, “Slimy fuck!” I’s so mad that spit came with the words too.
Still, there was nothing and I came to a final crossroads, a place more commercial—at least for a flatland dead town—where brick storefronts half-stood on those four corners. Finding my voice again, I continued my tirade, cursing the demon, “Come get some—c’mon already! Here’s your fight?” I was scared though.
A sudden noise from the dilapidated storefront to my left startled me to pivot and watch, gun pulled up, and I focused as hard as I could on the recesses of that shadowed place; it was a large antiquated face where a window might have sat many years prior. Wet and hungry sounds emanated from that place, the disgusting noises of a fiend—even in knowing it, I was surprised in seeing the new creature spill out in a lumpish mess of slickened muscles, lubricated, its innumerable arms and legs clawed its own body forward so that it rolled like a mushy ball—each of those limbs remained human in nature. Upon the thing pulling itself onto the street, I staggered backwards, gun still raised, and watched its form take a modicum of understanding in the moonlight; its mouths—sporadically, illogically placed over its mass of a body—opened and seemed to try and speak with each one merely letting go of meekly audible, painful sighs in doing so. The eyes, spaced much the same as the mouths, blinked and rolled as if it was torture for the thing to live. The mutant was a tongue-like mass at its center, and it was almost the size of a horse—I’d seen fiends grow much larger, but this was still a great threat.
In moving away from where it spilled onto the street, I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the backfoot and clumsily spun into a sprint; my boots pounded in my flight from the thing, and it chased after.
Its mouths exhausted terrible sighs as it gained speed in the relative openness of the street and in seconds, I would not have been surprised if the thing snatched me by an ankle and devoured me without thought—not that fiends had any other thoughts above the basest urge to consume.
The pursuit kept me going in the dark, watching the still shadows of the dilapidated housing and I pushed on until I tasted copper; my breathing went raspy—it’d been so long since I’d been forced to run from such a creature in the open. I took a glance back and saw it coming, gaining speed in its perpetual roll; its body excreted some fluid across itself so that it could glide more easily.
Coming to a crossroads I’d passed earlier, or perhaps it was a new one—I couldn’t fathom in the dark—I took in the direction of what I thought was south and ran full throttle; my knees ached.
In hoping to confuse the mutant, I quickly dove towards the right side of the southbound street, towards some ramshackle, through the skeletal framing of a skinless house without a roof; I pushed through the pencil-narrow vertical beams and stumbled through, landing onto the unseen ground on the other side. My left leg spasmed and in the millisecond that it took for my nerves to register the pain, I let out a mild, “Oh.” I tried to lift myself from the spot and found that my left leg refused to bend straight; in total horror—more so from my body failing than the mutant—I swiveled my torso around and scooted on my rear across the ground, raking myself in the opposite direction of the fiend.
The mutant slammed into the frame; its many arms reached through the bars and in a moment, it began to use its hands to lift itself along the exposed wall and I scooted further away till my back met the bars of where an opposite wall would’ve gone. In a scramble, I snatched the shotgun, pushed myself sniff against the bars on my side and watched the thing down the barrel; I waited and concentrated on my own breathing. If nothing else worked, I still had that Molotov—if not for it then for me.
As it crested the top of the wall made of bars, I watched patiently and only when I was certain I fired.
The mutant, the great meatball-thing that it was, lost its grasp for a moment and slipped onto the arrangement of vertical bars; I gush of liquid, illuminated in starlight, shot from its base of its soft body; it began to try and catch its grasp on the bars and I took a moment for myself to examine my left knee—I pulled it as close to my face as I could manage which was hardly at all—some black triangular mass had lodged itself into my flesh; more accurately, I’d slammed myself onto something sharp in my panic to flee the fiend. In a second, not thinking of the repercussions, I gripped the thing with my left hand and clamped my mouth onto my right hand, biting into fat of my hand by the thumb. The debris was free from my leg, and I let it to fall to the ground; blood ran freely into my mouth and I let go of the bite and tentatively lifted the gun again, ignoring the pain; the creature continued to struggle, and I fired again. It slipped again, further impaling itself on the bars.
I had one shell left.
Using the place I’d propped my back, I pushed free from the ground and put all my weight onto my right leg, testing the left; I staggered—hopped really—around in the small square of ground surrounded by metal framing and searched the ground for something long. I unearthed the dirt around my feet and found a long piece of metal rod; setting the gun to the side, I lifted the metal rod over my head and then slowly arched it out from my body. It would give me just enough room to further injure the thing while also staying well out of its grasp.
I swung the makeshift weapon down like a bat or a sword and the fiend slid a little further down the bars, the exit wounds began to show across the top of its roundish body, and I smacked it again—its mouths spoke words that could nearly be understood. Though it took only moments, I was thoroughly exhausted by the time the creature had reached the ground again, good and dead and impaled upon six of those vertical bars. I tossed the weapon to the ground, lifted my gun, and shimmied through the bars on the opposite side of the square.
Adrenaline only lasts so long, and my left leg throbbed to the point of nausea; I did not want to inspect the wound, but on rounding the ramshackle and watching the still dead thing, I stumbled into the street and knelt and lifted my pant leg. It was dark and bloody and already it was burning. Infection was my first thought. A puncture wound could spell a terrible fate. I shifted to sit in the street. My leg didn’t bend right.
The cat’s hiss came from the darkness and there wasn’t a way I could respond in time; I felt those long nasty fingers grab me by the back of my neck and I was lifted immediately from the ground—the gun clattered to the ground and all I could do was initially freeze and stiffen and then my hands moved to the grasp which held me firmly by the throat; those massive knuckles were like stones.
The Alukah had me and situated me so that it could look into my face, its long black hair hid its eyes but I could smell its breath and see its teeth which rested in its round mouth. I could snap you. It seemed to nod its head, but to detect humanity in that damnable pale face was a mistake.
I choked.
What’s that? It relaxed its grasp on my throat.
“Do it.”
Why’re you crying? Its foot brushed against the gun at its feet, and it lifted it with its free hand, and it commented casually, Little human toy.
It moved, holding me by the throat, dragging me along the ground in an abnormal sluggish gait. It was hard to see anything but the night sky, anything but the strange angle of the demon—with its grip, it was hard to breathe, and tears indeed welled in my eyes, and I held to its forearm to distribute some of the weight of my own body away from my neck. With its tugging, I could not speak, but it spoke.
I’ll squeeze you dry, but your blood’s too tainted to drink. That won’t make it any less interesting. I’ll twist you like a rag and see which hole it comes from first. More than that, you’ll scream. You’ll scream so loud everyone will know. Everyone will know what I’ve done to you—once you’re no more than ruin. Not even Mephisto would balk at my handiwork once I’ve had my time with you. God will look on your sour corpse with so much disgust there won’t be a place for you anywhere. Only Oblivion, a place worse than any.
The creature moved us to the open field, tilted its head back and forth, rose its rattish face to the sky and snorted and then clearly sniffed, dropping the gun to its feet to brush the long black hair from its eyes; its muscular body shone in the moonlight so that even its bluish veins stood plainly from its white skin. It shifted its gaze to the outbuilding—maybe fifty yards away—where the youngins were hidden.
Deftly, the thing lifted me from where it had kept me by its side and my feet levitated over the air, I felt feet taller, suspended from that long arm the way I was. It took its free hand to my midsection and I felt the digits of its hand squeeze my ribs and it let go of my throat and I coughed and wheezed, placing my hands on its fingers to dig into that thing’s skin—it didn’t matter—in seconds, a scream escaped my rattling throat; it squeezed more and I felt the glass bottle in my jacket burst from the force then the Alukah gave relief and I tried to gulp air, but felt pangs along my body. My jacket was wetted from blood by the broken bottle shards entering my body or from the contents of the bottle or both.
Urine? It pulled me close to itself, sniffed, and shook its head. Oil? it cackled, Again! Beg for the help you do not deserve! It held me outright once more.
Again, the great hand constricted me and again I could not help but to let out a scream—my lungs were on fire, my voice stretched like a dying animal. I heard barks and saw nothing through wild choking tears. The grip softened.
I coughed more and tried to speak; the Alukah brought me close to itself as if to wait and listen to what I had to say. Weeping words fell out in a whisper, “Kill me. Do it. I don’t mind.”
Another sharp laugh exited the thing’s throat and it squeezed again, facing me out so that I could look at the black outline of the outbuilding. I heard the barking again and I saw the figures stumble out from the sidelong face of the outbuilding. I blinked to remove the tears.
A voice, neither mine nor the demon’s, shouted an attempt at authority, “Let him go!” It was Gemma. They rounded the building so that moonlight removed them from obscurity. Gemma held Trouble on a lead while Andrew followed.
Trouble growled.
The smile was audible through the Alukah’s voice, Strong words for one so dainty. I felt its grip tighten and I chuffed and couldn’t manage a word.
“Get it!” shouted Gemma; she let go of Trouble’s lead and the dog looked curiously at me and the demon where we were and tucked its tail and circled to hide behind the children.
The Alukah laughed. Scary dog.
I was lightheaded while my vision went; I should die—I’d bleed out there or some unknown medical oddity would shut me off. Perhaps I’d will myself to death. My head nodded tiredly, and I fought it, blinking, shaking my head to maintain my eyes.
“You want me?” The boy took a few steps forward and his voice cracked. “We could make a deal.”
The Alukah lowered me so that my feet skimmed the ground but shifted to keep a tight hold around only my throat. Oh?
“What are you doing?” shouted Gemma; she closed the space between herself and Andrew and shoved him.
He shoved her back. “Me for him,” he addressed the demon.
Is that the deal?
Everything in my body protested while I reached for the jean pocket on my right side; I could not reach it. I stretched and my ribs screamed in pain—it was worse than bruising. The demon did not notice me moving. Maybe because my movements were weak, subtle. I tried again while mentally asking God for help and I came short of the pocket. I cursed Him and then my shaking fingers found the pocket. I withdrew the lighter there.
“That’s right,” said Andrew.
“No, he won’t,” Gemma’s voice was aflame.
It’s not your deal to make, girly.
I took the lighter to my jacket, lit it, and the flames grew around me in a flash, feeding on the oil.
The Alukah hissed, attempted to unwrap its hand from around me while I dug into its forearm with two claws and bit onto the thing’s hand for extra purchase. It swung me around and my legs flew limply. It took every bit of strength I had.
Let go! The Alukah shrieked.
Trouble barked, the children screamed, and I bit deeper till that thick black blood filled my mouth. The flames were immaculate, cleansing, more furious than I could’ve imagined. Not for life—that’s not why I held on so strongly—it was for them, for Andrew and Gemma. Me and that creature should’ve burned together. Fitting.
Delirium took over and I swiveled overhead in the demon’s tantrum, holding onto that arm. The Alukah hissed, roared, shouted nasty epithets.
The gunshot rang out and I met ground, hard.
Exhaustion or death could’ve taken me then, but it was the former.
When consciousness came again, it was hands, smacking hands that brought me to life—then the vague smell of burnt hair, cooked flesh. My body stung and I could not move but to lift my face from the dirt where I lay belly-flat.
“You almost died,” said Gemma somewhere between hope and sorrow, “You almost killed yourself!” She shook me and shoved me hard enough so that I rolled on my back. She’d been crying, but surely, we’d won. What was there to cry for? If we’d lost, she wouldn’t be talking at all.
She left me and I stared at the sky through slits. The sun was coming but I couldn’t feel the warmth; I couldn’t feel anything (that would be a sweet memory in the time to come). It was quiet save the crackling I heard; it was like the lowness of a dying fire. It wasn’t me? I wasn’t on fire?
When she returned, she lifted my head to place my pack underneath it; it elevated my vision. I surveyed my surroundings. The outbuilding was there and the Alukah lay on the ground perhaps ten feet from me; its body charred and sizzled and caught little flames in response to the cresting sunrise; everything was a daze—we’d won.
Gemma’s eyes glittered, and she called the dog over and the dog sniffed my face and the girl’s lips remained flat, expressionless.
I saw the boy’s body—it lay motionless alongside the dead Alukah and alongside that body was my shotgun. The body’s head sat on its side, disconnected from its owner, facing away from where I lay.
“He killed it. He shot it.” Gemma sat beside me, and Trouble placed her snout on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re going to die,” she nodded.
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submitted by Edwardthecrazyman to cryosleep [link] [comments]
Satan was on the air, on the night, within everything in the long shadows cast by the setting sun and with him came a chill to the air that I could never hope to internalize; it might kill me.
From a rotted abode across the street, I watched the large outbuilding and the field in which we’d buried the hand and I found myself in prayer—among the torn and exposed studs of dry-rotted wood and rusted metal I caught my own whispers and forced myself to stop like I intended to convene with God right there in the dark; I wasn’t there for Allah. It was something else that compelled me there. I whispered the prayer and felt foolish at my own voice and ducked lowly among the rubble and held my breath to watch the sunlight go from the land and in a blink, the light was gone, and I was there in darkness that at first was a terror and then I slipped into it through blinks and the surroundings became clearer even in the dark.
Time went on.
I was exposed, but the yougins were safe—Trouble too. If nothing else mattered in the world, then they should go on without me. It had come to me so suddenly (maybe it was the prayer that withdrew such a sentimentality) that I liked them okay.
Before anything else, a cat’s hiss came so faintly that I plugged my ear with my pinky, shook it and listened again; the noise grew closer, and I could do nothing but watch the field and squint in the darkness and wait.
Fumbling, I counted the glass containers with touch only—two in my jacket pocket and the third by my feet—and my fingers then danced to the threadbare strap of the shotgun on my shoulder; I shed my pack for mobility.
The domineering creature lurched forcefully from the shadows and then went on display in the moonlight properly and its arched back protruded even over its own head till it lifted that muzzle, so its rattish face was cut out in a black outline; it was sniffing, and the hiss came through the air again. The Alukah kept a serpentine strut, smoothly gliding across the ground as it used its hands like forelegs to press its snout against the ground. In watching, I consciously relaxed my shoulders and refrained from biting my teeth together. That creature found the spot it had been searching for—it seemed roughly the place we’d buried the hand—and it took its claws there with bestial shovelfuls.
In a hurry, I gathered the jar I’d placed by my feet—it would not slide so gracefully into my jacket as the others—and as quietly as I could, I slinked around the rubble, through two studs, and onto the dirt. Within milliseconds, my own heartbeat pounded all over my body and I stood in the street and lit the Molotov cocktail with a lighter and took closer to the creature.
It shifted around and in that moment I wished I had a light source powerful enough to expose its body; I tossed the cocktail in a high arch and it exploded in a moment by the creature’s feet as it stood and pivoted to look at me fully; its solid white eyes were wide in a glance of moon-shine and it slung itself from the eruption of flames around its feet with violent speed. Its black hair hung down the sides of its face and its head parted midway to expose a snarl. It stalked in a circle around the concentration of flames, remaining mostly in the dark; the thing moved slowly nearer, those long arms swaying in front of itself with each step.
You should know better. It stopped midstride, coming no closer and we each stood there in the field roughly thirty feet from one another, and I refused to take my eyes from it. The boy’s mine. The flames began to flicker and die. For how long we stood like that, I couldn’t say, and I waited.
I couldn’t find a voice till it was all dark again, besides the moon and stars. “Why can’t you leave us be? There’s easier pickins.”
You offer yourself too much credit, Harlan. We remained in silence and in the darkness the creature may have been a statue—in a blink it seemed as much. You are a corpse, no? A walking corpse of a man! A terrible sickness is in you. I know it. I see it on you as plainly as I see your fear.
Rigidity took over my body and I puffed my chest out like it meant something and I shook my head, “I’m not afraid.”
Not of me, no. Of yourself? Something. The voice lingered with the ends of its words, drawing them out first guttural then it left them on hisses. Something I know.
I lit the next Molotov, and the creature didn’t move; I threw the bottle furiously and it went into the darkness like a far candleflame till it erupted in the spot the Alukah had been standing—the thing had leapt from there, leaving me unawares and I lowered myself to the ground in a crouch, swiveling my head around to catch the thing in the dark. The flames on the ground danced brightly, leaving me light-blinded.
Not again, said the thing, You will not catch me so easily with fire again. It was behind me, nearer the outbuilding and it took a moment through blinks for my eyesight to return well enough to see the grotesqueness of the misshapen massive humanoid thing.
The Molotov explosion burned then disappeared and we stood looking at one another again and I felt silly, foolish, radically unprepared, and overwhelmingly trivial in the grand scheme of the universe—if it wanted to, it could leap the distance between us and rip me to shreds. Why didn’t it kill me? Why wasn’t I dead?
That damnable night creature extended one of its massive forehands, flexing the digits on the end of its arm and whispered its words like a plea, The boy, Harlan. That is all. Take that brimstone smelly girl and carry that shell of a body—walk on to whatever hole you humans call home.
Hoping to not draw a movement from the creature, I pressed my forearm against my ribcage, feeling the last Molotov that was there in the inner pocket and I gently slid the strap from my shoulder, and held my shotgun in both hands, licking my dry lips, watching the dark frame of the Alukah, fearing even a moment of distraction; my eyes locked on the creature and I refused to speak.
No deal then. It wasn’t a question; its rattish snout offered a mild nod of understanding. You despise a good sense of words.
I readied the shotgun, legs spaced in proper formation—looking down the barrel, I held my breath and upon squeezing the trigger, the thing knocked into my shoulder, but the creature was gone. In scanning, I found the thing had moved from the field and bounded wildly across the street towards the dead ruins of Annapolis, its muscular limbs made short work of fleeing.
The outbuilding remained quiet and erectly tall, and I moved to its shadow and cussed whispers for wasting ammunition. Only three shells remained; worse, I’d wasted two of my explosives. I watched the horizon in the opposite direction of the crowded foundations of Annapolis and carefully held my breath in watching and I prayed again, hoping that the commotion would not draw attention.
An overwhelming sense of foolishness welled in my guts, and I trotted off towards the direction I’d watched the Alukah go, through the ramshackle streets haphazardly.
The darkness was maddeningly empty, so I filled it with shouts, “C’mon! This is your turf, ain’t it? This darkness is yours so come and take me if you can!” Rusty as I was, I held the shotgun like never before, squinting my eyes, keeping my pace in unison with my heartbeat. There’s a place in that darkness that is beyond reproach, beyond the comprehension of a city dweller, beyond even my own understanding and I found myself padding through those streets at an accelerated rate, hopeful to confront the demon and I only found more dead and vacant lots and I crossed more than two intersections where the signs were either gone or indecipherable in the black shadows cast there. I wished for a payback of the demon’s hunt or perhaps I wished for something even more than that—what did I need to prove and to who? “You sick and twisted and foul beast!” I went so loud I continued to hoarseness, “Slimy fuck!” I’s so mad that spit came with the words too.
Still, there was nothing and I came to a final crossroads, a place more commercial—at least for a flatland dead town—where brick storefronts half-stood on those four corners. Finding my voice again, I continued my tirade, cursing the demon, “Come get some—c’mon already! Here’s your fight?” I was scared though.
A sudden noise from the dilapidated storefront to my left startled me to pivot and watch, gun pulled up, and I focused as hard as I could on the recesses of that shadowed place; it was a large antiquated face where a window might have sat many years prior. Wet and hungry sounds emanated from that place, the disgusting noises of a fiend—even in knowing it, I was surprised in seeing the new creature spill out in a lumpish mess of slickened muscles, lubricated, its innumerable arms and legs clawed its own body forward so that it rolled like a mushy ball—each of those limbs remained human in nature. Upon the thing pulling itself onto the street, I staggered backwards, gun still raised, and watched its form take a modicum of understanding in the moonlight; its mouths—sporadically, illogically placed over its mass of a body—opened and seemed to try and speak with each one merely letting go of meekly audible, painful sighs in doing so. The eyes, spaced much the same as the mouths, blinked and rolled as if it was torture for the thing to live. The mutant was a tongue-like mass at its center, and it was almost the size of a horse—I’d seen fiends grow much larger, but this was still a great threat.
In moving away from where it spilled onto the street, I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the backfoot and clumsily spun into a sprint; my boots pounded in my flight from the thing, and it chased after.
Its mouths exhausted terrible sighs as it gained speed in the relative openness of the street and in seconds, I would not have been surprised if the thing snatched me by an ankle and devoured me without thought—not that fiends had any other thoughts above the basest urge to consume.
The pursuit kept me going in the dark, watching the still shadows of the dilapidated housing and I pushed on until I tasted copper; my breathing went raspy—it’d been so long since I’d been forced to run from such a creature in the open. I took a glance back and saw it coming, gaining speed in its perpetual roll; its body excreted some fluid across itself so that it could glide more easily.
Coming to a crossroads I’d passed earlier, or perhaps it was a new one—I couldn’t fathom in the dark—I took in the direction of what I thought was south and ran full throttle; my knees ached.
In hoping to confuse the mutant, I quickly dove towards the right side of the southbound street, towards some ramshackle, through the skeletal framing of a skinless house without a roof; I pushed through the pencil-narrow vertical beams and stumbled through, landing onto the unseen ground on the other side. My left leg spasmed and in the millisecond that it took for my nerves to register the pain, I let out a mild, “Oh.” I tried to lift myself from the spot and found that my left leg refused to bend straight; in total horror—more so from my body failing than the mutant—I swiveled my torso around and scooted on my rear across the ground, raking myself in the opposite direction of the fiend.
The mutant slammed into the frame; its many arms reached through the bars and in a moment, it began to use its hands to lift itself along the exposed wall and I scooted further away till my back met the bars of where an opposite wall would’ve gone. In a scramble, I snatched the shotgun, pushed myself sniff against the bars on my side and watched the thing down the barrel; I waited and concentrated on my own breathing. If nothing else worked, I still had that Molotov—if not for it then for me.
As it crested the top of the wall made of bars, I watched patiently and only when I was certain I fired.
The mutant, the great meatball-thing that it was, lost its grasp for a moment and slipped onto the arrangement of vertical bars; I gush of liquid, illuminated in starlight, shot from its base of its soft body; it began to try and catch its grasp on the bars and I took a moment for myself to examine my left knee—I pulled it as close to my face as I could manage which was hardly at all—some black triangular mass had lodged itself into my flesh; more accurately, I’d slammed myself onto something sharp in my panic to flee the fiend. In a second, not thinking of the repercussions, I gripped the thing with my left hand and clamped my mouth onto my right hand, biting into fat of my hand by the thumb. The debris was free from my leg, and I let it to fall to the ground; blood ran freely into my mouth and I let go of the bite and tentatively lifted the gun again, ignoring the pain; the creature continued to struggle, and I fired again. It slipped again, further impaling itself on the bars.
I had one shell left.
Using the place I’d propped my back, I pushed free from the ground and put all my weight onto my right leg, testing the left; I staggered—hopped really—around in the small square of ground surrounded by metal framing and searched the ground for something long. I unearthed the dirt around my feet and found a long piece of metal rod; setting the gun to the side, I lifted the metal rod over my head and then slowly arched it out from my body. It would give me just enough room to further injure the thing while also staying well out of its grasp.
I swung the makeshift weapon down like a bat or a sword and the fiend slid a little further down the bars, the exit wounds began to show across the top of its roundish body, and I smacked it again—its mouths spoke words that could nearly be understood. Though it took only moments, I was thoroughly exhausted by the time the creature had reached the ground again, good and dead and impaled upon six of those vertical bars. I tossed the weapon to the ground, lifted my gun, and shimmied through the bars on the opposite side of the square.
Adrenaline only lasts so long, and my left leg throbbed to the point of nausea; I did not want to inspect the wound, but on rounding the ramshackle and watching the still dead thing, I stumbled into the street and knelt and lifted my pant leg. It was dark and bloody and already it was burning. Infection was my first thought. A puncture wound could spell a terrible fate. I shifted to sit in the street. My leg didn’t bend right.
The cat’s hiss came from the darkness and there wasn’t a way I could respond in time; I felt those long nasty fingers grab me by the back of my neck and I was lifted immediately from the ground—the gun clattered to the ground and all I could do was initially freeze and stiffen and then my hands moved to the grasp which held me firmly by the throat; those massive knuckles were like stones.
The Alukah had me and situated me so that it could look into my face, its long black hair hid its eyes but I could smell its breath and see its teeth which rested in its round mouth. I could snap you. It seemed to nod its head, but to detect humanity in that damnable pale face was a mistake.
I choked.
What’s that? It relaxed its grasp on my throat.
“Do it.”
Why’re you crying? Its foot brushed against the gun at its feet, and it lifted it with its free hand, and it commented casually, Little human toy.
It moved, holding me by the throat, dragging me along the ground in an abnormal sluggish gait. It was hard to see anything but the night sky, anything but the strange angle of the demon—with its grip, it was hard to breathe, and tears indeed welled in my eyes, and I held to its forearm to distribute some of the weight of my own body away from my neck. With its tugging, I could not speak, but it spoke.
I’ll squeeze you dry, but your blood’s too tainted to drink. That won’t make it any less interesting. I’ll twist you like a rag and see which hole it comes from first. More than that, you’ll scream. You’ll scream so loud everyone will know. Everyone will know what I’ve done to you—once you’re no more than ruin. Not even Mephisto would balk at my handiwork once I’ve had my time with you. God will look on your sour corpse with so much disgust there won’t be a place for you anywhere. Only Oblivion, a place worse than any.
The creature moved us to the open field, tilted its head back and forth, rose its rattish face to the sky and snorted and then clearly sniffed, dropping the gun to its feet to brush the long black hair from its eyes; its muscular body shone in the moonlight so that even its bluish veins stood plainly from its white skin. It shifted its gaze to the outbuilding—maybe fifty yards away—where the youngins were hidden.
Deftly, the thing lifted me from where it had kept me by its side and my feet levitated over the air, I felt feet taller, suspended from that long arm the way I was. It took its free hand to my midsection and I felt the digits of its hand squeeze my ribs and it let go of my throat and I coughed and wheezed, placing my hands on its fingers to dig into that thing’s skin—it didn’t matter—in seconds, a scream escaped my rattling throat; it squeezed more and I felt the glass bottle in my jacket burst from the force then the Alukah gave relief and I tried to gulp air, but felt pangs along my body. My jacket was wetted from blood by the broken bottle shards entering my body or from the contents of the bottle or both.
Urine? It pulled me close to itself, sniffed, and shook its head. Oil? it cackled, Again! Beg for the help you do not deserve! It held me outright once more.
Again, the great hand constricted me and again I could not help but to let out a scream—my lungs were on fire, my voice stretched like a dying animal. I heard barks and saw nothing through wild choking tears. The grip softened.
I coughed more and tried to speak; the Alukah brought me close to itself as if to wait and listen to what I had to say. Weeping words fell out in a whisper, “Kill me. Do it. I don’t mind.”
Another sharp laugh exited the thing’s throat and it squeezed again, facing me out so that I could look at the black outline of the outbuilding. I heard the barking again and I saw the figures stumble out from the sidelong face of the outbuilding. I blinked to remove the tears.
A voice, neither mine nor the demon’s, shouted an attempt at authority, “Let him go!” It was Gemma. They rounded the building so that moonlight removed them from obscurity. Gemma held Trouble on a lead while Andrew followed.
Trouble growled.
The smile was audible through the Alukah’s voice, Strong words for one so dainty. I felt its grip tighten and I chuffed and couldn’t manage a word.
“Get it!” shouted Gemma; she let go of Trouble’s lead and the dog looked curiously at me and the demon where we were and tucked its tail and circled to hide behind the children.
The Alukah laughed. Scary dog.
I was lightheaded while my vision went; I should die—I’d bleed out there or some unknown medical oddity would shut me off. Perhaps I’d will myself to death. My head nodded tiredly, and I fought it, blinking, shaking my head to maintain my eyes.
“You want me?” The boy took a few steps forward and his voice cracked. “We could make a deal.”
The Alukah lowered me so that my feet skimmed the ground but shifted to keep a tight hold around only my throat. Oh?
“What are you doing?” shouted Gemma; she closed the space between herself and Andrew and shoved him.
He shoved her back. “Me for him,” he addressed the demon.
Is that the deal?
Everything in my body protested while I reached for the jean pocket on my right side; I could not reach it. I stretched and my ribs screamed in pain—it was worse than bruising. The demon did not notice me moving. Maybe because my movements were weak, subtle. I tried again while mentally asking God for help and I came short of the pocket. I cursed Him and then my shaking fingers found the pocket. I withdrew the lighter there.
“That’s right,” said Andrew.
“No, he won’t,” Gemma’s voice was aflame.
It’s not your deal to make, girly.
I took the lighter to my jacket, lit it, and the flames grew around me in a flash, feeding on the oil.
The Alukah hissed, attempted to unwrap its hand from around me while I dug into its forearm with two claws and bit onto the thing’s hand for extra purchase. It swung me around and my legs flew limply. It took every bit of strength I had.
Let go! The Alukah shrieked.
Trouble barked, the children screamed, and I bit deeper till that thick black blood filled my mouth. The flames were immaculate, cleansing, more furious than I could’ve imagined. Not for life—that’s not why I held on so strongly—it was for them, for Andrew and Gemma. Me and that creature should’ve burned together. Fitting.
Delirium took over and I swiveled overhead in the demon’s tantrum, holding onto that arm. The Alukah hissed, roared, shouted nasty epithets.
The gunshot rang out and I met ground, hard.
Exhaustion or death could’ve taken me then, but it was the former.
When consciousness came again, it was hands, smacking hands that brought me to life—then the vague smell of burnt hair, cooked flesh. My body stung and I could not move but to lift my face from the dirt where I lay belly-flat.
“You almost died,” said Gemma somewhere between hope and sorrow, “You almost killed yourself!” She shook me and shoved me hard enough so that I rolled on my back. She’d been crying, but surely, we’d won. What was there to cry for? If we’d lost, she wouldn’t be talking at all.
She left me and I stared at the sky through slits. The sun was coming but I couldn’t feel the warmth; I couldn’t feel anything (that would be a sweet memory in the time to come). It was quiet save the crackling I heard; it was like the lowness of a dying fire. It wasn’t me? I wasn’t on fire?
When she returned, she lifted my head to place my pack underneath it; it elevated my vision. I surveyed my surroundings. The outbuilding was there and the Alukah lay on the ground perhaps ten feet from me; its body charred and sizzled and caught little flames in response to the cresting sunrise; everything was a daze—we’d won.
Gemma’s eyes glittered, and she called the dog over and the dog sniffed my face and the girl’s lips remained flat, expressionless.
I saw the boy’s body—it lay motionless alongside the dead Alukah and alongside that body was my shotgun. The body’s head sat on its side, disconnected from its owner, facing away from where I lay.
“He killed it. He shot it.” Gemma sat beside me, and Trouble placed her snout on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re going to die,” she nodded.
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2024.05.18 16:55 kenUdigitt Novel Chapter 413
Disclaimer: I do not speak Korean. This is purely translated by machine with a lot of cleanup afterward. With that in mind, I am open to criticism to improve these translations. Enjoy!
Chapter 413
Whoosh, boom!
The ground shattered as a gigantic greatsword plunged down. Wu Hei-Xing, quick as lightning, narrowly escaped, missing the blade by mere inches.
Thwack!
The sword pierced under the ogre's jaw, emerging triumphantly through the top of its head — a clean, decisive strike.
Wu Hei-Xing, extracting his sword from the creature, used the falling body as a springboard to launch himself into the fray among other monsters.
His blade danced through the air, leaving behind a tapestry of shimmering lines.
'Sword of Twelve Crimson Threads.' [Note: direct translation - Twelve Blood Net Sword.]
While the Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1976 was decried by many as a catastrophic injustice, for others, like Wu Hei-Xing’s family, it presented a golden opportunity. [Note: The Cultural Revolution in China, initiated by Mao Zedong, aimed to preserve Chinese Communism by purging remnants of capitalist and traditional elements from Chinese society. This extensive purge targeted a broad range of cultural, social, and economic features including old customs, culture, habits, and ideas. It led to the destruction of historical artifacts, temples, and texts, as well as the persecution of intellectuals, and the suppression of traditional practices and ceremonies.]
His grandfather, once a close ally of Mao Zedong, used this turbulent period to amass a fortune, leveraging his son's position in the Red Guard to acquire priceless cultural relics and texts.
Among these treasures was the Sword of Twelve Crimson Threads, an ancient text detailing a formidable sword technique.
Shhhsh!
Wu Hei-Xing unleashed the technique — a net of twelve crimson strands that spanned ten meters in every direction.
The net, pulsating with a red glow, cleaved through skin, muscle, and bone, rendering dozens of high-ranking monsters into pieces.
Such prowess was befitting of an S-rank Hunter. Thrilled by his dominance, Wu Hei-Xing bellowed:
「What is the Red Guard Gang doing! Wipe them all out, you bastards!」
「Yes!」
The battle cry, imbued with potent mana, reverberated across the battlefield.
Three hundred elite hunters, groomed and trained by Wu Hei-Xing’s family as personal soldiers, surged forward. They attacked relentlessly, driven by fierce loyalty and training.
Shhhsh! Crack!
Squish! Screech!
- Crunch, gurgle!
「Arrrgh!」
The battlefield was a cacophony of human screams and monstrous howls, punctuated by the gruesome sounds of carnage.
Though the remaining Red Guard Gang's hunters were formidable, the elite monsters at the rear were equally daunting.
And the monsters emerged from the dense fog in overwhelming numbers.
However…
「How dare these filthy, foul-smelling bastards!」
Puff, puff, puff!
The presence of Wu Hei-Xing, an S-rank Hunter, was a force mighty enough to sway the tide of this brutal clash.
Despite often being criticized for his reckless behavior and mercurial personality, Wu Hei-Xing was undeniably a product of both privilege and innate talent.
His experiences on the frontlines, immersed in relentless combat and near-constant peril, had honed his abilities far beyond their initial limits.
'I can do it! I am Wu Hei-Xing!'
With a newfound zeal, Wu Hei-Xing brandished his sword with unyielding fervor.
He faced an overwhelming legion of tens of thousands of monsters. Despite initial fears, he had grown immensely, adapting to the ruthless demands of war.
Whenever wounds or fatigue threatened him, he would down costly potions like mere water and strategically use the hunters of the Red Guard Gang as his shields.
Now, no creature could withstand the devastating sweeps of his crimson Aura Blade. [Note: a quick reminder - Aura Blade is the real-world equivalent of Sword Aura.]
'I'll make sure no one can ignore me ever again. Lei Fei... The bangzi bastard... No one!'
Wu Hei-Xing's jaw clenched as bitter memories surged, fueling his rage.
Swoosh! Thud!
A lance, hurled with stunning velocity, impaled several hunters and embedded itself deep into the earth.
It was a 3-meter-long assault lance he had rarely seen before.
Wu Hei-Xing snapped his head towards the source, his eyes widening in alarm.
「Death Knight!」
Thud, thud, thud, thud!
It was a Death Knight, striding across the battlefield atop a skeletal horse. And not just one, but two.
The second Death Knight poised its lance aloft while mounted.
「Everyone, be careful......!」
Swoosh! Bang!
His warning was cut short as the second lance tore through the air, brutally penetrating a group of hunters.
The finest armor was no match for the deadly force, scattering limbs and collapsing bodies.
As the Death Knights continued their relentless advance, the hunters of the Red Guard Gang stood petrified, witnessing the gruesome spectacle unfold.
- Dark. Vine.
A sinister, rasping voice filled the air, heralding a new horror.
Crack, crunch, crunch!
The earth fractured like a spiderweb, and from the fissures, black vines surged.
These vines, imbued with dark magic, writhed like serpents, snatching at human limbs and threading through armor gaps.
Shiririrk! Thud!
「Arghhh!」
「Dark magic! It's dark magic!」
「Don't panic! Cut the vines! Get out of range now!」
The battlefield echoed with screams and commands, resonating through the chaotic fray.
With a forceful yank, Wu Hei-Xing tore the encroaching black vines from the ground.
His teeth clenched not in sorrow for fallen comrades, but in grim realization of the unfolding catastrophe.
「Lich......!」
His suspicion was confirmed. High above the melee, a death mage astride a massive wyvern brandished a staff crafted from skulls and bones, directing it menacingly towards the earth.
- Dark. Fog. [Note: the direct translation here is 'confuse' so I changed it to something that sounds more like a technique.]
Swoosh!
A bone-chilling cry unleashed a shadowy miasma that enveloped the hunters.
Those entangled in the black vines suffered hallucinations both visual and auditory, turning them into helpless targets for the circling monsters.
- Squeal!
- Roar!
Crack! Crunch!
「Argh, ugh!」
「Save me!」
「Mother! You mustn’t die. Mother!」
Desperate cries pierced the air as some hunters succumbed to the illusions, their voices fading into silence.
Yet, amidst the chaos, some with strong mental fortitutde managed to shake off the bewitchment.
「You must go!」
「Young Master!」
Despite the cries of A-rank hunters surrounding him, Wu Hei-Xing's face was ashen like a blank sheet of paper.
A single, daunting question plagued him.
'How on earth do I handle this?'
Above was the menacing Lich and on the ground, two Death Knights advanced swiftly.
Could he retreat? If so, where and how should he retreat?
Alone, perhaps he could face the Death Knights, but with the Lich’s sorcery and the encircling horde of monsters, the situation was dire.
No strategy presented itself, no matter how desperately he pondered.
'What a damn mess...'
Clench.
His jaw clenched so tightly he felt his teeth might crack from the pressure.
Swoosh, bang!
The air burst with a compressed whoosh as a streak of light rocketed from the distant ground, slicing through the sky.
In the next instant, the headless wyvern began to falter and plummet earthward.
「This...」
Wu Hei-Xing murmured, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. Around him, everyone ceased their actions, eyes drawn skyward.
Before them, the wyvern's massive body and a cascade of black bones, once the formidable Lich, tumbled through the air.
「...This makes no sense.」
The Lich was dead, vanquished by a single, astonishing strike.
A blow that had pierced through layers of potent defensive spells to strike a target mid-air? Such precision and power were unheard of, even for an S-rank hunter.
Wu Hei-Xing had never witnessed an attack so swift and lethal.
Yet, for the one who delivered it, this seemed as effortless as drawing breath.
Not far from the fray, he stood, observing the chaos his action had wrought. After a moment, he remarked casually,
"It’s been a while since I threw a spear. It definitely doesn’t feel like it used to."
Behind him, a figure as solid as an iron tower responded with a rigid tone,
"You did well."
"Hmm. Not really. It seems I've become dull. A sign of aging, I guess."
"How could that be?"
Lee Jeong-Ryong chuckled lightly at the security team leader’s unemotional response.
"I saw a Death Knight."
Seok Go-Jun silently nodded.
"Yes. There were two of them."
"Do you think Wu Hei-Xing can handle it?"
"If you mean the Death Knights, he should be able to take them down without much trouble."
Seok Go-Jun's voice dropped to a whisper,
"As long as there are no monsters around."
"That sounds challenging right now."
"The influence of dark magic has disappeared, but the troop damage is significant, and there are too many monsters."
"Then we must struggle with all our might."
"It will be a very fierce and difficult fight."
"Well, then we must lend a hand."
"How about we continue to observe a bit longer?"
Lee Jeong-Ryong's eyes widened dramatically.
"Why?"
Having been mentored by Lee Jeong-Ryong since his youth, Seok Go-Jun understood that every interaction was potentially a lesson. He knew the response expected of him.
"Wouldn't people be more grateful in precarious situations?"
Lee Jeong-Ryong’s stern expression softened into a satisfied smile upon hearing his disciple’s insightful reply.
"Yes, exactly that."
"The Red Guard Gang has always been a thorn in our side."
"It’s funny, really. Those shouting about the people and communism, while forming a private army of hunters behind the scenes."
"But aren't the Princelings, which support the Red Guard Gang, not friendly towards us?" [Note: the Princelings are descendants of the revolutionary veterans and Chinese Communist Party elites who leverage their lineage for influence and promote business-friendly policies. Wu Hei-Xing's family is part of this group.]
"That's why the Red Guard Gang needs to be eliminated. We've always sat in the shade to avoid the sunlight, but if the tree is uprooted, what are we to do?"
"We'll have to find another tree or buy a parasol."
"We will become the new tree. That should open up more opportunities."
Seok Go-Jun nodded in agreement before voicing another query that had been troubling him.
"May I ask one more thing?"
"Speak."
"Is Wu Hei-Xing’s involvement in this operation... related to Jin Tae-Kyung?"
This question had lingered in Seok Go-Jun’s mind, puzzling him.
Despite Wu Hei-Xing’s status as an S-rank hunter, his inclusion seemed uncharacteristic.
'He is a formidable opponent. Even if Master is using Wu Hei-Xing, what use could he have?'
It was often like this.
Just when Seok Go-Jun felt he had a grasp on his master's strategies, new layers would unfold, eluding full comprehension.
And at such moments, Lee Jeong-Ryong would sport that enigmatic smile.
As he did now.
"Team Leader Seok."
The atmosphere shifted; Seok Go-Jun instantly resumed his formal role as the security team leader of the Ares Guild, bowed respectfully.
"Yes, Vice Guild Leader."
"It seems like it’s time for you to step in. What do you think?"
Raising his gaze, Seok Go-Jun peered over Lee Jeong-Ryong's shoulder, assessing the chaotic battlefield below.
The Red Guard Gang’s elite, though carefully chosen, were faltering against the monster onslaught. Wu Hei-Xing had just managed to defeat one of the two Death Knights.
"I will go now."
"Take care not to get hurt."
Seok Go-Jun nodded briefly in acknowledgment, then led the assembled Ares Guild members toward the battlefield.
As they advanced towards the monsters, they remained silent, yet a palpable momentum radiated from them, overwhelming and dominating the field.
Crunch! Screech!
Lee Jeong-Ryong watched with a hint of satisfaction as one flank of the monster legion crumbled instantly under their charge. Just then, a scent of blood wafted to him on the wind.
The breeze from the west was not just carrying the tang of battle; it was a harbinger for the arrival of someone Lee Jeong-Ryong had been eagerly awaiting.
"Right on time."
Lee Jeong-Ryong murmured, his eyes scanning the distant horizon.
Heightening his senses with Qi, distant shouts reached his ears.
- Damn it, kill them all! And that guy who keeps shouting 'eh', do it one more time and I'll consider you a monster! Got it?
A soft chuckle escaped Lee Jeong-Ryong as he extended his hand toward the tumult.
Then he clenched his fist, directing it towards Jin Tae-Kyung, who was somewhere amidst the chaos.
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Chapter 413
Whoosh, boom!
The ground shattered as a gigantic greatsword plunged down. Wu Hei-Xing, quick as lightning, narrowly escaped, missing the blade by mere inches.
Thwack!
The sword pierced under the ogre's jaw, emerging triumphantly through the top of its head — a clean, decisive strike.
Wu Hei-Xing, extracting his sword from the creature, used the falling body as a springboard to launch himself into the fray among other monsters.
His blade danced through the air, leaving behind a tapestry of shimmering lines.
'Sword of Twelve Crimson Threads.' [Note: direct translation - Twelve Blood Net Sword.]
While the Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1976 was decried by many as a catastrophic injustice, for others, like Wu Hei-Xing’s family, it presented a golden opportunity. [Note: The Cultural Revolution in China, initiated by Mao Zedong, aimed to preserve Chinese Communism by purging remnants of capitalist and traditional elements from Chinese society. This extensive purge targeted a broad range of cultural, social, and economic features including old customs, culture, habits, and ideas. It led to the destruction of historical artifacts, temples, and texts, as well as the persecution of intellectuals, and the suppression of traditional practices and ceremonies.]
His grandfather, once a close ally of Mao Zedong, used this turbulent period to amass a fortune, leveraging his son's position in the Red Guard to acquire priceless cultural relics and texts.
Among these treasures was the Sword of Twelve Crimson Threads, an ancient text detailing a formidable sword technique.
Shhhsh!
Wu Hei-Xing unleashed the technique — a net of twelve crimson strands that spanned ten meters in every direction.
The net, pulsating with a red glow, cleaved through skin, muscle, and bone, rendering dozens of high-ranking monsters into pieces.
Such prowess was befitting of an S-rank Hunter. Thrilled by his dominance, Wu Hei-Xing bellowed:
「What is the Red Guard Gang doing! Wipe them all out, you bastards!」
「Yes!」
The battle cry, imbued with potent mana, reverberated across the battlefield.
Three hundred elite hunters, groomed and trained by Wu Hei-Xing’s family as personal soldiers, surged forward. They attacked relentlessly, driven by fierce loyalty and training.
Shhhsh! Crack!
Squish! Screech!
- Crunch, gurgle!
「Arrrgh!」
The battlefield was a cacophony of human screams and monstrous howls, punctuated by the gruesome sounds of carnage.
Though the remaining Red Guard Gang's hunters were formidable, the elite monsters at the rear were equally daunting.
And the monsters emerged from the dense fog in overwhelming numbers.
However…
「How dare these filthy, foul-smelling bastards!」
Puff, puff, puff!
The presence of Wu Hei-Xing, an S-rank Hunter, was a force mighty enough to sway the tide of this brutal clash.
Despite often being criticized for his reckless behavior and mercurial personality, Wu Hei-Xing was undeniably a product of both privilege and innate talent.
His experiences on the frontlines, immersed in relentless combat and near-constant peril, had honed his abilities far beyond their initial limits.
'I can do it! I am Wu Hei-Xing!'
With a newfound zeal, Wu Hei-Xing brandished his sword with unyielding fervor.
He faced an overwhelming legion of tens of thousands of monsters. Despite initial fears, he had grown immensely, adapting to the ruthless demands of war.
Whenever wounds or fatigue threatened him, he would down costly potions like mere water and strategically use the hunters of the Red Guard Gang as his shields.
Now, no creature could withstand the devastating sweeps of his crimson Aura Blade. [Note: a quick reminder - Aura Blade is the real-world equivalent of Sword Aura.]
'I'll make sure no one can ignore me ever again. Lei Fei... The bangzi bastard... No one!'
Wu Hei-Xing's jaw clenched as bitter memories surged, fueling his rage.
Swoosh! Thud!
A lance, hurled with stunning velocity, impaled several hunters and embedded itself deep into the earth.
It was a 3-meter-long assault lance he had rarely seen before.
Wu Hei-Xing snapped his head towards the source, his eyes widening in alarm.
「Death Knight!」
Thud, thud, thud, thud!
It was a Death Knight, striding across the battlefield atop a skeletal horse. And not just one, but two.
The second Death Knight poised its lance aloft while mounted.
「Everyone, be careful......!」
Swoosh! Bang!
His warning was cut short as the second lance tore through the air, brutally penetrating a group of hunters.
The finest armor was no match for the deadly force, scattering limbs and collapsing bodies.
As the Death Knights continued their relentless advance, the hunters of the Red Guard Gang stood petrified, witnessing the gruesome spectacle unfold.
- Dark. Vine.
A sinister, rasping voice filled the air, heralding a new horror.
Crack, crunch, crunch!
The earth fractured like a spiderweb, and from the fissures, black vines surged.
These vines, imbued with dark magic, writhed like serpents, snatching at human limbs and threading through armor gaps.
Shiririrk! Thud!
「Arghhh!」
「Dark magic! It's dark magic!」
「Don't panic! Cut the vines! Get out of range now!」
The battlefield echoed with screams and commands, resonating through the chaotic fray.
With a forceful yank, Wu Hei-Xing tore the encroaching black vines from the ground.
His teeth clenched not in sorrow for fallen comrades, but in grim realization of the unfolding catastrophe.
「Lich......!」
His suspicion was confirmed. High above the melee, a death mage astride a massive wyvern brandished a staff crafted from skulls and bones, directing it menacingly towards the earth.
- Dark. Fog. [Note: the direct translation here is 'confuse' so I changed it to something that sounds more like a technique.]
Swoosh!
A bone-chilling cry unleashed a shadowy miasma that enveloped the hunters.
Those entangled in the black vines suffered hallucinations both visual and auditory, turning them into helpless targets for the circling monsters.
- Squeal!
- Roar!
Crack! Crunch!
「Argh, ugh!」
「Save me!」
「Mother! You mustn’t die. Mother!」
Desperate cries pierced the air as some hunters succumbed to the illusions, their voices fading into silence.
Yet, amidst the chaos, some with strong mental fortitutde managed to shake off the bewitchment.
「You must go!」
「Young Master!」
Despite the cries of A-rank hunters surrounding him, Wu Hei-Xing's face was ashen like a blank sheet of paper.
A single, daunting question plagued him.
'How on earth do I handle this?'
Above was the menacing Lich and on the ground, two Death Knights advanced swiftly.
Could he retreat? If so, where and how should he retreat?
Alone, perhaps he could face the Death Knights, but with the Lich’s sorcery and the encircling horde of monsters, the situation was dire.
No strategy presented itself, no matter how desperately he pondered.
'What a damn mess...'
Clench.
His jaw clenched so tightly he felt his teeth might crack from the pressure.
Swoosh, bang!
The air burst with a compressed whoosh as a streak of light rocketed from the distant ground, slicing through the sky.
In the next instant, the headless wyvern began to falter and plummet earthward.
「This...」
Wu Hei-Xing murmured, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. Around him, everyone ceased their actions, eyes drawn skyward.
Before them, the wyvern's massive body and a cascade of black bones, once the formidable Lich, tumbled through the air.
「...This makes no sense.」
The Lich was dead, vanquished by a single, astonishing strike.
A blow that had pierced through layers of potent defensive spells to strike a target mid-air? Such precision and power were unheard of, even for an S-rank hunter.
Wu Hei-Xing had never witnessed an attack so swift and lethal.
Yet, for the one who delivered it, this seemed as effortless as drawing breath.
Not far from the fray, he stood, observing the chaos his action had wrought. After a moment, he remarked casually,
"It’s been a while since I threw a spear. It definitely doesn’t feel like it used to."
Behind him, a figure as solid as an iron tower responded with a rigid tone,
"You did well."
"Hmm. Not really. It seems I've become dull. A sign of aging, I guess."
"How could that be?"
Lee Jeong-Ryong chuckled lightly at the security team leader’s unemotional response.
"I saw a Death Knight."
Seok Go-Jun silently nodded.
"Yes. There were two of them."
"Do you think Wu Hei-Xing can handle it?"
"If you mean the Death Knights, he should be able to take them down without much trouble."
Seok Go-Jun's voice dropped to a whisper,
"As long as there are no monsters around."
"That sounds challenging right now."
"The influence of dark magic has disappeared, but the troop damage is significant, and there are too many monsters."
"Then we must struggle with all our might."
"It will be a very fierce and difficult fight."
"Well, then we must lend a hand."
"How about we continue to observe a bit longer?"
Lee Jeong-Ryong's eyes widened dramatically.
"Why?"
Having been mentored by Lee Jeong-Ryong since his youth, Seok Go-Jun understood that every interaction was potentially a lesson. He knew the response expected of him.
"Wouldn't people be more grateful in precarious situations?"
Lee Jeong-Ryong’s stern expression softened into a satisfied smile upon hearing his disciple’s insightful reply.
"Yes, exactly that."
"The Red Guard Gang has always been a thorn in our side."
"It’s funny, really. Those shouting about the people and communism, while forming a private army of hunters behind the scenes."
"But aren't the Princelings, which support the Red Guard Gang, not friendly towards us?" [Note: the Princelings are descendants of the revolutionary veterans and Chinese Communist Party elites who leverage their lineage for influence and promote business-friendly policies. Wu Hei-Xing's family is part of this group.]
"That's why the Red Guard Gang needs to be eliminated. We've always sat in the shade to avoid the sunlight, but if the tree is uprooted, what are we to do?"
"We'll have to find another tree or buy a parasol."
"We will become the new tree. That should open up more opportunities."
Seok Go-Jun nodded in agreement before voicing another query that had been troubling him.
"May I ask one more thing?"
"Speak."
"Is Wu Hei-Xing’s involvement in this operation... related to Jin Tae-Kyung?"
This question had lingered in Seok Go-Jun’s mind, puzzling him.
Despite Wu Hei-Xing’s status as an S-rank hunter, his inclusion seemed uncharacteristic.
'He is a formidable opponent. Even if Master is using Wu Hei-Xing, what use could he have?'
It was often like this.
Just when Seok Go-Jun felt he had a grasp on his master's strategies, new layers would unfold, eluding full comprehension.
And at such moments, Lee Jeong-Ryong would sport that enigmatic smile.
As he did now.
"Team Leader Seok."
The atmosphere shifted; Seok Go-Jun instantly resumed his formal role as the security team leader of the Ares Guild, bowed respectfully.
"Yes, Vice Guild Leader."
"It seems like it’s time for you to step in. What do you think?"
Raising his gaze, Seok Go-Jun peered over Lee Jeong-Ryong's shoulder, assessing the chaotic battlefield below.
The Red Guard Gang’s elite, though carefully chosen, were faltering against the monster onslaught. Wu Hei-Xing had just managed to defeat one of the two Death Knights.
"I will go now."
"Take care not to get hurt."
Seok Go-Jun nodded briefly in acknowledgment, then led the assembled Ares Guild members toward the battlefield.
As they advanced towards the monsters, they remained silent, yet a palpable momentum radiated from them, overwhelming and dominating the field.
Crunch! Screech!
Lee Jeong-Ryong watched with a hint of satisfaction as one flank of the monster legion crumbled instantly under their charge. Just then, a scent of blood wafted to him on the wind.
The breeze from the west was not just carrying the tang of battle; it was a harbinger for the arrival of someone Lee Jeong-Ryong had been eagerly awaiting.
"Right on time."
Lee Jeong-Ryong murmured, his eyes scanning the distant horizon.
Heightening his senses with Qi, distant shouts reached his ears.
- Damn it, kill them all! And that guy who keeps shouting 'eh', do it one more time and I'll consider you a monster! Got it?
A soft chuckle escaped Lee Jeong-Ryong as he extended his hand toward the tumult.
Then he clenched his fist, directing it towards Jin Tae-Kyung, who was somewhere amidst the chaos.
Previous Table of Contents Next
2024.05.18 16:34 LordOfTheMeadows Finnick Kedros, a Satyr (INTRO)
BASIC INFORMATION:
Full Name: Finnick Adair Kedros
Age: 16 in human years 32 In Satyr years
Birthdate: November 17th
Gender: Cis Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Hometown: Yosemite National Park.
Languages Spoken: English, Ancient Greek, & Zoolingualism
Sexuality: Gay
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Kri-Kri
Fatal Flaw: Unknown
APPERANCE:
Height: 182 cm
Eye Color: Amber
HaiFur: Dark brown hair that has highlights of a lighter brown. Finnick’s leg fur is the same light brown color that highlights his hair.
Physique: Tall and Muscular, After spending years climbing mountains in Yosemite and fighting off monsters, Finnick has gained a few muscles. He has multiple scars for the same reasons.
Face: Being a Satyr, Finnick has rather noticeable horns, Kri-Kri goats have straight horns that only curve towards the end of the horns. Finnick frequently has facial hair growing, and he prefers to shave. Finnick also has a nose piercing , he mainly wears a silver hoop with it. His actual face is narrow with a “pointed chin,”. He has a large nose. His skin color is typically for Kri-Kri satyrs.
Staple Clothing Pieces: Baggy pants that cover his goat legs, Camp Half-Blood Shirt, And shoes 2 times his size. And a worn light yellow hat that has the almost faded lettering of "Yosemite,".
FAMILY:
PERSONALITY:
Favorites:
Major Power:
Empathy Link: The ability to establish an empathy link between the user and another individual. The two can telepathically communicate over great distances, especially through dreams, and they can perceive each other's senses. If one dies, however, the other either also perishes or reduces to a vegetative state. This link can be removed if the two affected individuals are close and will it away.
Minor Powers:
Plant Manipulation (Chlorokinesis): The ability to control plant life through the use of panpipes
Weather Inducement: The ability to induce good weather, such as light rain showers or a sunny day, through the use of panpipes.
Nature Healing (Vitakinesis): The ability to induce healing in plants or individuals (minor injuries, soothing pain) through the use of panpipes.
Domain Power:
Satyr Physiology: A trait where one is born with the abilities of a satyr (Greek: satyroi, Roman: faun). This includes Superior Smell and Speed, Legendary Climbing, and Tracking Proficiency. Satyrs are also able to communicate with all wildlife (Animal Communication / Zoolingualism).
Mount Lamis: Yosemite National Park, a Satyr Sanctuary
Mount Lamis one of the oldest Satyr Sanctuary’s in North America, founded by the 17th century satyr and legendary explorer, Lamis Kedros. Lamis was considered to be one of the first satyrs to reach the north American continent and traveled west to avoid all the new settlers and to search for Pan. Once Lamis reached the rocky mountains he believed he would find Pan on the other side of the mountain somewhere closer to the sea.
Lamis never found Pan but he instead found the region of Yosemite where he would spend the rest of his days. Lamis proclaimed that all the mountains and all the valleys of this region will be protected and blessed by the Satyrs, in the name of the great god Pan. Lamis himself placed a Satyrs Blessing on the area and even today the area remains earthy. The highest peak in the area would be named after him and would be the home of all his descendants. The mortals called Mount Lamis, Mount Lyell after a mortal scientist.
HISTORY:
Born and raised in Mount Lamis Yosemite was a wonderful experience for Finnick. He had his many siblings and loving parents and even a few friends. When Finnick was 12 years old (Human years) his parents decided that it would be best for the young satyr to begin rescuing demigods and taking them to Camp Half Blood. So that's exactly what Finnick did, he would spend most of the months of the year pretending to be a teenager and befriend the demigod in peril. In the few summer months he would return home to his family.
And it was during one of these summers where his feelings towards his friend and fellow protector Dante blossomed into something else. The two began dating shortly and even when they had to part ways to different mortal middle schools they continued to date. It was almost a year after they had begun to date when they ran into each other dropping Half bloods off at camp that the broke up. Dante had reveled that he would spend the summer in New Argos and wanted to Finnick to come with him, not willing to leave his family Finnick broke up with him and hasn't seen him since.
Since their break up Finnick has spent every summer with his family, avoiding the east coast entirely. That of course was until this summer when Finnick had arrived home to his parents deciding that it would be best if he had spent the summer at Camp. Not wanting to upset his parents Finnick agreed and made his way across the country to Camp Half Blood.
CURRENT TIME:
Finnick walked eagerly over the hill, it had only been a weeks since he had been at camp dropping of a demi-god but after some reflection he was excited to be back. It would be a chance to actually get to know the Heroes within the valley for longer than just a few weeks in the school year where Finnick didn't even get to truly be himself.
He was excited to be able to go strawberry picking with the children of Dionysus and gardening with the Demeter kids. And banter with the nymphs as if they were his sisters-- The site of the blood red Ares cabin covered in barb wire and the most likely chance of stepping on a Landmine scared the goat out of his horns. It seemed Finnick had forgotten about his fear of the more, violent campers. Goats were skittish around humans especially the Kri-Kri. Only slightly worried he continued to walk through camp, maybe he would see a camper he brought to camp before.
(ooc: I hope I can use the new Argos bit like i did, plz let me know if I cant. i took a lot of inspiration from other intro's I hope that was ok! :3 Feel free to have your character know Finnick already! he would have been at camp a lot before)
submitted by LordOfTheMeadows to CampHalfBloodRP [link] [comments]
Full Name: Finnick Adair Kedros
Age: 16 in human years 32 In Satyr years
Birthdate: November 17th
Gender: Cis Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Hometown: Yosemite National Park.
Languages Spoken: English, Ancient Greek, & Zoolingualism
Sexuality: Gay
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Kri-Kri
Fatal Flaw: Unknown
APPERANCE:
Height: 182 cm
Eye Color: Amber
HaiFur: Dark brown hair that has highlights of a lighter brown. Finnick’s leg fur is the same light brown color that highlights his hair.
Physique: Tall and Muscular, After spending years climbing mountains in Yosemite and fighting off monsters, Finnick has gained a few muscles. He has multiple scars for the same reasons.
Face: Being a Satyr, Finnick has rather noticeable horns, Kri-Kri goats have straight horns that only curve towards the end of the horns. Finnick frequently has facial hair growing, and he prefers to shave. Finnick also has a nose piercing , he mainly wears a silver hoop with it. His actual face is narrow with a “pointed chin,”. He has a large nose. His skin color is typically for Kri-Kri satyrs.
Staple Clothing Pieces: Baggy pants that cover his goat legs, Camp Half-Blood Shirt, And shoes 2 times his size. And a worn light yellow hat that has the almost faded lettering of "Yosemite,".
FAMILY:
| Name | Age & Relation | Description |
|---|---|---|
| Finch Kedros | Father, 47 in Human years | An older Satyr who spent years leading Demi-gods to Camp Half-Blood. Who eventually retired after a Demi-God rescue gone wrong, He moved back to his home forest in the Yosemite National Park where he still lives today. Finnick and Finch have a good relationship. |
| Poppy Kedros | Mother, 42 in Human years | A flower Nymph that lives in Yosemite National Park. She has a decent relationship with her son, Despite him believing she prefers his sisters. |
| Chloris, Daphnes & Cerossa | Sisters, 19, 14, 11 in Human years | Flower Nymphs in Yosemite National Park, Younger sisters of Finnick. The three of them had always been close. The girls have always enjoyed teasing their brothers and are frequently in arguments with them |
| Maron Kedros | Brother, 13 in Human years | Finnick’s little brother, the two get along very well and have a very strong relationship. They spend most of their time together playing the pan pipes or arguing with their sisters. |
| Dante Abernathy | Friend & Former Lover, 17 in Human years | A Satyr that also lived in Yosemite. Finnick, and Dante had been friends since childhood and ended up dating. The two broke up when Dante moved to New Argos to study at the Techne Institute. |
Favorites:
- Songs/Albums: Fleet Foxes, Florence and the Machine, Hozier, Father John Misty, Lord Huron, The Lumineers, Sufjan Stevens, & Of Monsters and Men.
- Colors: Earthy tones, especially yellows and oranges.
- Food: Coke Cans, Metal Clippings, Aluminum, Nuts, Oranges, & Grapes
- Places: Yosemite, Vermont, New Argos, Northern Canada, Redwood Forests, Mount Regions.
- Hobbies: Playing the Panpipes, Knitting, Hiking, Soccer, Strawberry Picking, & Beekeeping
- Flowers: Peony, Marigold, Begonia, Gardenia, Hydrangea, & Sunflower
- Good: Dedicated, Gentle, Kind, Idealistic, Organized, Resourceful, Trusting, Warm
- Neutral: Selfless, Earthy, Maternal, Optimistic, Helpful, Creative
- Bad: Skittish, Clumsy, Foolish, Graceless, Shy, Timid, Weak-Willed
- Finnick can name almost every plant just by smell alone.
- Once while rescuing a demigod Finnick stole a police officers car
- Finnick grew up speaking mainly in Ancient Greek with his mother and English with his father
- Finnick was taught to braid by his sisters and often braids his fur.
- Despite being a Satyr Finnick has his "Drivers License," from the state of South Dakota.
Major Power:
Empathy Link: The ability to establish an empathy link between the user and another individual. The two can telepathically communicate over great distances, especially through dreams, and they can perceive each other's senses. If one dies, however, the other either also perishes or reduces to a vegetative state. This link can be removed if the two affected individuals are close and will it away.
Minor Powers:
Plant Manipulation (Chlorokinesis): The ability to control plant life through the use of panpipes
Weather Inducement: The ability to induce good weather, such as light rain showers or a sunny day, through the use of panpipes.
Nature Healing (Vitakinesis): The ability to induce healing in plants or individuals (minor injuries, soothing pain) through the use of panpipes.
Domain Power:
Satyr Physiology: A trait where one is born with the abilities of a satyr (Greek: satyroi, Roman: faun). This includes Superior Smell and Speed, Legendary Climbing, and Tracking Proficiency. Satyrs are also able to communicate with all wildlife (Animal Communication / Zoolingualism).
Mount Lamis: Yosemite National Park, a Satyr Sanctuary
Mount Lamis one of the oldest Satyr Sanctuary’s in North America, founded by the 17th century satyr and legendary explorer, Lamis Kedros. Lamis was considered to be one of the first satyrs to reach the north American continent and traveled west to avoid all the new settlers and to search for Pan. Once Lamis reached the rocky mountains he believed he would find Pan on the other side of the mountain somewhere closer to the sea.
Lamis never found Pan but he instead found the region of Yosemite where he would spend the rest of his days. Lamis proclaimed that all the mountains and all the valleys of this region will be protected and blessed by the Satyrs, in the name of the great god Pan. Lamis himself placed a Satyrs Blessing on the area and even today the area remains earthy. The highest peak in the area would be named after him and would be the home of all his descendants. The mortals called Mount Lamis, Mount Lyell after a mortal scientist.
HISTORY:
Born and raised in Mount Lamis Yosemite was a wonderful experience for Finnick. He had his many siblings and loving parents and even a few friends. When Finnick was 12 years old (Human years) his parents decided that it would be best for the young satyr to begin rescuing demigods and taking them to Camp Half Blood. So that's exactly what Finnick did, he would spend most of the months of the year pretending to be a teenager and befriend the demigod in peril. In the few summer months he would return home to his family.
And it was during one of these summers where his feelings towards his friend and fellow protector Dante blossomed into something else. The two began dating shortly and even when they had to part ways to different mortal middle schools they continued to date. It was almost a year after they had begun to date when they ran into each other dropping Half bloods off at camp that the broke up. Dante had reveled that he would spend the summer in New Argos and wanted to Finnick to come with him, not willing to leave his family Finnick broke up with him and hasn't seen him since.
Since their break up Finnick has spent every summer with his family, avoiding the east coast entirely. That of course was until this summer when Finnick had arrived home to his parents deciding that it would be best if he had spent the summer at Camp. Not wanting to upset his parents Finnick agreed and made his way across the country to Camp Half Blood.
CURRENT TIME:
Finnick walked eagerly over the hill, it had only been a weeks since he had been at camp dropping of a demi-god but after some reflection he was excited to be back. It would be a chance to actually get to know the Heroes within the valley for longer than just a few weeks in the school year where Finnick didn't even get to truly be himself.
He was excited to be able to go strawberry picking with the children of Dionysus and gardening with the Demeter kids. And banter with the nymphs as if they were his sisters-- The site of the blood red Ares cabin covered in barb wire and the most likely chance of stepping on a Landmine scared the goat out of his horns. It seemed Finnick had forgotten about his fear of the more, violent campers. Goats were skittish around humans especially the Kri-Kri. Only slightly worried he continued to walk through camp, maybe he would see a camper he brought to camp before.
(ooc: I hope I can use the new Argos bit like i did, plz let me know if I cant. i took a lot of inspiration from other intro's I hope that was ok! :3 Feel free to have your character know Finnick already! he would have been at camp a lot before)
2024.05.18 16:23 TheWhiteRabbit__ Continuation #3 of Slave, if you have feedback or notes I’d love to hear you out
I began crouching while I walked, hopefully concealing my body. But hiding my tracks and the sound of snow crunching beneath my feet, I’d have to keep my ground until I could discern any weapons or armor. Crouching and wading through foot high snow proved more difficult than I expected, as my grey cloak snagged itself on unseen twigs and became wet and freezing to touch. Great. I guess I’ll have to remember that in future but anyhow I was now close enough to catch a detailed glimpse of the wanderer. He had been sitting on a stump of a felled tree with his arms pressed against his knees, supporting his weight. The man was short of stature but his arms filled the sleeves of his shirt to the brim, he bore a purple cloak with brown stains and a golden insignia was embroidered on his left breast. The cloak's hood was up. One I had no knowledge of. He sported no weapon I could see though looked capable of defending himself without one. I decided I would approach him. I slowly stood from my brush and made myself known, “Greetings good sir, I see you have no one to share your fire with, may I join you?” I spoke eloquently and irenicly, hoping to have the opportunity to dry and warm myself. The man lifted his head towards me and looked me up and down, replying. “You may, although my company will only prove to be sour.” “Sour or not, I’d prefer not to be cold. Are you here alone?” I spoke with a faint smile attempting to hide my chattering teeth. I took off my saturated cloak, folded it and laid it neatly on the cold dirt to sit on. “Why yes, I’m a traveler such as yourself. Though I only spend the winter months as one.” The man shifted his weight to his right leg and pulled out a small square parcel that was wrapped in thin strips of twine. “Do you have food, I have plenty to share?” He offered it to me openly. “No I don't, sadly, I tried hunting for some rabbit but it appears the game trails are all dead. I know it’s winter but rabbits and other small animals still search for food this time of year.” I explained with my stomach growling for my own morsel. “Well that won’t do, here.” He spoke wistfully and he was distant, like his mind was elsewhere but threw the package onto my lap. It was mushy yet tough. “What is this, exactly?” I quizzed in confusion looking at the bloody paper wraps, there was some weird spherical lump right side up as well. It was perplexing, could it be seasoning of some kind? “Its meat of course, there was some good hunting near Jarlsburg this time of year. I’m on my way to Nautic Row, then traveling south and hopefully meeting the summer early in my home.” The stranger smiled looking blankly and deep into the base of the fire, reminiscing on some past days it seems. I set the package aside for a moment and rose from my makeshift seat, searching for a stick to roast my newly received goods. “Are you traveling from the north? I heard there have been terrible blizzards these past weeks and more so than usual years.” Struggling to find a dry skewer the man offered me an iron spit in which I graciously accepted, “Thank you once again, culinary gift giver haha.” He gave me a look of wild bewilderment in response. His eyebrows raised to an unreasonable height, wrinkling his forehead into folds of skin. At that moment I caught a glimpse of his hair, it was slicked black and was salt and pepper grey. “Haha apologies, I haven’t even asked for your name so what is it?” I amended before he could speak. “My name? It’s uh It’s Kartrid, Kartrid Boarson and somewhat when I passed through they seemed tame but I never heard of such rumours.” He spent a moment pondering before he answered as if it were something he used to be called or he had forgotten. This fellow is odd and standoffish but he has given me food and warmth, to leave now would be rude and an insult to his hospitality. “My name is Signe, a pleasure to meet you Kartrid.” I began unwrapping my meal as I returned to my cloak cushion, taking off the twine was a chore as it was knitted tight and then paper was wet and sticking to the meat. As I lifted the last fold of paper the spherical object rolled onto my lap. It was a human eye, the iris was a hazel brown and the capillaries were a dark red bloodshot, the cord still dangled from where it was connected to the brain. My immediate reaction was to jump to my feet and scream, “WHAT IN ODIN’S SCROTE IS THAT, A MAN’S E-!” Before I finished my exclamation I felt something smite the back of my neck and base of my skull, I immediately fell and rolled around in the muddy, freezing snow. My thoughts had gone whizzing from my head and joined the starry night. I'm not sure who had hit me but I held the back of my head as if that would stop the pain. I was still conscious, I can get up and do something, I can still fight. As I began to stumble to my feet, my head thrummed with pain and the sound of the smack rebounded off the bone in my cranium. “A resilient one eh, well customers WILL be pleased.” The voice wasn’t that of the traveler, this man’s voice was croaky and dry, like he had gone without water for a week. “Shut up and finish him, I WOULD like to get out of this infernal cold.” Spat the purple cloaked man, not wasting another moment to put out the fire. As the fire's heat began to suffocate my own consciousness melted into myself. Second by second I slipped deeper into the confines of my head and began to dream. A dream in which you never want to leave, one where you manifest your own warmth, your own happiness and your own world with you being the only inhabitant.
submitted by TheWhiteRabbit__ to creativewriting [link] [comments]
2024.05.18 16:21 Asphodaelus Rule 63 Empress of Mankind by Me (some detailed settings I guess)
 | https://preview.redd.it/nmq0tzjeu61d1.jpg?width=3907&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=cb60c2df3b6ab3d0adca4d7f24e83d4b6d992392 submitted by Asphodaelus to ImaginaryWarhammer [link] [comments] Well it's been 2 months ago so not sure if people still remember my little fanart of Empress of Mankind and Lady Malcador! But anyways. Here goes some more arts for the Empress! Some general Roman inspirations and more researches on official arts kinda just resulted in this. Also drew a little expression sheet and young Empress during Neolithic Terra. ImaginaryWarhammer only allowed one image per post so I have to combine all 3 images into 1 smaller (and less clear) image. If you want to see the individual pieces it's on Twitter. edit: my apologies to those wanting muscle mommies, cant draw muscles lmao NOW, lore dump time! (for those who are interested) Her most used alias is Nirvana. She's fond of Greek and Roman cultures, and enjoys good wine and fine arts. Throughout history she had taken on many different visages, and witnessed many important historical events (e.g. Aside from all the visages of the Emperor that were mentioned in official sources, the Empress also worked at Bletchley Park during WWII). She's quite erudite and is well versed in many fields of studies such as history, biochemistry, genetic engineering, literature, religious studies etc.. Her abilities and powers in general does not differ from the Emperor; the same goes for personalities. I mostly draw inspirations from The End and the Death books (in which the Emperor is portraited with slightly more "humanity" in my opinion). The Empress became what she is now out of necessity and does not feel much joy out of it; she is not very good at express her feelings, and becomes more taciturn as time goes by. She cares about the primarches slightly more than the emperor, but since it's only "slightly" it probably doesn't matter that much. It's pretty much the "Artoria does not understand human hearts" (from Fate) kinda feeling but eh. Sorry for the wall of texts but that's it for now. |
2024.05.18 16:17 Stoic-Dreamventurer Coalcifer: Super-CHARGED Fallen Angel
An afore word, this story is an extension of the “I Inherited a Fallen Angel” series, it contains minor spoilers for those following the story so far, and haven’t made it to part 9. “Coalcifer: Super Charged Fallen Angel” Is a mini-series which follows the titular, fallen Angel Coalcifer’s perspective of events, and secret adventures while away from the series’s usually protagonist: John.
Chapter 1: Fallen Angel’s Anger
Coalcifer: “That’s right, all eyes on me. Plenty of violence on the way, and demons galore. I don’t pull my punches, unless I’m hitting John, he’s still mostly human after all. And it’s about time. I know it’s usually Johnny-boy writing from his perspective of our little adventure, but to tell the truth, sometimes his details lack some of the excitement and OOMPH that you’ll come to see in my own, somewhat separate adventure…As a semi-divine being, normal clothes tear and disintegrate so quickly when in constant contact with our skin, unless we’re CONSTANTLY focused on NOT destroying them. 5-6 hours will ruin any clothing not enchanted or heaven-made. So I’m rarely clothed, but usually cloaked from the average mortal’s eyes. I’m as tall as I like, I weigh…about 4,000 lbs, or 1,814kgs, when I don’t care. Someone once asked “Is Coalcifer thicc?”…After looking up that word, the answer is YES. However, again, I’m not human…So, I’m actually as thicc or as thin as I like. Thanks, Angel anatomy!
Now, here we both currently are, in a living way station, which is curiously under John’s control. It straddles the realms…here with one foot in the Void, the other somewhere a bit between Heaven and Earth’s dimension. And while this vessel of ours is being bombarded by exploding, sleep paralysis demons in the shape of huge, demonic spiders. They only explode upon death, at least. They’ve attacked us by the thousands, nasty buggers. Keyed-in on the re-activation of this Nexus (The name of this void station). Ah, here’s John, fast and magically held in a deep slumber on a dream quest, lying on a makeshift bed in a diner he commanded the Nexus to simulate for us to talk and plan in. Oh haha, his dream trial will be likely only slightly more forgiving than hell itself.
Oh, wow these spider demons really are everywhere! Shit. John thinks I’m sleeping too, hiding somewhere within his dream trial. Cute. I can’t have these bastards tearing him apart…”
I unleash my wings of burning crimson plasma at my back with an explosive clap and fly upward to get a better view of the damage and locate the breaches in the hull. THUD THUD The sound of massive spiders pelting the outside of the station from all angles, yet sounding less frequent by the second. BOOM AH, that one exploded on impact. Hmm. With my angelic eyes I can sense that not all these demons are the same power levels. There are many ancients among their numbers. Ugh! These are some creepy little things…Er, well not so little actually. Varios colors shine and pulse from them, and the number of spider legs they have seem to vary depending on how powerful they are. The bigger ones are neon green, 15 or so glowing purple eyes, and around 16 to 20 hair-spiked legs.
Five hull breaches, and 53 spiders and 5 really big, ugly mothers…With…Oh THAT’s GROSS- All 5 of the big ones have hundreds of hand-sized spider demons on them!
Okay, what’s the best way to handle these buggers? First, wait…None of them are moving. They’re all kinda just…Humming…And looking in John’s direction!
Now If I concentrate I can see it, thousands of ethereal webs pouring out of the hull breaches and out of each spider demon, and straight into John’s third eye! He’s convulsing, they’re ALL, THOUSANDS OF THEM, invading his dream trial!
Coalcifer: “I will NOT STAND FOR THIS!”
I gather my will and anger into my eyes, reaching my wings above my head to grasp my divinity and force my broken halo together. Instantly, as if a floodgate was smashed wide open, I feel my limbs ripple with strength and unstable jolts of power, making my body almost twitch with how HIGH my reflexes raised. I scan the room with lethal intent pouring from my gaze, bursting energy beams forth out of my blazing amber eyes. The lesser spider demons erupted in a fiery conflagration of chitin, guts and their own green energy, blackening the floor and walls of the Nexus where they died. Explosions violently rattled the Nexus wherever my eyes swept over the the couch and dog sized spider demons, turning the air foul with their nearly atomized remains. I think I got some spider ichor in my hair, ugh, lovely. To my surprise… The larger ones seemed unaffected!
That just pisses me off even more. “You want it THE HARD WAY? You got it…”
I open my mouth and scream the resonance of my halo’s frequency, engulfing my body in angelic energy, singing the song etched into my essence. I didn’t have the leisure of taking my time to carefully adjust my power to find just the right amount of power to kill these exploding freaks. John’s gonna owe me for this shit.
With an explosion of speed and sheer force, I rocket towards the 5 biggest demons in the room. Quicker than it could react to my presence approaching, I dove screaming like an arrow made of lasers, exploding in a fountain of blood and crimson Angel fire, burning off the mess as soon as I reached open air. Taking two breakneck 90 degree turns, I reach the next fiend just as the previous one detonates. This one dies like the last as I split through it with ease, and shoot off to the next one even faster than before as each kill powers my essence with their deaths as my wings rake-in their eldritch energies before the void can reclaim them.
By the time the final giant spider demon dies, I’m almost out of breath. I take a moment and let the blast of the last giant spider demon wash over me, first enveloping myself within my wings. When the smoke and blood mist clears, my skin has visible eldritch power crackling and dancing all over it.
“Hahahahaha!” I laugh maniacally, all but consumed with my previously suppressed bloodlust, each and every line of energy going into John’s third eye are now visible to me as if they were solid threads. This sight Jared me back into my right mind, renewing my fury. I inhale deeply, taking in as many errant spirit molecules from the air as I could, and began my tri-toned killing song again.
I rocket outward from the nearest breach in the hull and scan with my heightened senses. 4,677 victims awaiting annihilation at my hands. I could hear them all. Each and every one of them whispering in my mind…
Sleep paralysis spider demon legions: “JOIN US, LEAD US, BECOME OUR GOD. HELP US DEVOUR JOHN AND THE ANGELIC ESSENCE WITHIN HIM. WIT IT WE WILL ALL BECOME LIKE GODS”
Of course they were all batshit insane, but the power I was burning off right now, a lot of it wasn’t my own. I could feel it twitching my muscles, testing the waters and trying to make me move when I wasn’t!
Coalcifer: “No. NO!!” Now I see them. This energy, all these thread connecting this stolen energy right back to ALL of you. HA! You’re royally fucked now!”
Concentrating all of their stolen eldritch energy, and infusing it with my own angelic power, I gather all the threads together using my wings , and with a might heave I tear each and every one of those fiends from the hull of the Nexus and push all of that energy back into them with full intent to kill them all.
Coalcifer: “EAT THIS YOU CREEPY FUCKS!”
The void lit up and practically came alive with the sounds of eradication and a symphony of explosive death, and I was it’s sexy conductor. Shame John didn’t see this. He’d have pissed himself!
I relaxed, letting my broken halo disappear again, my skin’s pearlescent pink was dirtied by chunks of Angel-fried demons, burnt and solidified into chunks of coal which fell off as I flew down into the diner to check on John. Sure enough he’d been fight a handful of stragglers the completely left their bodies behind and settled into his dreamscape. This may take him a few hours to figure out his objective and then complete it. I’ll take him to a part of the Nexus that dips a bit into a time stream where those hours should buy me a day and a half, besides…John will be safe with “Quin’s” guidance
I do have some pressing business to attend to at the mixed Damned and Divine night club: “Lower Heaven”. Maybe I’ll write to you cuties all about it next time? It was fun, but I’ll catch you again next time. Bye bye for now!
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Chapter 1: Fallen Angel’s Anger
Coalcifer: “That’s right, all eyes on me. Plenty of violence on the way, and demons galore. I don’t pull my punches, unless I’m hitting John, he’s still mostly human after all. And it’s about time. I know it’s usually Johnny-boy writing from his perspective of our little adventure, but to tell the truth, sometimes his details lack some of the excitement and OOMPH that you’ll come to see in my own, somewhat separate adventure…As a semi-divine being, normal clothes tear and disintegrate so quickly when in constant contact with our skin, unless we’re CONSTANTLY focused on NOT destroying them. 5-6 hours will ruin any clothing not enchanted or heaven-made. So I’m rarely clothed, but usually cloaked from the average mortal’s eyes. I’m as tall as I like, I weigh…about 4,000 lbs, or 1,814kgs, when I don’t care. Someone once asked “Is Coalcifer thicc?”…After looking up that word, the answer is YES. However, again, I’m not human…So, I’m actually as thicc or as thin as I like. Thanks, Angel anatomy!
Now, here we both currently are, in a living way station, which is curiously under John’s control. It straddles the realms…here with one foot in the Void, the other somewhere a bit between Heaven and Earth’s dimension. And while this vessel of ours is being bombarded by exploding, sleep paralysis demons in the shape of huge, demonic spiders. They only explode upon death, at least. They’ve attacked us by the thousands, nasty buggers. Keyed-in on the re-activation of this Nexus (The name of this void station). Ah, here’s John, fast and magically held in a deep slumber on a dream quest, lying on a makeshift bed in a diner he commanded the Nexus to simulate for us to talk and plan in. Oh haha, his dream trial will be likely only slightly more forgiving than hell itself.
Oh, wow these spider demons really are everywhere! Shit. John thinks I’m sleeping too, hiding somewhere within his dream trial. Cute. I can’t have these bastards tearing him apart…”
I unleash my wings of burning crimson plasma at my back with an explosive clap and fly upward to get a better view of the damage and locate the breaches in the hull. THUD THUD The sound of massive spiders pelting the outside of the station from all angles, yet sounding less frequent by the second. BOOM AH, that one exploded on impact. Hmm. With my angelic eyes I can sense that not all these demons are the same power levels. There are many ancients among their numbers. Ugh! These are some creepy little things…Er, well not so little actually. Varios colors shine and pulse from them, and the number of spider legs they have seem to vary depending on how powerful they are. The bigger ones are neon green, 15 or so glowing purple eyes, and around 16 to 20 hair-spiked legs.
Five hull breaches, and 53 spiders and 5 really big, ugly mothers…With…Oh THAT’s GROSS- All 5 of the big ones have hundreds of hand-sized spider demons on them!
Okay, what’s the best way to handle these buggers? First, wait…None of them are moving. They’re all kinda just…Humming…And looking in John’s direction!
Now If I concentrate I can see it, thousands of ethereal webs pouring out of the hull breaches and out of each spider demon, and straight into John’s third eye! He’s convulsing, they’re ALL, THOUSANDS OF THEM, invading his dream trial!
Coalcifer: “I will NOT STAND FOR THIS!”
I gather my will and anger into my eyes, reaching my wings above my head to grasp my divinity and force my broken halo together. Instantly, as if a floodgate was smashed wide open, I feel my limbs ripple with strength and unstable jolts of power, making my body almost twitch with how HIGH my reflexes raised. I scan the room with lethal intent pouring from my gaze, bursting energy beams forth out of my blazing amber eyes. The lesser spider demons erupted in a fiery conflagration of chitin, guts and their own green energy, blackening the floor and walls of the Nexus where they died. Explosions violently rattled the Nexus wherever my eyes swept over the the couch and dog sized spider demons, turning the air foul with their nearly atomized remains. I think I got some spider ichor in my hair, ugh, lovely. To my surprise… The larger ones seemed unaffected!
That just pisses me off even more. “You want it THE HARD WAY? You got it…”
I open my mouth and scream the resonance of my halo’s frequency, engulfing my body in angelic energy, singing the song etched into my essence. I didn’t have the leisure of taking my time to carefully adjust my power to find just the right amount of power to kill these exploding freaks. John’s gonna owe me for this shit.
With an explosion of speed and sheer force, I rocket towards the 5 biggest demons in the room. Quicker than it could react to my presence approaching, I dove screaming like an arrow made of lasers, exploding in a fountain of blood and crimson Angel fire, burning off the mess as soon as I reached open air. Taking two breakneck 90 degree turns, I reach the next fiend just as the previous one detonates. This one dies like the last as I split through it with ease, and shoot off to the next one even faster than before as each kill powers my essence with their deaths as my wings rake-in their eldritch energies before the void can reclaim them.
By the time the final giant spider demon dies, I’m almost out of breath. I take a moment and let the blast of the last giant spider demon wash over me, first enveloping myself within my wings. When the smoke and blood mist clears, my skin has visible eldritch power crackling and dancing all over it.
“Hahahahaha!” I laugh maniacally, all but consumed with my previously suppressed bloodlust, each and every line of energy going into John’s third eye are now visible to me as if they were solid threads. This sight Jared me back into my right mind, renewing my fury. I inhale deeply, taking in as many errant spirit molecules from the air as I could, and began my tri-toned killing song again.
I rocket outward from the nearest breach in the hull and scan with my heightened senses. 4,677 victims awaiting annihilation at my hands. I could hear them all. Each and every one of them whispering in my mind…
Sleep paralysis spider demon legions: “JOIN US, LEAD US, BECOME OUR GOD. HELP US DEVOUR JOHN AND THE ANGELIC ESSENCE WITHIN HIM. WIT IT WE WILL ALL BECOME LIKE GODS”
Of course they were all batshit insane, but the power I was burning off right now, a lot of it wasn’t my own. I could feel it twitching my muscles, testing the waters and trying to make me move when I wasn’t!
Coalcifer: “No. NO!!” Now I see them. This energy, all these thread connecting this stolen energy right back to ALL of you. HA! You’re royally fucked now!”
Concentrating all of their stolen eldritch energy, and infusing it with my own angelic power, I gather all the threads together using my wings , and with a might heave I tear each and every one of those fiends from the hull of the Nexus and push all of that energy back into them with full intent to kill them all.
Coalcifer: “EAT THIS YOU CREEPY FUCKS!”
The void lit up and practically came alive with the sounds of eradication and a symphony of explosive death, and I was it’s sexy conductor. Shame John didn’t see this. He’d have pissed himself!
I relaxed, letting my broken halo disappear again, my skin’s pearlescent pink was dirtied by chunks of Angel-fried demons, burnt and solidified into chunks of coal which fell off as I flew down into the diner to check on John. Sure enough he’d been fight a handful of stragglers the completely left their bodies behind and settled into his dreamscape. This may take him a few hours to figure out his objective and then complete it. I’ll take him to a part of the Nexus that dips a bit into a time stream where those hours should buy me a day and a half, besides…John will be safe with “Quin’s” guidance
I do have some pressing business to attend to at the mixed Damned and Divine night club: “Lower Heaven”. Maybe I’ll write to you cuties all about it next time? It was fun, but I’ll catch you again next time. Bye bye for now!
2024.05.18 16:14 Professional_Prune11 Escape From Heavalun Section Two: Club Chaos
Whats good buds. I hope I did not keep you all waiting too long for a new chapter. I am back with a new fun section of the interlude story between Human Trauma 2 and 3. This time we get a big peak into our leading man's mind and our leading ladies. one being a stuck-up spoiled brat, the other a gruff and too stubborn for his own good gunslinger.
Let's go save our bread
Conor slowly descended the stairs, muscling past a drunken pair of Purletric dancers loitering at the bottom. Once on the ground floor, he vanished into the crowd of undulating, grinding bodies.
None of the dancers paid him any mind as he weaved in and out of their groups. All were far too inebriated to note the predator stalking past or any weapons he carried beneath his jacket. Be it the knife on his hip, the pistol in hand, or the stun granades on his belt.
Clutching the pistol in his metallic hand, Conor wondered what the worn stippling was like to hold. It had been years since his right hand could feel, and the L1-JKL was nowhere near as sharp as when it was manufactured hundreds of standard years ago by Nekarilaqa arms.
At this point, the JKL was ancient, being over tenfold his age. But the Slug thrower was still effective and was integrally suppressed. Those who loved the weapon model would call it the Jackle; Conor was not one of those people.
He preferred to call it the Joker because the pistol was the perfect weapon for his needs or as helpful as breathing on someone. At least the suppressor would make it impossible to hear the weapons report beyond a few meters —-especially with loud base drums.
In an environment as ridiculously voluminous as the nightclub, Conor would not even be able to hear the weapon going off, much less the drunk and high partygoers keying their senses into the ear-splitting music.
Conor’s theory on the level of ignorance the inebriated attendees was given credence when he wrapped his hand on the slimy mouth of one of the Voodal mooks and sent four slugs through his back, blood and viscera showering a group of scantily clad dancers; all of them none the wiser that the warm liquid glowing neon in the club lights was the orange blood of the amphibian.
Instead of taking the time to hide the body in a trashcan like this was a B-rate hollow-flick, Conor shoved the limp body off to the side. the Voodal collapsed against the damp, durecrete wall with a dull thud.
Club security would find the body soon enough and toss it in the alleyway outback, likely assuming he passed out. Until then, the dancers would continue blissfully unaware of the cadaver in their midst. Conor just knew he would likely have to explain to Zyntle why he and Brakul were conducting business in his nightclub; that was in a way taboo for the duo.
“Good kill. Move to the right,” Brakul instructed through the radio. “Next target is lazed.”
“Copy,” Conor muttered coldly into his mask's communication device.
While he passed a pair of green-skinned Kubutals grinding hard against one another, Conor spotted Brakul's laser stock steady on the chest of the next Voodal. He moved quickly, distancing himself from the couple that was only two layers of cloth away from fucking on the dancefloor, needing to speed things up if he was going to win the bet
Once past them, Conor closed the gap between him and the next target, pulling her close. Before the woman registered that she now had a new and less-than-provocative dance partner, Conor slammed her against the wall, pushed his suppressed pistol into her groin, and stitched off four quick shots.
Usually, a bullet smashing your pelvic girdle would cause uncontrolled screaming, But with Conor's metallic elbow crushing the amphibian's trachea, she could only muster a weak croak.
As the Kyrail woman thrashed, her windpipe cracked and crackled; She struggled against Conor like an untamed Rehal: kicking, punching, clawing, all in a desperate animalistic desire to survive. But that could not last forever, and they both knew it; after half a minute, the fight in her amber eyes faded, having drained out with the blood coating her and Conor's boots.
“You better hurry it up; there are only four left,” Brakul mocked as Conor let the dead woman's corpse slump against the wall, and running her pockets.
“You could fucking help me, you Nurlik!” Conor flippantly replied while pulling a bag of visage from the woman's pocket.
“I am helping, just not too much; I still have crit riding on you failing—-remember,” Brakul sniggered.
“This was your idea,” Conor grumbled, leaving the woman gbehind and wafting past another dancer towards the next Kyrail.
Thankfully Brakul did not comment further while Conor was actively dealing with the next target; Brakul might be an asshole, but he was a professional and knew to let Conor work.
Conor covered the gang member's nose with the open bag and drove a swift knee into his grundle; the man’s autonomic functions did the rest. The strike caused them to gasp and breathe in a lungful of the acrid yellowish powder.
The amphibian coughed, bluckling over as his brain was forced to error code by the narcotic. Conor silently thanked Orphian Manufacturing that filters in his mask saved him from the zombifying cloud, unlike the other patrons within arms reach of his last target who also began to fall tot he deck.
“Do I have to remind you of our bet on the Driltol mining platform? Because last I checked, that was your idea,” Brakul commented, shifting his laser to the next target.
Conor huffed in annoyance, remembering that bet and horrible day all too well. He lost five thousand crit and his arm over the course of an hour. All because he was young, inexperienced, hot-headed, and not keeping keyed in on the task.
On top of the physical and financial damage, Conor also learned two important lessons about this line of work. Firstly, he had to stay focused on his current objective while being aware of what was happening nearby.
The second lesson he learned was to trust Brakul's wisdom and counsel. The older mercenary had a far better sense of business and an uncanny ability to tell when a gig would go bottoms up, and they needed to pop smoke.
Those lessons were things Conor still had to remind himself of regularly. He was far more reliable and wise than those days but could not hold a candle up to Brakul.
“Are there any updates on the others?” Conor questioned, slipped behind a pillar, pulling the trigger and splattering another Voodal ganger's brains on the bar, wall, and an unsepecting Farun’se.
“You better hurry up, conman. They just figured out something is going on and are starting to move,” Brakul said calmly.
Grunting to confirm he understood, Conor gave up on flowing like an unseen predator through the crowd and started to force the comparatively diminutive aliens out of the way. Sometimes speed was safety, and with his time hack being measured in seconds—now was one of those times.
Conor pushed through the last group of dancers, most falling to the ground with painful yelps. Once through, he finally had sight of the group of Kyrail. One of the Kyrail was bleeding out on the deck, and two were left standing.
One was a hulking brute with a beer gut, grey scales, and wore a tight tunic like cloth. The red scaled woman was using the older lizard like a shield, yelling something at the Voodal gangers, but the club's music drowned out her voice.
Conor had to give it to the old fool; he had some balls. Even though he was outnumbered and unarmed, he stood stalwart against the last three Voodal gangers, closing the short gap between them.
Balls or not, the Kyrail were not in a winning scenario and would be overwhelmed quickly. With their back-to-wall, Conor had to act fast; there was no way he would lose another bet. Brakul would never let him live that down.
—--
“Stay behind me,” Torkla hissed, pushing Eivaley back from the three aliens.
Eivaley clutched tightly to Torklas clothes and did what she was told. He was the champion appointed ot her by her father; and would fill most of the rolls of a champion until she found someone who could best him.
Her heart was slamming like a hammer and anvil in her chest while the three aliens cackled and kept getting closer. The only question running through her mind and body right now was, what was happening?
This was supposed to be an enjoyable trip, not whatever this nightmare was now.
Daddy had invited her to Heavalun and the COS to get a feeling for the city and the area of space his shipping company was expanding into.
Her father, Vuraley, handled all the tedious paperwork: setting up contacts, buying warehouses, hiring security, and setting up a private spaceport. All she was supposed to do was stay out of trouble, look pretty at a few meetings with clients, and stay close to her security detail.
Now Eivaley was cowering behind the back of one of her clans proudest warriors while three meter-and-a-half tall bipedal frogs brandished weapons and were threatening them. She could not imagine what Daddy would say about this when she got home. Would he cut her allowance? Not let her go out in town again? Or worst of all, not let her go out and see her friends anymore?
Either way, she was not looking forward to what he would do to her—it wasn’t like any of this was her fault.
“Oi, soljah, ‘and, ‘er ovah, and we hont ‘urt yah,” one of the grey-skinned toads croaked, pointing a pistol at Vuraley and flicking off the weapons safety.
“You had better get out of here,” Eivaley hissed reflexively, far to use to having others of her species following her everyword like gospel. “My daddy will have none of this; he will make you all regret this,”
“Stop talking,” Torkla yelled, keeping his eyes on the encroaching Voodal. “you’re not helping.”
What in the grand broods name? Torkla yelled at her. He never yelled at her, even though he had been guarding her since she was a little girl. Torkla was under Oath to obey her, and keep her safe; that includes listening to her. He should not be able to yell at her.
“Yah lil’ lady, yah should listen. We know yer daddy and don’t care, and you are worth too much to pass up,” The Voodal sniggered. “So soljah, yah gonna ‘and ‘er ovah?”
Torkla looked over the men who had paused, slinking closer, and were waiting for his answer. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Eivaley. The girl he might as well have helped raise was shaking like a leaf and needed him to be a rock right now.
“No deal,” Torkla replied, drawing a knife and readying to fight off the aliens or die trying.
The front toad clicked his tongue and languidly twirled the pistol while stepping off to the side. “Come on, no reason tah die fer ‘er. Be reasonable,”
“Torkla would never—” Eivaley started, but he yelled at her again.
“I said shut up,” Torkla barked. “You can get made at me later.”
Eivaley jumped then clutched his jacket and nodded silently, not wanting him to yell anymore. While yes she might be in charge of Torkla and the others her father assigned to her; until she found her own champion she would never have any true power.
“I said no deal,” Torkla affirmed.
The lead toad rolled his eyes and sighed while raising the weapon toward Torkla, readying to slump the stupid royal guardsman.
Once the pistol was full raised they nodded. Both accepting accepting that there was only one way this would go. One of them would end up in a body bag. While the Kyrail and Voodal had many differences this was one thing both accepted.
Neither group would detest giving someone a good death—even though both thought it would be others turn to hit the deck.
The next few seconds were some of the longest, most horrendous moments of Eivaley’s life.
Torkla roared like a beast dredged up from the bottomless dark pits of hell, shot forward, and tried to slip the pistol from the Kyrail’s grip; his fangs snapping as his potent venom trailed passed his lips.
But at his age, Torkla was not the young proud palace guard he was when he was first assigned to be Eivaley’s personal guard.
Now that he was pushing fifty, he was old, slow, and more willing than ever to lay it all on the line for the few people he was bound to protect. Right now, he regrettably could not meet the bill.
A deafening, unsuppressed shot cracked like thunder just as Torklas claws caressed the handgun. The round ripped through his palm and carved a deep canyon in the old warriors skull, showering Eivaley in blood, bone, and brain matter of the man who earlier was chuckling and asking her to dress more modestly.
The crack of the weapon turned the nightclub into pure bedlam. Drunken partygoers screamed while they shoved and trampled one another, desperately trying to get away. Their panic blaring overwhelmed the club's music and Eivaley’s screams.
As soon as the first Kyrail shot Torkla, the others tossed their bags of visage onto Eivaley, showering her in the drug that burned the image of Torkla’s canyoned skull and slumping body into her mind. An image she would remember until her dying breath.
Over her life she would se many more, and had seen hundreds if not thousands of commoners die so far. That one death meant something more to here; but how much it affected her would take many years for her to understand.
“Grab ‘er,” The lead croaker said just before the metallic hand of a massive beast grabbed his head and crushed it like an egg, blood glowing as it squirted between shining metallic fingers.
Whoever just killed the man who shot Torkla picked up the lead ganger and effortlessly tossed the corpse into another one of the gang members. As soon as he was done with that, he lifted his handgun and fired three rounds into the remaining mook, not even bothering to glance fully at them.
In her drug-induced stupor, Eivaley’s mind and body could not focus on anything beyond critical details. Sparse things that stood out so much she could never forget them.
One of the mans arms was covered in metal; whether it was armor or cybernetics, she did not know, nor could she care. At this moment, it was the shining armor of a night of yor: strong, valiant, and rescuing a damsel in distress.
The vissages causing her neurons to misfire, rocketed stories of strong brave men rushing to the rescue of the noble women when their homes were under siege. And as far as seh saw it, this situation was just that.
Her guards failed,and now as if summoned by the gods themselves a brave knight burst forth from nowhere and defied the darkness threatening the dainty princess. No it did not matter she was the 5th princess and would never be queen, just that she had her champion, and it seems that chose her.
Before the visage entirely took effect, Eivaley heard the man say a few words. It was difficult to listen to him through the skull art covered mask he wore, but her savior's voice was deep, reverberating, and filled with clear, driven intent.
“I got the girl; meet you at Stitches’s place,” the man said just as he tossed Eivaley’s now near limp body over his heavily muscled shoulder and rushed through the crowd.
The last thing Eivaley could remember before the visage sunk its fangs deep into her mind was the man kicking open the back door and rushing out into the Heavalun night, bright neon signs, and the dingy alley welcoming them into their midst.
So how did you like this one? nothing to bad right? we are just getting started, and have a fat chunk of chapters left. like my other stories, expect well-timed and thought-out violence and inter-character moments. I hope you give my new tale a chance.
Please do not forget to updoot and comment.
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Let's go save our bread
None of the dancers paid him any mind as he weaved in and out of their groups. All were far too inebriated to note the predator stalking past or any weapons he carried beneath his jacket. Be it the knife on his hip, the pistol in hand, or the stun granades on his belt.
Clutching the pistol in his metallic hand, Conor wondered what the worn stippling was like to hold. It had been years since his right hand could feel, and the L1-JKL was nowhere near as sharp as when it was manufactured hundreds of standard years ago by Nekarilaqa arms.
At this point, the JKL was ancient, being over tenfold his age. But the Slug thrower was still effective and was integrally suppressed. Those who loved the weapon model would call it the Jackle; Conor was not one of those people.
He preferred to call it the Joker because the pistol was the perfect weapon for his needs or as helpful as breathing on someone. At least the suppressor would make it impossible to hear the weapons report beyond a few meters —-especially with loud base drums.
In an environment as ridiculously voluminous as the nightclub, Conor would not even be able to hear the weapon going off, much less the drunk and high partygoers keying their senses into the ear-splitting music.
Conor’s theory on the level of ignorance the inebriated attendees was given credence when he wrapped his hand on the slimy mouth of one of the Voodal mooks and sent four slugs through his back, blood and viscera showering a group of scantily clad dancers; all of them none the wiser that the warm liquid glowing neon in the club lights was the orange blood of the amphibian.
Instead of taking the time to hide the body in a trashcan like this was a B-rate hollow-flick, Conor shoved the limp body off to the side. the Voodal collapsed against the damp, durecrete wall with a dull thud.
Club security would find the body soon enough and toss it in the alleyway outback, likely assuming he passed out. Until then, the dancers would continue blissfully unaware of the cadaver in their midst. Conor just knew he would likely have to explain to Zyntle why he and Brakul were conducting business in his nightclub; that was in a way taboo for the duo.
“Good kill. Move to the right,” Brakul instructed through the radio. “Next target is lazed.”
“Copy,” Conor muttered coldly into his mask's communication device.
While he passed a pair of green-skinned Kubutals grinding hard against one another, Conor spotted Brakul's laser stock steady on the chest of the next Voodal. He moved quickly, distancing himself from the couple that was only two layers of cloth away from fucking on the dancefloor, needing to speed things up if he was going to win the bet
Once past them, Conor closed the gap between him and the next target, pulling her close. Before the woman registered that she now had a new and less-than-provocative dance partner, Conor slammed her against the wall, pushed his suppressed pistol into her groin, and stitched off four quick shots.
Usually, a bullet smashing your pelvic girdle would cause uncontrolled screaming, But with Conor's metallic elbow crushing the amphibian's trachea, she could only muster a weak croak.
As the Kyrail woman thrashed, her windpipe cracked and crackled; She struggled against Conor like an untamed Rehal: kicking, punching, clawing, all in a desperate animalistic desire to survive. But that could not last forever, and they both knew it; after half a minute, the fight in her amber eyes faded, having drained out with the blood coating her and Conor's boots.
“You better hurry it up; there are only four left,” Brakul mocked as Conor let the dead woman's corpse slump against the wall, and running her pockets.
“You could fucking help me, you Nurlik!” Conor flippantly replied while pulling a bag of visage from the woman's pocket.
“I am helping, just not too much; I still have crit riding on you failing—-remember,” Brakul sniggered.
“This was your idea,” Conor grumbled, leaving the woman gbehind and wafting past another dancer towards the next Kyrail.
Thankfully Brakul did not comment further while Conor was actively dealing with the next target; Brakul might be an asshole, but he was a professional and knew to let Conor work.
Conor covered the gang member's nose with the open bag and drove a swift knee into his grundle; the man’s autonomic functions did the rest. The strike caused them to gasp and breathe in a lungful of the acrid yellowish powder.
The amphibian coughed, bluckling over as his brain was forced to error code by the narcotic. Conor silently thanked Orphian Manufacturing that filters in his mask saved him from the zombifying cloud, unlike the other patrons within arms reach of his last target who also began to fall tot he deck.
“Do I have to remind you of our bet on the Driltol mining platform? Because last I checked, that was your idea,” Brakul commented, shifting his laser to the next target.
Conor huffed in annoyance, remembering that bet and horrible day all too well. He lost five thousand crit and his arm over the course of an hour. All because he was young, inexperienced, hot-headed, and not keeping keyed in on the task.
On top of the physical and financial damage, Conor also learned two important lessons about this line of work. Firstly, he had to stay focused on his current objective while being aware of what was happening nearby.
The second lesson he learned was to trust Brakul's wisdom and counsel. The older mercenary had a far better sense of business and an uncanny ability to tell when a gig would go bottoms up, and they needed to pop smoke.
Those lessons were things Conor still had to remind himself of regularly. He was far more reliable and wise than those days but could not hold a candle up to Brakul.
“Are there any updates on the others?” Conor questioned, slipped behind a pillar, pulling the trigger and splattering another Voodal ganger's brains on the bar, wall, and an unsepecting Farun’se.
“You better hurry up, conman. They just figured out something is going on and are starting to move,” Brakul said calmly.
Grunting to confirm he understood, Conor gave up on flowing like an unseen predator through the crowd and started to force the comparatively diminutive aliens out of the way. Sometimes speed was safety, and with his time hack being measured in seconds—now was one of those times.
Conor pushed through the last group of dancers, most falling to the ground with painful yelps. Once through, he finally had sight of the group of Kyrail. One of the Kyrail was bleeding out on the deck, and two were left standing.
One was a hulking brute with a beer gut, grey scales, and wore a tight tunic like cloth. The red scaled woman was using the older lizard like a shield, yelling something at the Voodal gangers, but the club's music drowned out her voice.
Conor had to give it to the old fool; he had some balls. Even though he was outnumbered and unarmed, he stood stalwart against the last three Voodal gangers, closing the short gap between them.
Balls or not, the Kyrail were not in a winning scenario and would be overwhelmed quickly. With their back-to-wall, Conor had to act fast; there was no way he would lose another bet. Brakul would never let him live that down.
—--
“Stay behind me,” Torkla hissed, pushing Eivaley back from the three aliens.
Eivaley clutched tightly to Torklas clothes and did what she was told. He was the champion appointed ot her by her father; and would fill most of the rolls of a champion until she found someone who could best him.
Her heart was slamming like a hammer and anvil in her chest while the three aliens cackled and kept getting closer. The only question running through her mind and body right now was, what was happening?
This was supposed to be an enjoyable trip, not whatever this nightmare was now.
Daddy had invited her to Heavalun and the COS to get a feeling for the city and the area of space his shipping company was expanding into.
Her father, Vuraley, handled all the tedious paperwork: setting up contacts, buying warehouses, hiring security, and setting up a private spaceport. All she was supposed to do was stay out of trouble, look pretty at a few meetings with clients, and stay close to her security detail.
Now Eivaley was cowering behind the back of one of her clans proudest warriors while three meter-and-a-half tall bipedal frogs brandished weapons and were threatening them. She could not imagine what Daddy would say about this when she got home. Would he cut her allowance? Not let her go out in town again? Or worst of all, not let her go out and see her friends anymore?
Either way, she was not looking forward to what he would do to her—it wasn’t like any of this was her fault.
“Oi, soljah, ‘and, ‘er ovah, and we hont ‘urt yah,” one of the grey-skinned toads croaked, pointing a pistol at Vuraley and flicking off the weapons safety.
“You had better get out of here,” Eivaley hissed reflexively, far to use to having others of her species following her everyword like gospel. “My daddy will have none of this; he will make you all regret this,”
“Stop talking,” Torkla yelled, keeping his eyes on the encroaching Voodal. “you’re not helping.”
What in the grand broods name? Torkla yelled at her. He never yelled at her, even though he had been guarding her since she was a little girl. Torkla was under Oath to obey her, and keep her safe; that includes listening to her. He should not be able to yell at her.
“Yah lil’ lady, yah should listen. We know yer daddy and don’t care, and you are worth too much to pass up,” The Voodal sniggered. “So soljah, yah gonna ‘and ‘er ovah?”
Torkla looked over the men who had paused, slinking closer, and were waiting for his answer. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Eivaley. The girl he might as well have helped raise was shaking like a leaf and needed him to be a rock right now.
“No deal,” Torkla replied, drawing a knife and readying to fight off the aliens or die trying.
The front toad clicked his tongue and languidly twirled the pistol while stepping off to the side. “Come on, no reason tah die fer ‘er. Be reasonable,”
“Torkla would never—” Eivaley started, but he yelled at her again.
“I said shut up,” Torkla barked. “You can get made at me later.”
Eivaley jumped then clutched his jacket and nodded silently, not wanting him to yell anymore. While yes she might be in charge of Torkla and the others her father assigned to her; until she found her own champion she would never have any true power.
“I said no deal,” Torkla affirmed.
The lead toad rolled his eyes and sighed while raising the weapon toward Torkla, readying to slump the stupid royal guardsman.
Once the pistol was full raised they nodded. Both accepting accepting that there was only one way this would go. One of them would end up in a body bag. While the Kyrail and Voodal had many differences this was one thing both accepted.
Neither group would detest giving someone a good death—even though both thought it would be others turn to hit the deck.
The next few seconds were some of the longest, most horrendous moments of Eivaley’s life.
Torkla roared like a beast dredged up from the bottomless dark pits of hell, shot forward, and tried to slip the pistol from the Kyrail’s grip; his fangs snapping as his potent venom trailed passed his lips.
But at his age, Torkla was not the young proud palace guard he was when he was first assigned to be Eivaley’s personal guard.
Now that he was pushing fifty, he was old, slow, and more willing than ever to lay it all on the line for the few people he was bound to protect. Right now, he regrettably could not meet the bill.
A deafening, unsuppressed shot cracked like thunder just as Torklas claws caressed the handgun. The round ripped through his palm and carved a deep canyon in the old warriors skull, showering Eivaley in blood, bone, and brain matter of the man who earlier was chuckling and asking her to dress more modestly.
The crack of the weapon turned the nightclub into pure bedlam. Drunken partygoers screamed while they shoved and trampled one another, desperately trying to get away. Their panic blaring overwhelmed the club's music and Eivaley’s screams.
As soon as the first Kyrail shot Torkla, the others tossed their bags of visage onto Eivaley, showering her in the drug that burned the image of Torkla’s canyoned skull and slumping body into her mind. An image she would remember until her dying breath.
Over her life she would se many more, and had seen hundreds if not thousands of commoners die so far. That one death meant something more to here; but how much it affected her would take many years for her to understand.
“Grab ‘er,” The lead croaker said just before the metallic hand of a massive beast grabbed his head and crushed it like an egg, blood glowing as it squirted between shining metallic fingers.
Whoever just killed the man who shot Torkla picked up the lead ganger and effortlessly tossed the corpse into another one of the gang members. As soon as he was done with that, he lifted his handgun and fired three rounds into the remaining mook, not even bothering to glance fully at them.
In her drug-induced stupor, Eivaley’s mind and body could not focus on anything beyond critical details. Sparse things that stood out so much she could never forget them.
One of the mans arms was covered in metal; whether it was armor or cybernetics, she did not know, nor could she care. At this moment, it was the shining armor of a night of yor: strong, valiant, and rescuing a damsel in distress.
The vissages causing her neurons to misfire, rocketed stories of strong brave men rushing to the rescue of the noble women when their homes were under siege. And as far as seh saw it, this situation was just that.
Her guards failed,and now as if summoned by the gods themselves a brave knight burst forth from nowhere and defied the darkness threatening the dainty princess. No it did not matter she was the 5th princess and would never be queen, just that she had her champion, and it seems that chose her.
Before the visage entirely took effect, Eivaley heard the man say a few words. It was difficult to listen to him through the skull art covered mask he wore, but her savior's voice was deep, reverberating, and filled with clear, driven intent.
“I got the girl; meet you at Stitches’s place,” the man said just as he tossed Eivaley’s now near limp body over his heavily muscled shoulder and rushed through the crowd.
The last thing Eivaley could remember before the visage sunk its fangs deep into her mind was the man kicking open the back door and rushing out into the Heavalun night, bright neon signs, and the dingy alley welcoming them into their midst.
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