Hiya
I have a 10month chi, she's very friendly and sweet temperament wise. I also have two kids and a push over partner, he's definitely more of the dog person but no boundaries 😮‍💨
I have a few issues I'd appreciate some advice/input on how to train her, as yesterday she escaped the house and ran in front of a car. She is SO lucky it didn't hit her. I spent 15 minutes trying to find her, and that's only because she found a dog walker who grabbed her 😮‍💨
• Doesn't eat unless it's chicken. She will starve herself for days, and then only eat chicken. Vets given advice about no longer changing her pet food in attempts to find ones she likes Previously within a week, if she even ate it, she will reject again and honestly she didn't eat much to begin with. So now it gets put out, if she doesn't eat it within 5 minutes, it's taken away. Then she waits until dinner. It's sort of solved the problem, she's at least eating half of a meal a day.
• Pees everywhere. I've had to throw out a large family rug. She's destroyed my wooden floor. Doesn't like to use puppy mats. She will go outside in the morning now, but that's only recent Banned from unsupervised upstairs as she will pee and poop everywhere. She's also pooped on the kids and my beds before; I've warned my eldest (he adores her) that he can clean it up if she does it on his again, since he wants her on his bed. It's either the kitchen wood floor (which is now all black/dark brown under the table, I wish she would use puppy mats) or living room rug.
• No call back or commands. She just about knows SIT when it suits her. She does know her name. She knows no but doesn't always listen to it, again, unless it suits her. She also knows when she's been naughty as she legs it from me to her bed 🙄 I really need this sorted, she is so fast and regularly escapes. She has a collar with name and number and address etc; but I can't run after her and she will eventually get eaten by another dog (lots of big dogs around here, I've had to lift her before! They must think she's a bunny!) or worse, if this continues.
• Eats everything on the carpet. When she does have a scrap of food, she takes it into the living room onto the carpet. At best she eats on the floor next to her bowl. I've found if i put her food outside, she eats out the bowl itself. But honestly I cannot keep cleaning my carpet of dog food as she smears it in 😭 I'm looking at another stair gate to sadly confine her to the kitchen, now.
• Jumping and biting. I get she's a puppy. But she jumps and bites my kids faces. I'm pregnant ATM and will be due soon, I don't want her accidently hurting the newborn. I don't want to end up having to get rid of her, I want to train it out of her. She doesn't always bite soft, too, she's drawn blood with myself and my youngest child. Unfortunately 🙄 my eldest and partner (and guests, sigh) find it endearing and tell me "she's just playing", and I'm trying to explain if she mauls a neighbour's kids face by accident or their child or my baby, they will soon change their tune! I had a friend in school, who's nose literally has this massive scar where her dog as a puppy, got carried away. The dog was re-homed and she has a permanent fear of dogs.
• Licking - this is just me. I hate licky dogs. We have had several dogs when I was a kid and none like this. She gets carried away and has stuck her tongue up the nose of the lot of them; she doesn't get that chance with me as I put my hand on her head but she still tries.. Kids adore it. Partner adores it 🙄 Anyway to stop her doing it? At least for me 😮‍💨
• When on a lead, there is absolutely no listening skills. She does what she wants. You can say "heel" and stop all you want, she will strangle herself silly.
• Jumping on sofa and stealing pillows, humping pillows, using sofa to launch herself onto living room table to steal food. Also uses sofa to launch into (already set up) baby cot - this certainly has to stop! I put it out already to train her "no" like I used to do with our cat. Our cats old now so he is already trained up in forbidden places etc.
😮‍💨 I've never had this issue with any dogs we had since I was a child/friends puppies. I appreciate I don't have as much time to dedicate, and will be going on maternity leave so I want to be dealing with as much of it as I can before/when baby is here.
Sorry it's so long 😮‍💨 I am just tired and it doesn't help my partner and eldest, she goes straight to them when she's naughty/not getting her way, and then I have to tell them off, too. I'm not daft, I know it's because they give in 🙄
Thank you 🙏

From the beginning...
Cast

Part 2, Chapter 8

Conferring briefly, Arthur strides across the bridge [1]. Before he gets halfway across, a voice rings out. “HALT. Come no further. We want nothing from you, and have nothing for you. Depart peaceably.” The voice is feminine, with a thick rural Damaran accent, not so dissimilar to Arthur’s.
Arthur comes to a stop. “We come in peace. We just want to know what is going on. We’re on a mission from the Council of Thanes in Ironspur. This is their forge.”
“No dwarves here. It’s ours now. You need know nothing more. Away!”
Arthur withdraws to the group, where suddenly Zander notices that Dillium has disappeared. One thing at a time. “Perhaps if we paid a toll.” Zander suggests.
“We’ll pay a toll to cross the bridge and converse.” Arthur booms.
“How much?”
“How much do you want?”
“Three figures. Leave it on the bridge.”
“We’ll give you a hundred pieces of silver.”
There is no reply. Through the haze of the heat and ash, the outlines of the people on the other side of the chasm appear to be lined up.
“Are you with the dragon?” Novos calls out.
“Of course not! He’s taken our people. Are you?”
“No. He stole our elf!” Zander calls out.
“We just want to look around,” Novos adds. He takes a few steps toward the bridge, but a dagger sails out of the darkness and misses Novos’ foot by … well, several feet.
“Go away!”
The argument goes back and forth. Daggers are thrown until the unknown assailant runs out or gets tired, then crossbow bolts are launched. Novos takes cover behind Zander, who good-naturedly holds his shield out in protection. After several shots, Novos makes out the shape of a shooter above and to his left. Aiming carefully, he fires back with his bow.
“Look, we’re coming across. I’ll give ten gold pieces to anyone who lays down arms and talks.” Novos announces.
“Don’t you dare!” the voice cuts through, though it looks like the shapes of people on the other side of the chasm are less decided. Several low conversations break out, and though nobody can make out the words, the tones range from willing to harsh.
Zander decides to take a position on the bridge. This of course means Novos is a clear target again, though it’s hard to make out anything through the haze and the crossbow bolts miss more frequently than they hit.
***
A pebble rolls across the floor and nudges Dillium’s foot. Looking around, she sees the redheaded young human put his finger to his lips in a universal "don't scream" gesture, then he beckons her over away from the party. Novos has disappeared again, and everyone else is intent on trying to see through the heat waves and ash rising from the river of red gelatinous goop. Zander or Felicity are busy arguing with the voice, so slipping away from the group, Dillium ducks around the corner with the man.
Up close, she sees he has a misshapen face and is slightly stooped. Looking at his eyes, she decides he sees poorly--if at all--from his left eye. His complexion is ruddy in a way that nearly obscures the freckles all over his face and neck, and his shocking red hair seems nearly too bright to be natural. Now that she gets a good look at him, Dillium thinks he might be near his thirtieth year. For all of being a bit hunch-backed, he doesn't seem to have any problem moving around. His low voice speaks to habitual whispering.
"You are of Ilmater? My gran said that a cleric in a horse-hair shirt saved his life after the battle at Goliad Ford [2]. He would give coppers to the monks that came through, and often gave them food. Can I trust you?"
The simple sincerity in his voice, and his look of concern and dread touch Dillium, and she nods. He beckons her further away from the group, but he doesn't seem to have any weapons on him so she follows. Slipping silently back through the rubble of the half-collapsed hall, the pair returns to the cell where the dead are still chained to the wall. He pays them no mind. He does leave the door open a sliver, though. Seating himself on the floor next to a burned-out fire, he speaks.
"My name is Febis. Look, I'm sorry for before. He doesn't like visitors, and I can't just go and tell the Hand that they can't use this place for their hide-out anymore. We only just got here when he showed up. He's not bad, once you get to know him. He sometimes brings me food if he killed too many sheep, and he doesn't come in this part of the cavern because he can't turn around right. Only you can't insult him or he gets very mad, and he sometimes can't control his temper. It really just would be better if you and your friends go."
Too many "he's" and "they's" for her to sort out. It's like Febis assumes she already knows who they all are. “Slow down, and start over,” Dillium says gently. “Who is ‘he’?”
Febis says that ‘he’ is a monstrous red dragon that calls himself The Mighty Flamestrike. He arrived in a blast of wind and a clatter of claws on the stone floor, and he made himself at home in the main hall. He likes the heat from the lava, and sometimes lays down on top of it, sinking slowly into it. During one of the recent earthshakes part of the roof caved in, and Flamestrike took up residence high up in some hollowed-out caves near the ceiling. Febis has never been up there, but Flamestrike sometimes leaves in the evening to go hunting, and returns before dawn.
Febis is a member of the Dread Order of the Ebon Hand, the most dangerous gang of bandits this side of the Assassin's Citadel. What do you mean you've never heard of them? They have been the most feared bandit gang in the country's history. Although, he hastens to add, he's only been with the gang since he left home in Helmsdale this spring. He hated being a farmer and he can't ride a horse [3] (and some of the soldiers made fun of him), so there really isn't anything else for him to do.
The Hand found the entrance to this cavern complex two or three months ago, and they moved in. It makes a great base to bandit from. Cletus says that it was carved out by dwarves. Fatima, the captain of the Hand, has been working on getting the place cleaned up, and is looking to be able to give everyone their own areas in which to live. That was easier before Flamestrike came along. Since his arrival, the Hand have been hiding in terror from the dragon, who sometimes plays with them "like a cat with a mouse", blowing fire down the corridor and making the whole complex shake. Fatima has been trying to get them to attack Flamestrike, but the last time they tried, Willie and Franso were badly burned and pelted with rocks dropping from the ceiling. Father Michael took days to heal them all the way back to health.
Febis himself was the second of the Hand caught by the dragon, but instead of eating him, the dragon talked to him, and made friends with Febis. Now Febis comes and goes as he pleases, but he knows that the dragon's temper is such that he could end up as a snack if he crosses The Mighty Flamestrike.
***
Novos does the thing where he disappears. Zipping across the chasm, he notes that there are nearly a dozen “thugs”, along with some armored war mastiffs. Bedrolls and a cot line one wall, and a makeshift cook stove is in the back corner. An archway leads off into the darkness. The thugs are not particularly ready for battle—they are indifferently armored and have a bevy of non-uniform weapons, but none of them have them raised as if they were ready to use them. There are several debates ongoing, and two of the thugs are wrestling.
Returning to the group, Novos quickly gives a report. Arthur asks Zander to move, and he leads the way across the bridge.
“CEASE!” A ripple flows through the Weave as a spell is cast, and the two wrestlers climb to their feed sheepishly. Before they know it, the entire party is on their side of the chasm, face to face.
“Go AWAY! WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE. You are invading our home!” A crossbow bolt accompanies the demand, but it misses everyone. Without the heat shimmer, Novos can finally make out his assailant through what appears to be an opening above and to the right of the large cave. She is peering out behind a large metal structure with carvings etched on it.
The thugs are still bickering amongst themselves to some extent, but only a few of them tentatively raise their weapons.
Another ripple in the Weave, and the thugs generally calm down, losing some of the edge in their bickering. Unfortunately, nothing calms the shooter, who manages to put a bolt into Novos. Novos shoots back, hitting the woman. In response, the several of the bandits reach out to stop Novos from attacking their captain.
***
“My friends and I are here at the request of the dwarves in Ironspur. They are worried that someone here was attempting to restart the forge, which is… haunted or something? They didn’t get into details. Have you seen it?”
"Forge? I don't know about that, but there is a big iron thingy up near where Fatima beds down. It kinda’ looks like something Jeran the Smith from my village might use. We don't do anything with it, but it's useful to put stuff on when we're eating. I mean, there's no chairs or nothin, but we can stand up and eat. Sometimes we just eat near the campfire, though."
"So, you aren't working the forge, or trying to craft things?" Dillium asks patiently.
"Gerk sometimes uses it to bang the dents of armor pieces, or to try to sharpen swords and stuff, but he doesn't have a hammer, so normally he just uses an iron bar to smack the back of armor piece. Sometimes it works."
Dillium explains that some of the people in Damara are worried about another war with Vaasa (“like the one with the Lich King”), and they are looking for allies who are willing to lend aid. Perhaps the Hand would like to assist?
Febis tells her in his own simple way that most of the men don’t want to be in a war. They’ve seen the soldiers in Helmsdale with their shiny armor and fancy horses, and they don’t have any of that stuff. “Being in a battle sounds dangerous. Besides, that sounds like we’d have to stop banditing, and that’s kinda’ fun sometimes. Maybe some of the guys might want to go legit, but Fatima just wants to keep us safe.”
“You know, the Hand could become an adventuring or mercenary group too. That way you all could be making money by completing different contracts. While it may not be as fun as being a bandit, it’s more sustainable for you all,” Dillium reasons.
"Don't you have to get a paper from the queen to be a mercenary group? And aren't those hard? I heard there was a group that had to fight like a whole lot of orcs once [4]. That's almost like being in a battle."
“Hmm. I guess I could see that, though there may come a time when you have to decide which side you’re on, just like your gran did.” After a pause to collect her thoughts, Dillium continues. She wonders aloud why the dragon likes Febis more than the others, and if there is a way to make everyone happy—to perhaps speak to Flamestike, to free the Hand from his torment, and for them to look over the forge for the dwarves.
"I don't know why he likes me more than the others. Maybe he's just lonely. Maybe it's on account of my hair being the same color as he is. Maybe it's because I don't call him names and stuff. Sometimes he comes out and talks to me about his brothers and how he's going to get his revenge on them all some day. Delfus used to talk to me that way when we lived in Helmsdale. His pa used to beat him when he didn't milk the cow in the morning, or dropped the egg basket. Delfus and I are good friends. He's the one who convinced me to join the Hand."
“What happened with his brothers that makes him want revenge on them? Who are his brothers?” Despite her need to keep on track, Dillium’s curiosity overcomes her.
"Oh, he doesn't like to talk about them. I guess brother stuff? I only have sisters, and they are annoying. Perhaps they called him names, or didn't want to use his whole name. Maybe they fart in the nest. Do dragons have nests? I heard that they lay eggs..."
***
Wordlessly, the party springs into action. There is a ripple in the Weave, and half of the bandits fall to the floor in a deep slumber, their war dogs with them. Arthur strides through the sleeping bodies to one who didn’t go down, and he slashes him from shoulder to hip. Momentarily surprised, the man falls to the floor, lifeless. His dog growls. Zander steps forward to face off against two other bandits. Two quick slashes and they fall to the floor. Novos disappears, then makes his way up to the opening where the crossbow shooter is taking aim at Felicity. She misses. The remaining bandit gestures, the Weave ripples from him, and a bolt of light streaks across the room to smash into Arthur’s back. The dog snaps at Arthur but misses. Novos reappears and stabs the crossbow-wielding woman in the back. Enraged, she pulls out a saber and slashes in vain at Novos. Before Novos can stab her again, Felicity pulls out a wand and fires an arc of electricity at the woman, killing her. The one-sided battle is over.
Quickly, Arthur and Zander bind up the four slumbering bandits and their war dogs. Felicity reaches into her purse and slides some gold into each of their coin pouches.
***
Novos peers around. He’s seen forges before, and this looks something like one, except instead of a standard coal-fired furnace, there is a trickle of red-hot lava, dribbling down a hole in the wall and forming a small rivulet through a makeshift furnace before falling off down the side of the cavern wall and into the lava river below. The forge area is cleaned out. There are pegs on the walls, presumably for tools, but they are bare, as are a pair of stout metal tables. Shrugging, Novos heads down a set of stairs and through a dark hallway. Some distance down, he spies a darker alcove, and in that alcove, a doorway. Pushing open the door, he sees bags, boxes, and barrels. One bag has conveniently fallen over, spilling its contents of coins onto the floor. “Hey! I found something!” He shouts.
***
"He doesn't much like visitors. I don't think he wants to talk to anyone. It's too bad they can't get along. Maybe The Mighty Flamestrike could go out with the Hand and help them find wagons to bandit, and then perhaps he could eat the horses after we bring the wagons back and get all the stuff? I don't think he wants to do that, though. It would be nice if all my friends could get along. Fatima would love to have a real dragon helping. I bet we could bandit like two wagons at a time!"
Dillium responds. "If we could help the Hand find a new place to live, how would they get out without ... Flamestrike—"
Febis interrupts. "The Mighty Flamestrike. He likes you to use his whole name."
"Fine, the mighty Flamestrike--"
"No, no. You're not doing it right. You have to use the whole thing. The Mighty Flamestrike. Here, you try it. The Mighty Flamestrike."
"The Mighty Flamestrike."
"Good! I knew you was smart!" Dillium sighs heavily.
"So, if my other friends and I could find a new place for the Hand to live, and perhaps a job so they could go legit, how would they get out of here without The Mighty Flamestrike eating them?"
"I suppose they could wait until he goes out to hunt, then leave real quick like in the middle of the night. He wouldn't be here to eat them, and if they went far away before dawn he wouldn't get them."
"You keep saying 'they'. Wouldn't you want to go with the Hand?"
"Yeah! I mean, I would be sad that The Mighty Flamestrike wouldn't have any friends left. Maybe he would let me come back and visit him?"
“I don’t really understand why he keeps the Hand here if he doesn’t like them.. but I am sure that he would be happy to have a friend like you visit him if the Hand does leave. It does seem like it would be lonely here in the mountains by himself…” Dillium trails off, waiting on a response.
“I think he lets the Hand stay here for something to do, but he really doesn't keep them here. They are just ascared of him on account of the breathing fire and all.
“I think I would like to come and visit him sometimes. Maybe I could bring him a sheep. He likes sheep."
***
Just as they are finishing tying up the bandits, they begin to wake. “Wha… what happened?” One of them sees Zander puling the dead and bleeding bodies off to the side. “Murderers! You murdered them!” “They killed Willie!” “You Bastards!” “Look, they murdered the Captain!”
“Arthur addresses them. “Hush. You are alive. That is enough. You attacked us, and we responded.”
“You murdered them in cold blood!” one of the braver bandits spits.
“If your captain is now dead, who’s the new captain of your company?” Zander asks.
“uh…..”
“Cletus!” “What? I don’t want—” “Cletus is!” “But I don’t—”
“Fine. Do you give your parole? If so we shall untie you.” Arther towers above the one that responded as Cletus.
“I don’t even have a payroll yet. How do I…” Felicity unties the group. Climbing to their feet, they leave the ropes on the ground. Blood coats the floor from the dead, and Zander’s dragging activity has spread around even more blood.
“Hey! I found something!” shouts Novos. His voice sounds like it comes from the archway to the left. Arthur tells Felicity and Zander to stay with the bandits while he goes to see what is the matter.
***
Dillium pauses for a second.
“Febus… are you by any chance the Mighty Flamestrike?”
"Me? No! He's my friend. He's big and beautiful and scary and eats people. I'm just... me. Besides, he's all big and scaly. I'm not scaly!" He pauses a moment.
"Sometimes I dream about flying, though."
“Ah, sorry. It’s just that the Mighty Flamestrike isn’t the only dragon we’ve encountered in our journey. I know you’ve said plenty of times before that the Mighty Flamestrike doesn’t like visitors and after what happened I understand. I’d like to apologize to him on behalf of my friends.” Dillium takes a deep breath. “They attacked him… do you think he’ll let me try to heal him? Being able to create some form of middle ground between us all would be beneficial, don’t you think? I may be able to convince my party to leave…”
"It's ~T~he Mighty Flamestrike. You have to say his name right if you ever want to talk to him." Febis mutters under his breath, "Man, I thought elfs were supposed to be smart."
"Anyway, they attacked The Mighty Flamestrike? And they're still alive? How many of them got burned up? How can you heal a big giant dragon like that? I thought they had to have an arrow in them or something for you to heal him? If he's hurt he's probably going to be very cross indeed. I don’t know if he will want to talk at all, but I guess we could try..."
“Well, there’s no harm in trying right? Do you think you can try to help me meet The Mighty Flamestrike?”
"There IS harm in trying. If he's mad, he'll just fire us, and fire us good. Or drop us in the hot rocks. He can do that. I could see if he wants to come down, but I don't know if he will."
“If you could please, that would mean a lot to me… I can meet him on my own unless you’d like to join me, but if you’re worried about getting flamed then I don’t blame you. I’d like a chance to right the wrongs that have happened today. Perhaps we should meet him in a room more accessible for him…”
***
Arthur appears in the doorway as Novos looks around the dimly lit room. “Loot! I’m sure this will pay some bills.”
“We’ll need to figure out how to get all this out of here—”
“Ahem.” A voice from behind Arthur. “I’ll have you know that this is the lawfully acquired possessions of the Hand, and are not for you to go carting it all off. I know exactly how much is in here, and I won’t see you take a copper, do you hear! We know our rights!”
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. This has the makings of an even longer day.
A couple of the remaining members of the bandits pile into the room. “Hey! Keep your hands off our stuff. It’s ours!”
Arthur turns on his heel and heads back toward the main room, but … something isn’t right. The wall along the corridor is caved in, but there’s something… odd. Climbing up on top of the pile, he notices heat and light coming through a crack. He pulls some rubble away and can clearly see another room beyond.
“Hey, that stuff in there is ours, too!” Cletus says.
***
"Oh, he won't go any further than the main hall. He doesn't want to get stuck, and he can't turn around very well in the smaller rooms." Febis pauses for a moment. "How will you keep from getting fired? He might be very angry."
Dillium pats his arm. “I’ll figure something out.”
"I could go out and call him and see if he will come down, I guess."
“To be completely honest Febus the only thing I have to protect myself from the flames is hope and faith. Is the main hall where the rest of my friends are? I have instinctual knowledge that if they are there then this whole plan won’t work… I really do appreciate you doing this for me. It’s very kind of you.”
"Is instinctual knowledge some fancy elf thing, or a fancy priest thing?”
“Hmm I would say the instinctual knowledge has come from spending nearly every waking moment of my journey so far with roughly the same people… their habits are frighteningly predictable and in some cases, suicidal.”
Febus nods. “Do you need to rest, or uhm... eat a last meal or something?"
Dillium sighs. “While rest and a meal would be great, I fear that time is not our friend.”
***
Pulling enough of the rubble away to fit his bulk through, Arthur scrapes his armor on the rock as he slides down into the next room. This one is very hot, and is dimly lit by a seeping pool of lava in the corner. After a moment, Novos slides down next to him. “Whatcha find?” he asks unnecessarily.
A head pokes up from the lava. Then another. Sensing fresh food, a group of bulky snake-like creatures slither out of the lava pool and make their way over to Arthur and Novos. Soundlessly they attack. Arthur slashes, but is badly burned by the heat given off by the creatures. Novos too tries to slash with his dagger, but the heat is too much. He falls back behind Arthur. Arthur calls out for aid, and with a mighty hack and a movement of the Weave, a tremendous roar of thunder smashes through the snakes, temporarily deafening everyone, including the two bandits who have followed.
“All our stuff.” Cletus intones when he can hear again.
***
“What was that?” Felicity asks in alarm.
“Dunno. Let’s find out,” Zander replies. The two race toward the pile of rubble in the corridor.
***
Febis stands. "If you're sure I can't talk you out of it..." He opens the door and steps through it.
Suddenly a huge thunder blast echoes through the cavern. It is definitely not a cave-in, or the clash of rock on ... anything, but rather the sound of a huge lightning strike hitting nearby. The sound is briefly deafening. It sounds like it came from the cavern where the Hand was last seen, rather than the direction of the main hall. There's the sound of distant yelling from the same direction.
Febis is startled. He looks off in the direction of the party (and his friends). "Oh, that's not good." Moments later, there is a roar from the direction of the main hall. "Very not good."
“Febis I believe you and I share the very same sentiment there- Uhhh change of plans. Let’s make sure our friends here don’t kill each other. Stay close to me, sound good?”
***
The eight humans look around. Apart from the lava pool and the very hot corpses of the snake creatures (everyone moves away from them), the room contains what Arthur, Novos and Zander identify as grave goods. They are similar to the urns, carvings, and paintings in the tomb they invaded in Ironspur. In fact, there is a fancy dwarven sarcophagus and an ornate hammer atop. Across is the carved family tree that stretches for nearly a thousand years, ending nearly three centuries before (in the dwarven calendar). Taking it all in, Arthur’s eye catches on some oddity. A misalignment of patterns on one wall. “Secret door,” he says. Novos checks quickly for traps, then pushes open the door.
Inside, two carved stone dwarves shamble to life. Raising their bronze axes, they silently stalk toward Novos and Arthur as Zander and Felicity look on in horror.
***
Grabbing Febis by the hand, Dillium quickly but cautiously makes her way back down the corridor. She passes through the outer chamber with the well that leads down to lava, and sees the rickety wooden bridge over the chasm that is still producing heat haze and ash. Nobody is visible on the other side. Quickly she slips across the bridge and into chaos.
Blood covers the floor. The dead bodies of several of the Hand, along with their war mastiffs, are pushed over to one side. Several ropes cut into ten or twelve foot lengths lie on the floor. Looking around, she sees a large room. A campfire and makeshift cooking stove are in the far corner. Bedrolls and a cot line one wall. There's what appears to be some sort of shrine along the back wall. An archway on the opposite wall leads off into darkness.
"DELFUS! What happened?" Febis runs over to the corpse of his childhood friend, slashed from shoulder to hip by a single broad stroke. The last of his blood pools on the floor, but the blood strewn across the floor makes it very much appear that he and the others were dragged from another part of the room. "And Gerk! And Father Michael!" Tears pour down Febis' face as he comes to grips with the loss of his only (human) friends, apparently savagely butchered. Sitting down on the cold floor oblivious to the standing blood, Febis cradles the lifeless head of his friend.
Meanwhile, the muffled sounds of battle are heard through the open archway.
"I thought you were going to be my friend," Febis cries to Dillium bitterly.
Dillium quickly checks the bodies. All have been dead for ten or fifteen minutes, beyond a simple revival. Dillium leaves Febis to his grief and dashes toward the open archway. On the other side is a moderately-sized room with rubble strewn around. It appears that one wall has collapsed. There is a hole at the top where some of the rubble has been pushed away, leaving a man-sized space to squeeze under the lintel of a hidden doorway. There is a dim red light (so, more lava), and voices. Dillium hears the sound of metal on stone and the grunts of men in battle. Scampering lightly up the pile of loose stones and rubble, she scootches through the hole at the top, sliding down the other side. There she finds several unknown people who are watching Arthur, Zander, and Novos in battle. As she arrives, the last of some sort of animated stone statues crumble to pebbles. Arthur's armor is scorched down one side, and he limps slightly. Novos is barely on his feet, and as Dillium arrives, he sinks to his knees, panting. Zander sheathes his sword, and Felicity puts away a wand. Three grubby men and what might charitably be called a woman (under many layers of dirt and grime) stand around, unarmed.
"Now you remember, all this is the lawful property of our company. You don't go gettin light fingers now," says one of the Hand in the most "southern drawl" Damaran accent ever.

End of Chapter 8

[1] Based very loosely on Fire Forge Caves by Dungeon Baker in FiveE magazine https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/367470/fivee-magazine-august-2021
[2] https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Ford_of_Goliad
[3] The duke has a company of cavalry barracked just outside Helmsdale.
[4] Probably too far away for it to have been the party, back when they were called Dragon Force in Chapter 32. On the other hand, maybe it was?

Part 1
Chicago, 2016. Flinn Gerald is doing his best to make it in the city. Born in Selma, Alabama, he has spent his entire life trying to escape the ever tightening grasp of his small town. But alas, he made it out and is adapting to life in the big city. With a big fancy corporate job, an endless supply of friends, an apartment with a stunning view of the lake, and great distance from his family, what more could he need? Well, there is a lot more (or less) that he needs, but of course that is a story for later.
On a typical Tuesday night at a bar, the regulars crowd in. Flinn is late, as usual, as he stayed late at work (again), but on his arrival, the cheers and hugs from all the friends make everyone forget of the regular inconvenience. Conversation ensued, starting with all the boring finance jargon, but as the drinks flowed, so did the conversation, moving away from work and more into life. This is what everyone preferred.
“Another round, anyone?” asked Raheem, enthusiastically. After a murmur of concurrence, he stood up to make his way up to the bar. “Flinn, care to lend a hand?”
Raheem Bartlett was Flinn’s college roommate and the first person he met outside of his hometown. The pair hit it off instantly despite having wildly different backgrounds. Even in their freshman year, the engineer and the finance major would get into all sorts of trouble together, but eventually they leveled out. Six years later, they still have each other’s backs just like day one.
The pair made their way up to the bar and waited to get the bartender's attention. “What's up with you, bro?” asked Raheem. “You’ve been seeming a bit off.”
“Oh, ya know. Work, life, everything kinda happens so fast. Work has been busy as of late, and the hours long.”
Seeming displeased by this answer, Raheem stared back in concern.
“Really, I’m fine… just long hours.”
“Back in school you’d pull back to back all-nighters and then still make it to a morning class. I find it hard to believe that the mighty Flinn would be so setback by ‘long hours’.”
Flinn took a moment to ponder, staring down at the bar covered in various stamps and postcards beneath the epoxy surface. “I guess, ya know, it's not all it was cracked up to be. I guess I had expected more.” Flinn had mostly dropped his accent, but occasionally it would still slip out.
Despite coming from a long line of mill workers (mostly paper) and farm hands who never ventured further than the Dallas county line, Flinn yearned to leave his small town and conquer the world from a young age. Coming from the poorest county in Alabama, his family always squashed his dreams, labeling them as impossible. But Flinn knew better. Or, at least he knew he could do better. Graduating top of his class a year early and winning a full-ride scholarship to Northwestern University, he had proved everyone wrong and set his own path. The path he was told was impossible became his reality.
“More what?”
“Nothing, really. I mean, what more is there? This is what I always wanted, right? The stable job in the city, never having to worry about money. It’s great, and I couldn’t be more grateful, but… something is missing. Doing the same thing day after day staring at a screen, moving clients money around. I… just hoped it would be more fulfilling, especially after all it took to get here.”
Before he could finish his thought, the bartender came up to take their order: another round for the table, plus a round of shots, plus two more shots.
“What am I saying, really?” added Flinn. “I shouldn’t be complaining. Look at where I am now compared to six years ago. So much has changed. My home, friends, even my diet. I just feel a bit off. Like I need something more to do..
“I get it, bro. Adjusting to your new life can be rough. Enjoy it for a minute or two.” Raheem slides a shot in front of Flinn. “Here, take this.”
Tuesday had become fairly consistent to this point for this group of misfits: Raheem and his girlfriend Amy; Jack; Jasper, from Flinn’s firm, and his wife Max; and of course, Flinn. For nearly two years, these six have been meeting at O’Malley’s every Tuesday night for drinks and trivia. Some nights are more wild than others, but Tuesday has become the staple of the week among them.
Drinks flowed pretty regularly and heavy over the next few hours as the clock approached the end of day. Still going round for round on alternating tabs, the useless debates began to heat up.
“You can’t seriously think Wicker Park is the best neighborhood outside the Loop. Y’all need to get out more,” said Flinn.
“Bro it’s obviously Wicker Park,” argued Raheem.” Right on the blue line, getting to O’Hare is insanely easy, plus you can’t find better music in the city. Besides, Wicker Park has Davenport’s.”
“No one ever says Wicker Park,” adds Jack. “Have you ever heard someone say Wicker Park before?”
“Dude, but you can obviously get to O’Hare from anywhere in the city,” said Flinn
“Sure, but beats walking through that dumb Block 37 Center transfer like you and your red line. No transfer is the way to go, plus the blue line gets you right to the center of the loop.”
“So does every other L line as long as ya don’t mind walking a few blocks!”
“You’re both wrong,” adds Max. “Neither matters because Midway is better anyways.”
“Woah!” the whole table murmurs, sharing shocked looks as if she just confessed to a crime. Flinn rolled his eyes at this notion.
“Who flies out of Midway?” asks Raheem.
“What? Less people, cheaper flights, and more space. Why wouldn’t I fly out of Midway?” said Max.
“Wait, wait, that aside,” interrupts Raheem, “can we go back to the fact that Jasper thinks Sheffield is the best neighborhood? I feel like we moved past that too quickly.”
The debate rages on for many more minutes, until Flinn, seemingly out of nowhere, had enough.
“Can y’all just shut the fuck up! Why does it even matter?” Everyone’s glance quickly shot over to Flinn as a deafening silence overtook the table. Everyone pondered how to respond, and couldn’t seem to find an answer. This behavior from Flinn was unexpected, nay, unheard of. Flinn was the most level headed amongst them by far. Not even Raheem, his best friend of six years, had ever seen him get angry, let alone over an inconsequential friendly argument. “I…” Not even Flinn knew what to say next. “I’m going to go home. Long day tomorrow.” Already on his feet, he quickly walked away from the table and out the door.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The walk home was fairly brisk, but Flinn had grown fond of the cold. He tucked his hands into his coat pocket and hunched his shoulders forward, only looking down at the pavement ignoring the mostly asleep but still wide awake city surrounding him. His thoughts ran wild and near out of control. Of course, his intoxication did not help with clarity, but the inner dialogue was deafening. Not even he knew what was bothering him, but he was obviously bothered, deeply. He made a fool of himself in a way he never had before, and right now he felt he did not recognize himself. Surely some sleep will help, right?
He slowly made his way down the steps to the platform, carefully watching each step as to not fall, to wait for his train. He posted up against a pillar and stared off onto the dark, empty tracks. What has gotten into me? He did his best to calm his racing, wasted mind searching for some legibility amongst his thoughts.
Once he finally got home, he slumped down on the couch and scarfed down some week-old sushi he found in the fridge. He turned on some old documentary and was asleep before he knew it.
Suddenly, he was woken up by his phone ringing. It usually does not ring this time of night and was less than thrilled to be woken, so he let it keep ringing. It stopped after a couple of seconds, and he glanced down at the screen:
Mama
(2) missed calls
Dad
(1) missed call
Now concerned, he calls his mom back in a hurry. “Hello?”
“Flinn? Your grandfather, he’s dead.”
Part 2
The wet air engulfed Flinn’s face as he stepped out the airport doors into a warm February day. Six years had passed since he smelled the Alabama air. Even after all this time, it still smells just as he had remembered as if not even a day had passed. The drive to Selma was another ninety minutes, and despite having five days to mentally prepare himself for his arrival, it was not nearly enough time. He had not seen or spoken to anyone from his town, not even family, since he left early that August morning all those years ago. He left everything behind to start his new life. The life so many told him to not start, that he needed to stay. He left anyway and never looked back.
That was, until now. He had little choice in this regard. He knew he would have to make his return someday, but he knew not when nor for what. But today was that day. Flinn and his grandfather (Pops) had always been close. If anyone had been supportive of him, it’d have been Pops, but he was a man of little words. Even when he could talk, he hardly chose to. He was a great listener, and not just because he could not speak. He showed he was engaged and listening no matter what Flinn had to say. At times, he felt Pops was the only one who understood him as if he had been just like him before, but no one would ever talk about his past. All Flinn knew is Pops lost his tongue after a failed lynching.
The familiarity of the scenery zipping past was bittersweet. He had not realized how much he missed the rolling hills and thick forests beneath the unforgiving southern sky. He kept his head pressed against the cool glass of the car window even through the constant bumps in the road. He couldn’t look away. So many memories happened here, and the closer he got, the more plentiful the memories became, and the more potent they were, and the more painful they’d become.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the dust settled behind him, he stood on the driveway staring at his childhood home still unsure how to process his emotions. It was all so overwhelming. He was thinking everything at once. He took a deep breath, rolled back his shoulders, and swallowed. He reached for the door handle, hesitating slightly, and took a step in. One foot, and then the next.
“Martin!” Flinn smiled as his old friend and childhood dog rushed towards him without hesitation. He knelt down and embraced him as Martin excitedly rustled through his arms seemingly showing more energy than he had in years.
He walked down the hall and around the corner into the living room. There, both drawn to the large television like moths to a flame, he saw his parents sitting beside one another on the couch watching some daytime program with their backs to him. They seemed to pay no notice to the commotion at the front door nor the loud creaking footsteps he took along the old wooden floors. They knew he was there; they just chose to ignore him. He walked into view to greet them. "Mama, dad." His father smiled slightly but caught himself and refrained.
Mama kept a straight face, but seemed to be fighting tears."Howard, help Flinn with his bags, dear."
“No, it's alright, I know where to take them,” said Flinn. “How are y’all?”
“Service is tomorrow at eleven down at the ole First Baptist Church. Make sure to wear something nice.”
“Alright, mama. I’ll... I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Whole family is coming tonight. Dinner is served at...”
“At seven, I got it, just as always.”
“It’s good to see you, kid.” said his dad. “Let me know if you need anything”
He did not expect things to go like that, not that he knew what to expect. He had hoped time would have been more forgiving. Perhaps leaving unannounced in the middle of the night was not the best plan, but at the time he felt as if he had no other choice. Everyone knew he was leaving. That was no secret and had not been for years before any plan had actually been set into motion. No one knew the date or time, except for Pops, of course, but he’d never tell. Of course he wanted everyone to know. He wanted everyone to be proud of him, but it was too big of a risk and commendations were too much to expect. Besides, Mama always had her schemes, and had she known, she would have found a way to stop him.
Not much had changed since he’d been here last. The old wood paneling still lined nearly all the walls, crack in some spots, replaced in others, but all coated by decades of cigarette soot. On the walls were a combination of family portraits from over the years and cheap artwork found at the flea market. Old green furniture, too many house plants to count, and a tacky themed kitchen, it was all still the same.
His childhood bedroom, however, was much different. Hardly even recognizable, what was once his bedroom was now a storage room filled with endless shelves and boxes. He set his things on the lonely cot in the corner, sat down, and took it all in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not realizing he had drifted off, Flinn awoke and looked at the clock. 6:55. Convenient. He sat up and brushed his hair down with his hand as he suspected it was sticking up in the usual way. He rubbed his eyes and made his way to the dining room. The whole family was there, probably about twenty people or so, all scattered about throughout the kitchen, dining room, and living room engaged in various conversations. His nana, aunt, and Mama were cooking away putting the final touches on the large meal.
“Well if it isn’t this fucker…” said a familiar voice to his left, laughing. Flinn looked over to see his cousin who’s just a year younger than him.
“DeAndre, how are you?”
“Never thought I’d see you again, even since you left. Thought maybe you ‘ood be dead.”
“Nah,” Flinn laughed. “Still very much alive.”
“I can see dat. Wearin’ your fancy suit and all.”
“Yeah I’ve been doing pretty well. Work has been… good. I have a great job at a finance firm in Chicago. Everything has been… Good. Yeah, good. How about you?”
“Now you ain’t goin’ city on us, are you?”
Flinn laughed. “I think I might already be.”
Just as dinner was finishing up, a line started to form and people found a seat wherever they could, be it at the table, on the couch, near the counter, or outside.
“Flinn!” his dad called out. “I saved ya a seat here at the table, kid.”
Flinn took his seat right next to his dad which positioned him right across from Mama. The table could sit eight, and the seats filled in pretty quickly so he was lucky to get one. Besides his sister, all of the oldest family members took the other four chairs.
The dinner itself was mostly uneventful, except for the food of course which was extraordinary. Flinn had not eaten Mama’s cooking, or anything like it in six years. The southern food in Chicago was alright, but nothing like what you can get down here, and no restaurant is going to have the same quality and taste as a home-cooked meal. By God, he had not realized how much he needed this. It was almost healing, like a part of his soul had been lost and he found it once again. The last week had been incredibly overwhelming, and last Saturday he never foresaw being here now, but he was glad he was, regardless of the looming tension. All the stress from work and life back home in Chicago was now all gone. All he had to worry about was… oh yeah, the family drama. The dreaded interactions, what he had suppressed for so long, that had kept him up at night for years. All those long nights doing homework or anything else beside sleeping. They had not been by choice but rather necessity. He would have slept more if he could, and some of those nights he really needed to, but instead was kept motivated by the pain. The pain of knowing no matter what he did, no matter how successful in life he became, he would never be good enough for his family, good enough for Mama, because he left them.
If there ever was a time to clear his conscience and get everything out of the way, it would be today, or at least over the next couple of days. When else would he have the chance? Not that any of this had been planned, and his therapist would probably advise against it. She did not even know he was here. What would she have to say? Avoiding conflict has always been his choice. He has always been quiet, never been at the center of drama, but some things need to be said. Just, maybe not by him. If he waited long enough, perhaps they would come up on their own. So he decided to wait, but he knew time was limited and he could not wait forever.
“Mama, could you pass the butter?”
Mama just stared back at him. “Get ya own damn buttah, since ya can do everything else on ya own.”
Flinn stands up and reaches for the butter. “I can do everything myself, and I have. I hope you’re proud, Mama.”
“Proud? What do I have to be proud of?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe my job, my degree, everything I have been able to do to build a good life for myself.”
“I don hear anything worthy of praise.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mama.”
“Oh, so now you’re sorry? You could’ve fooled me. Is that how you felt when you left? Unbelievable.”
“I left because I had no other choice.”
“Oh don go lyin’ to me now. You did have a choice. You had a choice and you chose to leave us. You didn’t say goodbye, and you were just gone in the mornin’.”
“If I had not just left, you would’ve stopped me.”
“Cause you ain’t got no reason to go nowhere.”
“I had plenty of reasons to want to leave, and not because of you. I’ve always had dreams, Mama, ya know that. I’ve always been bigger than just this town.”
“Oh, so now you’re too good for us, city boy? Huh? I don wanna hear no more of it.”
“It wasn’t about that, Mama. Look at all I’ve been able to do.”
“I ain’t see nothin’. You never call and you never visit. How am I supposed to know what you been doin’?”
“I thought you didn’t want me coming around any more?”
“Well, you’ve got that right. Glad to see you still have some brains left.”
“Well excuse me. Maybe it's best if I leave again. Sorry I ain’t make you proud, Mama.” Flinn got up and left the table.
Part 3
Just as the early light began to peak through the blinds, Flinn was woken up by a firm knock at his door. “Flinn, may I come in? It's Uncle Terrence.”
Flinn sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yep, come in.”
“How are you this morning, kid? Ya know, she’ll never admit it, but ya Mama missed ya.”
“I find it hard to believe.” Deep down Flinn knew it was true, but she was hard as a rock, and arrogant. She would always find a way to be right, even when she knew she was wrong, and she would never let you know she knew she was wrong.
“Well, we’re all proud of you, kid.” Flinn hated when Terrence and everyone called him kid. “Just wish yoo’d come around and see us every once in a while. I know ya busy with all the big city stuff and all.”
“I thought no one wanted anything to do with me any more?”
“At first, maybe, but I miss ya, kid. Ya know who missed ya most of all?”
“Pops?”
“Yes, of course. He always wanted to know about ya, every time I’d come round. He couldn’t call, but always wanted me to.”
“I should have called.”
“I think everyone wanted to call, but as time went on, it became harder and harder to push that button. It was already so hard at first, and only got harder.”
“I thought about everyone a lot, especially at first. Leaving was really hard, and I almost didn’t, but I always wanted more. I didn’t want to spend my whole life in this town, and if I had not left when I did I probably never would have. But it was still hard. I wanted to go home so many times, but I convinced myself no one wanted me here no more or that y’all would’ve said ‘I told ya so’ or sum bullshit. No one wanted me around any more and I had left, so I was stuck on the path I chose. And I’m happy, and I’ve done so much, but it’s never been easy.”
“Pops was a lot like you when he was your age. Set on leaving as quickly as he could. Things were different back then, not that they are any better now, but Hank... my brother… Pops, was just like you.”
“What changed?”
“Well, he never did. Just no one talks about it anymore. After what happened on that day, they blamed his behavior. Said he should’ve played it safe and he’d still have his tongue.”
“No one has ever told me the story.”
“And they won’t. It changed the whole family.”
“But you’ll tell me?”
“Only if you promise not to tell. I don need an earful from ya Mama.”
“I promise.”
“Hank couldn’t be confined to Selma, just like you. He joined the army right out of high school, and after he was done in Lebanon, he didn’t go straight home.”
“Where did he go?”
“Everywhere but here. He used the small amount of money he got from the army and went anywhere that would let him in. Across Europe, parts of Asia, Northern Africa, even parts of South America. Of course, a young black man traveling by himself at the time was challenging, but Hank could hold his own pretty well. He still ran into all sorts of trouble. He spent more nights in jail than he would have liked, but he would have done it all again if he could.”
“What happened when he got back?”
“He was much different, but for the better. He couldn’t wait to get back out there again. He had confidence like I had never seen before. That’s what got him in trouble not too long after.”
“How’d he lose his tongue? I’m guessing that is what changed everything.”
“When he got back, he got involved with a girl, I think her name was Susan. She was the mayor’s daughter. They snuck around for a while. Their relationship was not acceptable, especially to her father. If he found out, Hank would be in a lot of trouble, and of course eventually he did find out. He spent about a month in jail in just awful conditions even for the time. They didn’t have anything to hold him on so eventually they had to let him go. About a week after he got out, he was walking downtown and some guys grabbed him. He took him out to a field and tried to lynch him. Luckily, they failed and he survived, but they took his tongue as a warning. He was never the same after that. All of his confidence was gone, and of course he couldn’t speak no more.”
Flinn did not know how to respond. It all made sense now: why the family so desperately wanted him to stay, why they were so hurt by him leaving, and why they’d feared who he was becoming. They were all traumatized and wanted to protect him. They did not want him to suffer the same fate as Pops.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The funeral itself was fairly uneventful and went nearly as perfectly as expected. The church filled in with hardly any empty seats, tears were shed, and speeches were given. Pops touched the lives of almost everyone he met, and they came to show it. After the service was the reception, and yet again, the food was spectacular. Everyone got along just fine today and there was no more residual drama, at least for now. Today was Pops’ day.
After the reception, the family gathered back at Mama’s house for the reading of the will. Pops did not have many possessions, at least not of monetary value, but what he did have was meaningful in other ways. He was very clear on who he wanted to give off, and handpicked what would be most substantial to each person.
Everyone gathered around much as they did at dinner, and the lawyer began his reading:
I, Hank Gerald, a resident in the City of Selma, County of Dallas, State of Alabama, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, and hereby absolutely revoke any and all other wills and amendments previously made by me.
The reading went on for some time as there were many beneficiaries. Flinn began to daydream about what could be left for him. Flinn was not a very sentimental person, so trinkets and heirlooms paid him little interest. Perhaps his car, or maybe money. Something that will be useful to him.
To my dear brother, Terrence, I leave my 1964 Pontiac GTO and all tools and parts associated and necessary with/for the running and upkeep of the vehicle.
The further down the list he went, less was given, but this is to be expected. As the end of the list neared, Flinn began to wonder what would be left for him if anything at all. The will had been in order of age, to this point, so he should be up soon.
To my Granddaughter, Nia,...
Nia? She's younger than me… Flinn thought.
I leave her my grandmother’s locket containing a picture of my Grandfather before he left for the Great War. She looked at it everyday to keep the memory of him alive until he eventually returned to her alive.
How could he skip me? Perhaps I should have called, or never left. Flinn got lost in his own thoughts and barely paid attention to the rest of the will. He and Pops were so close, and he never imagined he would be taken out of the will. But that is my own fault, afterall. I left, and I never even care to call. He died, and I never even said goodbye.
Just as Flinn began to accept the consequences of his actions, they got to the last beneficiary listed in the will:
Finally, to my oldest Grandson, Flinn, who is more and more like me than I ever could have wished to have been, I leave my journal. I hope whenever you need the motivation, you read it to find the meaning you are looking for in life.
Part 4
Flinn sat at his desk unable to focus. It was fairly slow for a Friday, but he still had work to do. After a chaotic weekend back home in Alabama, he was ready to settle back into his monotonous routine. The experience had been healing in some regards, but still left a lot unanswered. What did he mean by finding the meaning in life? Flinn wondered as he flipped through the endless pages of Pops’ journal, all filled with endless recounts, drawings, symbols, and pictures from his travels, just as he had since Monday. The journal consumed his whole attention, and nothing else seemed important enough to focus on. He had even ditched his friends all week which he never does.
He is supposed to meet Raheem for drinks tonight, but now he is wondering if he even wants to go. There is just too much in his head right now. He just wants to be alone. 12:37. The clock is moving too slowly. Flinn clears his calendar for the rest of the day and decides to go home.
At home, he still finds himself flipping through the pages of the journal, not even reading them but just looking at them. Again and again, he flips through until he has enough. He drops the journal on his lap and stares off into the distance at the gorgeous view of Lake Michigan. The endless city and skyline take up most of the horizon until it just stops, cut off by the endless ocean-like lake. He stares at it for quite a while until something catches his eye. He has seen this before. Well, of course he has. He lives here and this is his view everyday. But he knows he has seen it somewhere else.
He picks the journal back up and flips through in a hurry. There it is. He holds the journal up to the window to show a matching two-page drawing of this exact view. Well, not exact. It is a slightly different angle, but it was close enough. Pops was here. He would have loved visiting. I should have invited him. This made Flinn sad, and he threw the journal down on the table in frustration.
Just then, that is when he noticed it. There was a page sticking out from the journal, but it was not like the rest. The page was white and pristine, aside from a few wrinkles, as if it was new, whereas the rest of the journal showed its age. He rushed over to grab it. He opened it to find a letter, addressed to him:
Grandson, When you left, I knew that you would accomplish everything you set out to do. I also knew, however, you would find yourself lost someday, returning home for answers. I was hoping I’d be able to give you those answers myself, but as time goes on that seems less likely. I too found myself lost, and I knew not why. I had gone and seen the world, and it changed me, but I was still not fulfilled. I came home still looking for the answers, and it took a while, but eventually I did find them.
Through this journal, I hope to share my findings so that you too, when you are lost, find the answers you seek. Whenever you are ready, follow my journey and the clues I have left for you. Go out and see the world, just as I did. You will find that what you want from life is less than what you expect.
I hope the experiences you have are less harsh than my own, but still be careful. The world has changed a lot, but still not enough. But don’t skip ahead for the meaning may be lost. Take only one step at a time, and when it comes time to take the next step, it will reveal itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven o’clock rolls around and Flinn walks into the bar to meet Raheem. He hasn’t seen Raheem, or anyone else from the group, since last Tuesday when he had his outburst. He begins by telling the story of the events of this last weekend, but leaves out the parts about Pops’ past.
"Pops left me a hidden letter.”
“What do you mean?” asked Raheem.
“Like in his journal, I found a hidden letter. It was addressed to me.”
“What did it say, bro?”
“He says he was a lot like me when he was my age. He wants me to go where he went and learn what he did.”
“In Alabama?”
“No, everywhere but there. He wants me to start in Western Europe and follow his clues around the world.”
“He traveled?”
“A lot, apparently. I never knew. He was in the army, and after he got out, he traveled… everywhere, basically.”
“Why did no one tell you?”
“They wanted to keep me safe, I guess.
"They wanted to keep the whole family safe after what happened to him.”
“What do you mean, bro. What happened?”
“I can’t talk about it, but it doesn’t matter now anyways. I’m living a different life now.” Flinn never shared much about his past or his family with anyone, not even Raheem. It has always been a mystery. This was the most he had ever shared with him.
“Well, are you going to go?”
“No, I can’t. I have work. It took too much to get here. I can’t just give it away.”
“It’ll still be here when you get back, bro.”
“If only it was that simple.”
“It can be. You have money saved up. Chicago isn’t going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere. Plus, you’ve always talked about traveling more. Why don’t you take some time to do it.”
“I suppose, but I like my life here.”
“If you don’t do it now, when will you? You’ve taken a leap before, why not take another one. You’re smart, you’ll land on your feet, bro. Besides, your grandfather thought it was important enough to not only give you his journal, but hide you a letter for you to find when you needed it most. Maybe now is when you needed it most. You’re way too stressed at work anyways, and I can tell you’ve been off for a while now. Perhaps some change could give you what you need.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Monday morning, when Flinn gets to work, he walked straight to his boss's office. He turned in his letter of resignation.
Two weeks later, he took the red line to the blue line to O’Hare. Journal in hand, he boarded a flight to Dublin.

My family home is called the jolly anglers, we moved in when I was 1 year old in 1978 And parts of it goes back to medieval times as a wayside hovel, still has the original inglenook fireplaces. Was a public house/guest house for many years before we moved in, I will add a picture of it my mother has from Victorian times when I go round tomorrow, The earliest record of it that I've managed to find is in the 1841 census when William Rivett is the innkeeper. It was acquired by Steward & Patteson from Ferrier & Co. in 1884 and was still an S&P brewery pub when it served its final pint in 1952.
At some point between 1901 and 1911 the Angel changed its name to the Jolly Anglers possibly coinciding with a change in landlord. We think the poet Jessie Pope who moved to Fritton village after her marriage in 1929. Maybe referenced it in her collection of verses entitled Three Jolly Anglers, published in 1913. In the 1900’s they also added on a tearoom.
Over the years my mum could of and should of written a book about the paranormal happenings at the house that many of us experienced and have had three different paranormal investigating teams visit the house. I will take and upload pictures of historical features when I’m over there tomorrow. Dad built a indoor pool in 1988 and found many seashells deep down when it used to be linked by sea. And had a small jetty and boats used to moor up to visit it. (It’s now in the middle of the countryside) and over the years water has receded over a mile away in distance but many years ago the sea linked into The lake nearby and in pre-medieval times was largely dug then to extract peat for burning. The village where the house resides seems to have been known to our Roman heritage for ‘in a small hillock’ lying about half a mile north of the lake near to our house.
People always want to hear the paranormal side of my parents house which was part medieval wayside hovel then inn and a pub after that in Norfolk uk. so I’ve written some of the strange things that have Happened in my parents house ‘the jolly anglers’
Where do I start.. we moved into the house in 1978 and in the first six months mum was in tears and Wanted to leave again as she was scared to death of all the strange happenings, Dad was working away offshore at the time and they’d used all their money to buy the old house so knew they couldn’t just up and leave, dad wasn’t one for giving in but he also wasn’t the one living it daily. Half the time it was just mum, me as a 9month old and my older siblings 15 and 17. now they say teenage energy can cause spirits to be active in houses and it attracts them so Maybe that could’ve been why they all saw a lot when I was a baby in the house.
One night mum was in bed and I was in the cot in the same room when she woke up and heard rustling coming from the staircase which is open and goes straight into their bedroom , she then in the dim light saw a black shadow floating up the stairs and move very slowly to my cot, she was in shock and couldn’t move for a while and watched it float across the room and as the figure leaned in to my cot, mum was petrified and put the side light on in panic and the shadow just disappeared, she said the noise sounded like crinoline dresses how the material rustled as someone walked along, maybe in the Victorian era.
Another time My parents also whilst in bed heard an old honky-tonk type piano play downstairs, cigar smoke and voices several times in the first six months of living there- note they had no piano nor smoked. Dad always went down to investigate with his double barrel shot gun but everything went silent whenever he opened the door at the bottom of the stairs.
They lived with daily bangs, strange voices,knocking and footsteps all through their lives and also others myself and my siblings have heard these also on a regular basis, my brother and a friend of his whilst in the lounge one evening saw the start of what looked like a red woman’s dress coming down one set of stairs in the old area which was originally the pub.
The pub area is my parents best lounge and was once two rooms but dad knocked Them both into one big one, when it was a pub one was a smoking room and the other was the bar room which still has a bar in it but not the original one. My father purchased it from a old retired landlord of a demolished pub in Great Yarmouth. this room has a staircase each end one staircase goes into my parents bedroom, the other staircase the opposite end goes up into a small hall and off that are two bedrooms, one was my brothers And the other was my sisters, But I slept in there with her frequently. My parents built a small bedroom downstairs which was a section of the larger bathroom which decades before was called the parlour room not the bathroom, we do know from history records that one of the landlords children many years ago died in the house of tuberculosis a young girl about eight years old. My auntie used to sleep in my old small bedroom when she visited us and one evening Was petrified when she saw what looked like flickering candles moving under the doorframe, on another occasion she heard breathing which sounded raspy and a female crying. She ended up sleeping in my brothers room and refused to stay In my little bedroom after the two events.
Tins In kitchen have flown out of cupboards and dented the radiator, pictures have flown off walls and ornaments also have somehow landed other ends of rooms not just dropped downwards, small dancing white lights Have been witnessed by several people in Different areas of the house also seen by Paranormal research team. All teams have picked up Things and seen things and even been poked by a entity. Psychic mediums have come to the house and said there are many spirits including a woman who had several children and drowned herself, one Young man With a club foot who lived at the pub, and In those days would of been called a imbecile who owned a black dog Which haunts the house too, my mum later investigated documents to this claim and she saw on the 1899 census that in fact a man classed as a ‘imbecile’ was residing at the residence.
Now before the psychic talked about the woman, when I was a little girl about three, my parents tell me I had an invisible friend, apparently she was a lady in a red dress so I said, she used to push me on the swing outside and I used to talk to her and she’d play with me and my toys a lot, I said she was a nice lady that liked children. Years later a neighbour from the village was at one of our parties and was talking about the history of her family, they had lived in our village for many many years and she had been doing some family research and had recently found out that her great great grandmother had been pulled out of the lake which is near our house. she Apparently had drowned herself because twins were prevalent in her family, she had had two sets and was pregnant again, her husband had recently died And she couldn’t take it anymore, she was very poor and when they took the body from the river they didn’t have funeral homes in those days in villages, so they always laid the bodies out in a cold place.. which was normally the local pub cellar, where in fact she was laid out to be buried in our pub cellar and they held the post-mortem there too which she had documents of. which funny enough was my playroom as a child And freezer storage area. Now no one knows if she died wearing a red dress but it was sense that she loved children by the psychic so everyone thinks that that is the lady in a red dress that was my invisible friend as a child. There was an incident once where a family friends child was over with his mum and as 3 year olds do they open doors and investigate, unfortunately he opened the cellar door and fell to the bottom, now they are big concrete steps to the bottom of the cellar, My father saw him enter the seller But didn’t see him fall but when He rushed to him he was standing at the bottom of the steps not even crying, they all checked him over and said ‘are you okay? and he said ‘the lady got me’ and Pointed to an area in the cellar, Apparently gave everyone there goosebumps. Another occasion at a party there was a nonbeliever there who was joking about ghosts and what people had seen and said to a group of people ‘it’s a load of old nonsense’ the moment he said that the old heavy wooden front door creaked open and no one was there behind it, apparently he went very pale and flustered, many people witnessed that.
Also people have seen figures in the corner of their eye or movement for years and we all got used to the footsteps, taps and bumps as it is an old house and has had a lot of people walk through it, it ended up just a thing you got used to and mum didn’t leave after six months dad convinced her to stick it out and things did calm down but never completely stopped. When my grandmother died my father saw her sitting on the end of the bed looking at her daughter, When I was very ill as a child in bed I saw a man in a black suit which I thought was the doctor and I started talking to him asking where my mum was and he disappeared. One if my nieces has seen a lady sitting in a old velvet chair in one of the bedrooms, My other grandmother when she stayed over once heard what sounded like rings being dropped into the sink, as all bedrooms have a sink in, as it used to be a guest house. As a teenager I moved from my sisters old room into my brothers old room at the back of the house and one night I woke to see a very tall man in a black cape, we have no street lights in the village and I never shut my curtains as we are not overlooked, so the moonlight was coming through my window and he must’ve been 6 foot five tall as his head nearly reached the ceiling, and I could see in the light he had fair hair which was slicked back and parted at the side, but he didn’t move it was like a picture in a picture book I couldn’t help but be quite mesmerised for a few second on how clear it was, but I lost that feeling and suddenly jumped up and ran out of that room, Didn’t even bother putting a light on I woke my parents up and I burst into tears, that really shook me up. After that event i even changed the layout of my room so I wouldn’t wake up in that position again. Another time I woke and I heard loud footsteps going round the bed but strangely the footsteps were like heavy boots and they were at my Ear level not on the ground, to this day I still find that very strange and they sounded amplified too. Another time a man with scraggly long hair poked his head out from one of the sloped ceilings in my room also. Each time I’d shoot out of the room and sleep in the other bedroom for a few days Before I felt safe to go back in and sleep.
Me My Husband And our 2 year old daughter left at four in the morning once after a family wedding because my daughter was crying, my husband picked her up out of the cotbed and she pointed to a Corner near the stairs and said ‘man there’ she has autism and her speech was delayed at that age but she was psychically scared of something that night She did not settle there which was very unusual for her, it scared my husband so he said ‘we are going home now! When we got to our own home she slept peacefully, I believe a spirit was Being a nuisance to her.
One of mums best friends was spiritual and told me that I had a gift and that I saw spirits, It’s something I never wanted and it scared me every time, even in my own house grown with a daughter and husband of my own I still see ‘people’ as I call them in my own home at night and every time I see them I always think it’s an intruder before ever thinking its a spirit lol And I always ‘fight not flight, I run at them to attack and always end up running into my bedroom door lol.
My dad has been dead 15 years and when he died, he died at home in bed and the house was very active again for a while but my father built a lot of the new part of the house with his own hands so we all knew he would have a lot of energy there when he passed.
Mum Now on her own at the house and she Will be 80 in 2022 she now has Limited mobility but she is very stubborn and has no intention of leaving, it’s far too big for her to cope with but she has a Gardner and cleaner and I help her a lot with shopping, she says when she leaves this house it will be in a coffin.
My daughter is 11 and she stays with her nan ny every Friday night, it’s her routine and my mum loves having her, she stays a few days a week when it’s summer holidays and school holidays and she loves the house, but I feel she is spiritual too so can sense things but it doesn’t bother her to sleep on her own in my sisters old room next door to my mums. until about a year ago she told my mother that she had seen her grandad in mothers room where she slept on occasions and he asked her questions like ‘what does she like to do. After that she now sleeps down stairs, which is now where mother sleeps also now due to mobility.
Well That’s some of the stories anyway, there’s many more but these are the ones I can remember off the top of my head.
Other experiences…
A friend saw a bearded gentleman’s faced reflection as she passed by a mirror.
Mum saw a grotesque male face in gray similar to what Satan May look like for a split second in her Own reflection once in a mirror in the bedroom hallway.
I heard My music box draw click opened and the music started playing when I was trying to go to sleep one night as a child, I removed it from my room after that. My mother also had heard that too on occasions
I had china dolls in my room when I was a young teen and once one of their arms flopped down, got my dad to remove them and now are still in their hall way on a shelf.
One night mum felt really hot while trying to sleep she felt the heating was on too high so went to turn The heating down, the thermostat was in the lounge downstairs, as She went to to the thermostat she suddenly saw the door to lounge opening, all where asleep upstairs. She said she ran so fast up the stairs that she ran out of the top of the nightdress and ripped it, she Was shouting when she ran upstairs to my sister to grab me out of the cot and get in my brothers bedroom they then barricaded the door with his wardrobe and Didn’t sleep at all that night till morning when they all investigated together, apparently My brother complained and said ‘it’s roasting hot up here mum’ she replied ‘you will have to bloody sweat as I’m not going down till morning!
going up to bed one night she’s turning all the lights off in the lounge, she had a gold Latch she used to flip down to secure the door in lounge to the rest of the house, one night after she had done that as she walked to the stairs she suddenly heard the latch flick up and the door slowly open, another scarper up the stairs and lock the door behind her and put covers over her face.
all the bedrooms have either key locks or bolts on the inside of every Bedroom door due to travellers Visiting the pub years ago could rent a room for the night if they wanted as guests, Mum very much appreciated the locks and bolts as she did think it was mostly intruders to start with. It’s funny when you look back on it all and you think to yourself.. spirits can get through locked doors and bolted doors! but at the time it makes you feel really safe and secure that They will stay behind a locked door and funny enough most of the time They did.
Many times dad was armed with his shotgun quietly sneaky round the house after hearing bangs bumps and knocks..it’s a big house with many steps, levels, twists and turns so could take him a while to do a sweep search of the house, mum said she was always so relieved when he came back up to bed and said ‘no ones broke in’ but then both equally Perplexed on what the noise was that they heard in the first place.
Paranormal investigators along with mum and her teenage grandson witnessed all the glasses in bar which are stored upside downs start to all clink together several times.
Years later they went from a latch lock In lounge area to a battery operated alarm door lock so if it’s switched on And door opens, a alarm sounds. Which she set religiously. In middle of the night she heard the smoke alarm going off, when she went down half asleep and groggy to investigate she couldn’t smell any smoke so she got a stool and checked the smoke alarm and in her groggy sleep state she suddenly realised the noise was coming from the door which had been opened, she hastily shut door and used the old bolt and ran upstairs.
Mum was tidying behind the bar one morning after a family party we had the night before when she felt something or someone grab her shoulder, there was no one there.
There is a small American Indian doll high up on the bar (is still there) and one day my parents noticed I was playing with it as a toddler, they say there was no way possible that I would of been able to get that myself they said ‘how did you get that down from there? I apparently said ‘the lady gave me it!
So many to recall but these are some throughout the 46 years of my life.
Added..
Many lights started to flicker for over a month after his death touch lamps especially, also the solor lights outside the back door used to go in and off and we sat and watched them several times and spoke to dad sure that he was trying to Communicate with us. Many lights started to flicker for over a month after his death also the solor lights outside the back door used to go in and off we sat and watched them several times and spoke to dad .

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Edited by sensei WaveOfWire
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Everything had gone exceptionally well for the farmer, despite the daunting task forced into her talons. Kegara had ordered her to begin a march east in search of the expected banished by sunrise—not alone, but in a group of fourteen others. She thought it was too many for such a task, and would assuredly catch the ire of the abhorrent; the more Malkrin present, the more creatures would pursue them…
It was a risk. One she was willing to take if her beloved was safe, but he pleaded for her to find a way to avoid it. Unfortunately, were she to stay, it would land her in the worst of Kegara's rage. The orange-skinned female would have been made a gruesome example for those who disobeyed, tied up in the center of the camp and… She did not wish to think of what ghastly fate would have awaited her.
So, in the dark of night, her and the baker’s plan of escape was struck. Perhaps it was foolish to leave their safety behind, but considering the blood-moon and forced orders, was it truly ‘safe?’ They would gather their pitiful belongings and set off in the direction of the previously ostracized members—the water worshiper, and four others. There was little hope of finding them, less so after the blood-moon, but with so few of them, there was still a chance they evaded the beasts and the warped oddities of the mainland altogether. Maybe if the field hand and her mate could find them, they could start their own settlement. At least, those were her thoughts when she set out…
Her initial reaction to being thrust into the open wilderness was nothing short of horror. Indistinct animalistic screeches, otherworldly hums, and unsettling creaks from trees sent chills down her spine throughout the night. Hazy shadows underneath the dim moonlight crawled like creatures, stalking… prowling around the mated pair. Every step she made was made in pure uncertainty, every pace bringing her further into an abyss of unseen nightmares. Maybe Kegara would not have punished her so severely… Maybe it would have been best to stay where it was safe.
But, she continued. She stayed strong. She had to.
They had already ventured too far, and it was her job to protect her love. Her tail wrapped possessively around his waist as he stuck close to her. Morning would break soon, and they would be far away from the brutish paladin… Free to start anew. It would be difficult, but the two of them were far from incapable of fending for themselves; they learned enough in the way of survival from their time on the mainland and their respective professions, despite both being from the Golden City.
- - - - -
They were able to survive the night, persevering well into the day by making crude implements and harvesting what they could. They had even managed to discover a large cave perfect for their habitation! It was dry and large enough for a fire, though it went deeper than expected. Food and cooking arrangements were their prerogatives, so they elected not to scour it any further as it would only be a waste of their time. They worked tirelessly until the sun set beyond the red expanse of trees. Her love busied himself with making the smooth gray walls into a home by gathering small resources and forming makeshift beddings, while she had gone out to hunt. By the luck of the Mountain God, she managed to bring back not one but two feathered creatures, each of which were more than plump enough to feed the mated pair for the evening.
Her aching feet patted against the grass, the blades poking her worn soles. The vegetation swayed from side to side in the weak breeze, almost appearing to celebrate her small victory with her. The cavern entrance came into view, its shape too small for her frills to fit under. The edges were covered in pinkish moss, giving it a distinct feel compared to the rest of the biome. Perhaps it was a sign of the Mountain God’s will for them to inhabit it. The moist malleable moss stretched further inside, resembling small veins inside the larger chasm.
She ducked underneath the mouth of the cave, appreciating the yellow reflections of an ongoing fire from within, each flick casting long shadows over every rock edge. Yet once she entered the homely cavity, the flames were the only thing present… Her eyes scanned the room for Baker, only finding an unused leafy bed, piles of edible berries, and a stack of wood. A shock of anxiety bolted up her spine, sharply settling on her frills like cold ice. Where was her mate?
She stepped forward, her webbed toes pressing into… liquid. Her eyes shot toward the ground, the orange-skinned female only now realizing how slick the floor really was. Viscous moisture clung to her leg, stretching across like mucus. The room was… dry before. Her initial thought that it was blood, but that was easily proven false by the thin film’s clear color. That did not ease her worries, however; her betrothed was still out of sight. Perhaps he left to forage, or was possibly looking for her?
A deadened wet thwack from further inside the cave echoed throughout the room, drawing her attention and causing her ears to perk up. Baker…?
She squinted down the black corridor, its sturdy stone now only reflecting the low howl of the cavern’s natural wind. Her eyes stayed locked on it as she slowly grabbed a makeshift torch and set it alight with the campfire. It had to have been her mate down there. Perhaps the tunnel curved so that she was unable to see his torchlight? What was he doing in the dark? Was he searching for something? Food perhaps?
She was already heading toward him before she considered any other possibility. Short drips accompanied her footfalls into the talon-width thick liquid that proliferated along the ground, grabbing onto her every time she raised her foot with a disgusting sucking noise. Her skin soon felt a similar spreading moisture from the humid cave, a low heat building up as she went. It would have been welcoming if not for the sick feeling that settled in her stomach.
The flickers of her torch illuminated the smooth cave walls and the ever-present pink moss that accompanied them. The ‘flora’ grew in volume and presence, stretching everywhere in random lines, often crossing and connecting with one another into larger segments. It eventually lost its fuzzy texture, only a moist reflective red taking its place. The way it almost appeared to… pulse in sync with the surrounding ambience only furthered the notion of veins and arteries…
A creeping sense of wrongness etched itself in her mind. Her ears slowly drooped down and her back hunched as her wide eyes failed to make out anything a pace or two in front of her. She scoured the blackness for anything and everything as the stone path ebbed and flowed, bringing her further down into the heart of Ershah.
thwack
A startling yet familiar noise halted her advance. She stepped back, swiveling her head around wildly to locate its source. Nothing made its presence known. There was only a permeating darkness within the… tunnel… She froze. When did the corridor become so large? Just before, she was able to stretch her arms to reach both sides of the walls, but now… Now it was open like the ocean, the blackness surrounding her entirely, obscuring… everything. She couldn’t see the entrance, nor the ceiling. Her pitiful torch illuminated the ground below her and nothing more.
Plip... Plip… Plip. The dripping continued, now suddenly an overbearing presence… like that of a predator’s breath riding down one’s neck.
Her breathing quickened, eyes widening. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Hesitant paces backward drew her into what she presumed was the direction she came from. It was no use. Further and further she went into the abyss, finding nothing but more of the tenebrous expanse.
The only true sense afforded to her was hearing… Every stifled breath, every wet footstep, and every flick of her torch felt deafening and… revealing. She was but a spark in the wider cavern, waving herself down as prey in the unseen eyes of what awaited her. Something could have been right behind her, and she would have been none the wiser… especially with no wall to guard her back…
A shiver ebbed through her frills. Would it be wise to suffocate her only flame to cover her presence? She stopped her palm from doing so, realizing that the fire was her only light. If its illumination perished, she would be trapped in the abyss with no way out… She needed to leave. She had to find the tunnel. It was—
“Fa…r...mer?” a voice croaked out, its intent shaky and bogged down in black tar.
Her shoulders stiffened, back straightening as she turned toward its direction. It was… Baker’s… but it felt uncanny… foreign. Was that even his? It had to be. M-Maybe he was harmed, too injured to move? Perhaps it was a broken frill? It would make sense. She had to find her mate… no matter how much his pained voice terrified her. That was why she was here in the first place…
The thickness of the viscous ground liquid increased as nervous footsteps brought her closer, the air around her getting warmer with each pace. She called out hesitantly, praying for a positive response.
“B-Baker? Are you there?”
Another wet, fleshy sound echoed through the large cavern, followed by a sickening crack. Then, his voice returned. It was much clearer this time, despite the aura of unsettling… distortion to it.
“Come… closer.”
Her steps were tentative, but she continued forward. Everything around her screamed something was amiss, but that painful string in her heart told her to never let her lover go. He was in pain. He was clearly suffering. Why should she ignore the one who warmed her heart with a simple smile just because she was perturbed by unproven nervousness?
Labored breaths filled her ears as she descended a small incline toward her mate. The shin-high murky liquid at the bottom was ignored, only becoming a small nuisance as her long strides carried her across the unknown fluid. Her motions caused it to sway in all directions, the ripples and turbidity preventing her from seeing what caused the squishy feeling beneath her feet. It smelled putrid, though not like that of rot… The scent was something she could not place, yet it was consuming with how it pierced her nostrils with its presence. It hardly mattered. She was close to him, she could feel his very presence in front of her. She could almost hear the breathing of…
Her torch lit up a rock… no… a figure. It was upright, but its head was pointing downwards. She couldn’t see the legs well, but she did notice how its… his familiar gray arms hung limply.
Baker!
Joy and anxiousness ran thick within her intent. “My dear! Are you okay? W-What has happened to you?”
She received no response for an unsettlingly long moment before his head shook… loosely… Like that of a puppet, reminding her of the black abyss that surrounded everywhere his body was not… It hid something.
“Come… Closer.”
“…W-What? No… M-My Dear… I…” In a moment of fear she raised her torch closer, illuminating everything.
Flesh surrounded him wholly, replacing his legs with undulating tubes and wet meat. Tendrils attached to his back, pulsing from their ceiling-bound origins. His limp arms moved slowly… falling… melting. The very skin slopped off onto into the pile of red beneath him with a sick thwack.
She jumped backwards, but the viscous liquid beneath her held tight. She couldn’t move. Her torch flickered and flared as she fumbled with her footing.
Lumps and nodules swelled from that thing’s chest, the very organs within rearranging. Deafening cracks and vile squelching echoed. The skin down his center slowly tore itself apart, strings of sinew breaking like twine to reveal malformed limbs within.
She ripped her legs from the grappling pond beneath, doing everything in her power to turn away.
But it was no use.
Bolts of force perforated her body. Agony seared every surface of her body.
The chest had burst open, sending several tendrils right through her. They squirmed and extended into her, moving like worms. They ripped and melded to her own flesh. Roaring pain flowed through her being like fire and lightning, consuming her wholly.
She screamed, but nothing escaped her lungs. Blood and tissue filled them. She needed to rip at the invading terror, but could not move. The red abomination pulled them for her; a sickening puppet of muscle.
Everything faded. No pain. No breathing. No sight.
The last thing she saw were the sockets in which her beloved’s gorgeous yellow eyes once laid, now replaced with pulsing meat.
She missed them… dearly.
\= = = = =
Several days of ridicule and a merciless sea voyage were sure to have an adverse effect on one’s mental state—being cast out of one’s own religion even more so. Some would perhaps cope with such by lashing out against those higher up the mountain than themselves. Others might resign themselves to prayer and labor, hoping to fit back into place within God’s graces. However, an exceptional case may change the way one perceives their circumstance.
The script-keeper and her village-mates were hardy people, having survived the worst of the Gods’ trials and then some—rogue waves from the water worshippers, grand storms from the Sky Goddess, and great famines brought from those who sinned before the Mountain God. They persevered through their community, pooling what little they had and relying upon one another to get through. She had seen it for fifty winters.
Now, eight of them have been stripped of those they became interdependent on, thrown forth into an uncertain abyss with only the clothes on their backs. Yet, by the luck of the Gods, the very shore they came upon happened to be owned by that of a diety-sent. Perhaps it was a sign from the Gods that there was hope for them yet…
And it took all of a singular night to prove that assumption correct. The four Malkrin that followed the star-sent freely regaled their struggles with the vile wilderness and the cruelty of the only other settlement before they met with the Creator. Their opinions on Kegara’s settlement were duly noted, but not taken to heart as they were just that: opinions. The script-keeper would have to see it for herself; feeble belief in the words of few should not sway the mind of someone, especially with her profession. Still, the stories of the abhorrent were taken much more seriously, since despite the confidence shared by the few females about defeating them, the elderly Malkrin could certainly see their ears droop in disquietude when the topic was broached. Furthermore, the other more elusive star-sent refused entirely to elaborate on her experience with the beasts when the paladin wrapped her into the conversation.
Fine new clothes, filling meals, and protective castles could only do so much… In the splendor and awe, the script-keeper understood it could only cover up the aching wounds each of the villagers had come here with. She knew the lumberjack quite well, commonly having to assist her with purchasing and selling items across the sea… the very same sea that now separated the woman from her mate. God knows how the wood-cutter felt now.
All the elder knew from the sparse conversations she had with the orange-skinned female was that she wished not to think of it anymore. To which, the harvester did just that, delving into the work allotted to her without a second thought, and basking in the benefits of the star-sent. Much was the same for the others from their island—their hopes of returning to the Land Kingdom having already been thoroughly sundered by the inquisitors. The script-keeper was not privy to everyone’s pains, but she knew they were similarly prepared to shelve them away in service of building themselves anew with this peculiar situation.
\= = = = =
Female Malkrin eat a lot. Seriously, all the meal boxes Harrison and Akula had prepared were ran through like crab rangoons at a buffet. There were a few left, but certainly not enough for dinner that night—and especially not for the winter, much to his displeasure. The engineer wasn’t looking forward to cooking anymore than he already had… But, he had a trick up his sleeve. Not only did the green fisherwoman know how to use the kitchen, but their little camp just so happened to have another who was experienced in the culinary arts.
Around the time they put their tools down for lunch, Harrison was approached by the pink-colored chef who was assisting with some of the masonry prior. He was apprehensive, yet his eyes were practically sparkling when he asked about the barbecue sauce, spices, and common vegetables. The engineer had a bit of time before he needed to get back to work, so he gave in. They conversed about it over their meal, the human explaining the ingredients and methods of making several types of dishes while the several Malkrin in attendance listened intently.
That was around the time he got the idea: why not have Akula teach the cook how to use the barrack’s kitchen? She was pretty reluctant to return to cooking… until he reintroduced her to her new sous-chef, giving her the task of overseeing the male’s modern culinary equipment and meat smoking tutorial.
Harrison didn’t know exactly why she seemed happier then. It could have been something about her prejudices, just having someone else to help her, or something… else… That didn’t matter to him. As long as the job was done, he was happy—especially since it meant he could focus on other projects.
Take the entire home they were building for example; it was practically completed by the time the chefs were sent off to make dinner. They were working on it since dawn—the engineer was still incapable of sleeping—digging the foundation behind the barracks, layering the brick walls, and getting the wooden supports down in record time. Having several extra Malkrin around made the labor requirement almost trivial, even if he needed to ensure they were doing the job right by constantly keeping a close eye on them. It also helped how eager some of them were to settle in with their tasks—the fisher twins and the lumberjack specifically.
The new arrivals were definitely a lot more lively than last night, that was for sure. They held onto caution in the morning, but that broke rather quickly after they got more accustomed to Harrison’s group and received basic clothing—literally just sturdy plaid shirts and black pants. Cera’s—the ceramist’s newly accepted name, created by Tracy’s shorthand of her profession—tendency to look out for the group also had a hand in the change from guarded acceptance to genuine and vocal appreciation. She did as much as she could to ease their burden by offering water or a helping hand whenever she and the lumberjack weren’t busy bringing wheelbarrows full of clay to the workshop. The two new males gladly accepted both, but the females were quite set on keeping their honor, completing their share of the work ‘with their own talons.’
Then, there was the juvenile. He didn’t want to force a kid to work, but the decision apparently wasn’t his. She quietly joined her older village-mates in hauling wheelbarrows full of bricks to and from the workshop. She didn’t seem upset nor did she seem too enthused about it. His singular attempt to persuade her otherwise was only returned with a terse shake of her head before she continued working. She didn’t like to show much emotion, that was for sure. Were all Malkrin teens like that, or was it because of her situation? Christ… the fact that she was sent to the mainland without her parents—or at all—rubbed him the wrong way. It was fucked, but at least she would be safe here… or as ‘safe’ as was possible.
That was the other job of the day: defense via the new fabricator. Tracy helped out a good bit with organizing and designing the second barracks for the first half of the day, thoroughly combing through the engineer’s ideas and ripping out the ‘brutalist’ and ‘soul-crushing’ lack of ‘real’ architecture. She inserted her own ideas, further backed up by the input of Craftsman’s prior experience, making for an admittedly more pleasant-looking layout of the house’s exterior and interior. It would end up looking vaguely like a white-brick colonial house, but with less ‘posh noble,’ instead making use of Germanic-style exterior wooden supports. It was just big enough to fit eight Malkrin-sized cots, space for movement between them, and all the basics such as lighting, airflow, and a little bit of storage on top—because, what was a building without storage? Luckily for the tradeswoman, it hardly used any more resources than his original plans, so he allowed it.
After that, Tracy realized there wasn’t much else for her to do, so she returned to their other project. The technician did well in assembling the most basic parts, working well throughout the day to complete the forging and welding components. Again, having someone else to do help with a job that big was a massive blessing, cutting off hours of time he would have had to slave away in the workshop.
Hours of time that he was able to use for overseeing the now-completed barracks, simultaneously teaching the Malkrin and getting a feel for how to best utilize their strengths with a substantial amount of help from the craftsman. The male did a bang-up job at explaining tasks and concepts to the others. Much better than Harrison was able to. Once more, it was a job the engineer was more than happy to let someone else take off his hands. The olive-colored Male was perfect for the job anyway, having the technical know-how and experience explaining similar things to Malkrin back on the islands, so the pioneer trusted the task to be completed with little issue.
Now, the day was finally reaching a close, ending with the settlement eating their dinner by the fire. There were a few more benches made to give everyone a seat. That meant the radius had to be extended somewhat, but that wasn’t anything a bigger fire couldn’t fix. Plus, the alien’s intent meant that he could still hear clearly from anyone around the pyre.
The muted sounds of silverware clanking against meal boxes and plates were muddled by the constant breeze. The flames lazily flickered in all directions, casting shadows along the flowing grass, each person in attendance being doused in a mellow orange. The Malkrin conversed with one another over their meals, each sitting in pairs on the furniture. Shar was out on guard patrol, so Tracy ended up taking the seat beside him. It was a bit of a surprise given how much she preferred to stay in the workshop, but he didn’t mind her taking a break—she deserved it. If anything, it should have been him on the fabrication floor, picking up where she left off.
“…Hey…” Tracy’s soft, worried voice took him from his thoughts.
“Hm?” He lazily looked down at the shorter woman beside him, her legs swinging as they couldn’t quite reach the ground.
She worriedly raised her brows. “You alright, dude? You’ve had some major bruised eye action going on all day. Did you even get any sleep? I didn’t even see you when I woke up.”
“No, I actually didn’t—” He held up a palm, stopping the technician’s troubled response. “—but it’s more because of that potion… thingy… Cera gave me. I don’t feel tired at all.”
Her face contorted in confusion, the shadows cast by the fire’s glow emphasizing it further. “The… potion…? Oh, yeaaaah, right. It was supposed to help you with dizziness, I think, but it also prevents you from feeling tired. How does it even feel? Like taking an energy drink, or something else?”
He held out his arm, tracing a finger along it. “I just feel like I’ve got pins and needles all along my skin… and I don’t feel like sleeping. That’s it really, so sort of like taking a bunch of caffeine.”
Her brows dropped in faux-annoyance. “That can not be healthy for you. Have you checked up on yourself with the scanner? If not for that, then at least the radiation? Maybe the fuzzy stuff is from all those grays of radiation you received?”
“I did… I did, don’t worry. The scanner had nothing besides the usual, so I guess it was just a good bit of caffeine or something… I don’t know. It’ll probably wear off soon, though.”
She nodded, returning her gaze to the fire. Her voice mellowed, just barely loud enough to reach his ears. “Good. The aliens were worried sick about you, yesterday, ya know—Shar ‘specially… and so was I…”
He hardly heard that last part, barely able to piece it together seconds after she muttered it. He wasn’t trying to make them worried, it was just a part of being on this planet. Every day was a new close call. The first blood moon, that pink monster, the workshop ambush, the second blood moon, and now the anomaly field all terrified him, haunting his very dreams with brief flashbacks of those sights and sounds. Though, they all served to teach him, forcing him to stay on his toes and never stay complacent… Which was something he was doing now.
He had plans in the works already—the new fabricator being the crux of at least half of them—but what could he do currently? How could he prepare? Or, at the very least, what could he do to advance the group further?
Their day-to-day jobs had already been discussed, plans for a new wood storage building were already made, and his work on the printer was cut out for him tonight… Okay. Well, what could he prepare for in the future? Defense? Of course, now that people were going to be out doing their own jobs, they would be too spread out to protect everyone at once.
There were two components to any solution for that problem: reconnaissance and protection. The first was self-explanatory. If he had, say, a few dozen drones scouting around where people were, it would take a lot of the surprise out of random swarms. That would give people time to either return to the castles… modules… or prepare themselves to take the bugs on. That led him to the second part. Firearms help to kill spider-crabs, but are also pretty dangerous in the wrong hands… He was more than willing to trust the Malkrin he knew with guns to defend themselves, but he couldn’t just start handing them out to strangers. Maybe in time, though. There were always other means of protection, anyway; Kegara’s camp was apparently alive and well, despite practically being from the stone ages.
Cera, Akula, and Shar were most certainly getting some firepower, that was for sure. He’d have to think about what sort of weapons would suit them. That also brought up the current metal deficit… and his gunpowder was running out quite quickly…
That was definitely something he wanted to get on before the next blood moon. He wanted to revisit that metal cave he saw when the paladin and the fisherwoman got cornered by three colossi. He hadn’t analyzed the chunk of ore he hacked off yet—he’d been pretty damn busy—so it was about time he figured out whether or not he had a nearby source of metals. It would be a damn blessing if it was aluminum or iron, despite only being a surface deposit. No matter what it was, it was sure to be of use.
Then there was the gunpowder issue. The last time he checked, there was enough to last him for at least the next blood-moon, but it wasn’t enough for several other firearms, especially if he wanted anything automatic. There were three main ingredients—potassium nitrate, sulfur, and charcoal—which were essential for the production of any explosives. Charcoal was already solved for them, and potassium nitrate could practically be made out of thin air and water, considering they were right by an ocean. Bless the Ostwald process and acid-base neutralization.
The only real issue was sulfur… Christ, natural elements sucked. Either he had to deal with excessive organic recycling of amino acids… or go and mine the stuff directly, and there weren’t any obvious volcanic deposits or fault lines around. Neither of those methods sounded great.
Again, that would have to come later. He needed that fabricator done first and foremost. Then he could deal with the assorted problems that followed it and, well, every other compiling issue. Material harvesting tools, automatic defenses, larger fortifications, and radio-protectant armor were but a few of the big-ticket items on his mind.
Cera’s concoction was still running through his veins anyway, so he might as well finish the printer while he was at it. It looked like he wasn’t sleeping tonight either.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Hard work. Good company.

I need a cot and want to be able to look before buying, last time I was there it was being remodelled and only small items were out.
(Anyone buy a cot from there? Are they decent? I think I want this one https://www.ikea.com/ie/en/p/sniglar-cot-beech-30248537/ As its wooden and unpainted)

PART ONE THOUSAND AND TEN
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Sunday
Brock loved one aspect of being a teenager again, and that was the utter lack of responsibility that no first-time teen truly appreciated. He’d stolen a facsimile of that freedom over the last six months of his life as Angelo, though not in a good way. Back then, no one expected anything of him because he was a waste of oxygen that nobody except Robbie cared about.
Well, Mason and Sam were worried, but as the younger roommates, that was the extent of their capability. Now that he’d been handed the original formula, it was fun to wind everyone up by hiding behind the kid façade. Not so much when Robbie laid down the law, but the highs outnumbered the lows tenfold, such as nobody expected him to be up before lunchtime on a Sunday. So when he rolled out of bed with barely two hours to spare, he found the apartment practically a ghost town.
He whistled the words “Yoooohooo,” to see if anyone would respond, and no one did.
Dang.
Where is everyone?
The warmer was empty, and the fridge had the basics, but he wanted a Robbie meal, and he was sure his best friend in the whole world wouldn’t be holding out on him. He went over to the magic box covered by a dishcloth and lifted both the cloth and the lid in one move.
Nada. Nothing.
With a huff of disgust, he lowered the lid (minus the dishcloth since that slid over the back) and went to step away when he remembered the trick to the box. Well … crap! How was he supposed to know what Robbie had put in there for him? The only one who’d know for sure was Robbie, and he was probably out putting together a global grocery shop to restock their pantry after yesterday’s party.
Okay, think dumbass, he ordered himself. Robbie wouldn’t have left you something you couldn’t get to. He placed both hands on the magic box and drummed his fingers. “Alright, box. How do I make you cough up my breakfast?”
The answer was so obvious that he wanted to bang his head against the counter for not thinking of it sooner. Because Robbie’s innate is food. Stop asking what he made and ask yourself what it is you want for breakfast!
Dozens of options rolled through his mind, each sounding better than the last. And then he had it. “Nonna’s frittata,” he said to the box, already salivating, and he hadn’t even smelt it yet. He flipped the lid and filled the room with freshly cooked fluffy eggs and Grana Padano cheese. “Oh, holy mother,” he whimpered, practically drooling over the chunky potato pieces that, for some reason, many Americans left out of the traditional frittata. His Nonna had always called it a travesty.
“Come to Papa,” he declared, lifting the plate to his nose, and breathing in deeply. “Robbie, you’re the best,” he promised, shutting the magic box’s lid and patting it like a dog that had done well. He then went to the cutlery drawer and grabbed a knife and fork for himself. He didn’t worry about a drink because he was certain he could drown in the amount of saliva already dripping from his chin.
For the next ten minutes, he tried his very best to slow down and appreciate the meal. To remember all the good times he’d had with his grandmother before she passed away.
As always, when it came to his Nonna’s recipes, he was full by the time he finished, though he lifted the plate and licked the flavour-infused oil from the surface.
“Risparmio e il miglior guadagno,” he whispered, quoting his grandfather’s favourite defence about his wife’s cooking whenever she’d bust him doing exactly what Brock was doing now and chase after him with whatever wooden implement she had at the time.
Brock paused, then put the plate down and stared at it. He barely remembered what his grandfather looked like, but he’d remembered that. The stocky, no-nonsense, chain-smoking roadworker had died from lung cancer while he was still a toddler, and in that moment of reflection, he couldn’t help but wonder how different things would be if Nonno had survived his fatal condition.
His mother certainly wouldn’t have gotten away with her drug use, and he wondered if Rocco and Giani would’ve gotten tangled up in the underworld if he’d been there to keep them on the straight and narrow. They were young to his old, but Nonno was still the patriarch – or had been.
Then again, if he had lived, Angelo wouldn’t have spent so much time on the streets or met Imogen, which led to Robbie being his best friend. He might still be Angelo instead of Brock…
“God works in mysterious ways,” his Nonna often quoted.
If only you knew, Nonna. I miss you so much.
He dropped the dish and cutlery into the dishwasher and went in search of everyone.
As always, he started with their side of the apartment first.
Since it was heading on for lunchtime, it didn’t surprise him that Charlie was gone. She was probably next door doing more car preparation for the racing driver Nascerdios, who was supposed to be coming by in the next couple of days.
For a second, he thought about knocking on Boyd and Lucas’ door and quickly decided that would be just as fatal as Nonno’s lung cancer. At the very least, Boyd would rip him limb from limb and beat him to within an inch of his life with each of them for bothering them the night after their engagement party.
That left Mason, and a light knock on his door had his friend calling out, “It’s open.”
Brock let himself in and was thrilled to see Mason in his work corner, with his fancy table alight and some sort of internal organ being dissected, his laptop open, and ten tons of paperwork scattered around him.
…mainly because it left something else in the room unused.
“Hey,” Brock said after glancing at the gaming corner and finding it just as he’d left it; fully closed up. “Any chance I could…?” His grin was all teeth as he rolled both pointer fingers at the gaming corner.
Mason growled and waved him off. “And you’re still going to find time to play basketball with us this afternoon, right?”
“Damn straight. I have to prove my superiority to all you losers,” Brock laughed, making a beeline for the coveted machine. He opened the folding doors and pushed them back into the same wall that shared the hallway. Then he kicked over the system, practically giggling with excitement as the whole thing slid and rolled like a Transformer shifting between forms.
And because he had been the last one to use it, the seating was still set to his specifications. He slid around the side and into the chair that was already angling itself with the footrests at the perfect height for him. He took the headset from the charger built into the back of the headrest and pulled it over his ears, twisting the microphone to sit in front of his mouth. “Ground Control to Major Tom,” he sang as the screens on the overhead brace came to life.
He saw rather than heard Mason snapping his fingers at him through the gap between the upper monitors and the keyboard and popped one ear out of the headset. “Yeah?”
“Keep it down, buddy. Some of us are trying to study.”
“Oh…sure. Sorry.” To make a point, he sucked his lips between his teeth and pretended to bite them, flipping both thumbs up at his friend.
Mason laughed and shook his head. “You’re still an idiot.”
You’re studying, and I’m gaming. Who’s the idiot again? Brock mused to himself as he returned the headset’s earmuff to his ear and began typing on the keyboard.
A quick log-in and scan of his character’s inventory and how the land around his base was situated (because leaving the game for days sometimes cost you as others raided your space), he headed out into the mainframe, appearing once more at the crossroads where he’d first met everyone.
Patalon was there, but he had the AFK sign above his head. “Awww,” he said, quickly shooting the orc tank’s player a ping chat to let him know he was available for some more fun if he was interested. Then he left the crossroads and headed ‘east’ towards the mountains.
* * *
The almost inaudible ding sounded like the biggest of Chinese gongs going off in the tiny room, and just like those types of summons, two men launched themselves over the back of the couch where they’d been watching TV and a third rolled off one of the three cots that were placed on the far side of the room. A fourth man rushed in from outside, having crushed out his cigarette on the doorframe, and all four leapt into their seats, each grabbing their receptionist-style headsets that only covered one ear from the back of their chairs.
“Now, this time, try not to stomp on his system so hard you warn him off,” the youngest of the four said from the far end said, as they all woke up their characters and converged on the gaming crossroad. “Or he might disappear for longer than a couple of days.”
“Fuck you. We’re getting paid to find this fucker’s scrawny ass, not pussy foot around forever holding our dicks,” another snapped. On a large monitor against the wall behind their consoles, they could all see the grid section of New York City. As brutal as Clay’s initial assault on the city’s network had been, it had narrowed the field from a global search to this city of eight million people.
The smoker ignored their banter and leaned forward to read the private message on his screen. “You can’t hide forever, Trevino.”
[Next Chapter]
* * *
((Author's note: going out tonight, so I put this out before I left. Enjoy!! 🥰😘💕 ))
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!

From the beginning...
Cast

Part 2, Chapter 7

“Maybe we should offer him money. He looks poor, and poor people usually like money.” Zander opines.
“I don’t think you can afford me,” the young man says, slightly nervously. He shuffles a foot. “You should just go.”
“Just gives us a moment, would you?” Arthur asks, raising his hand in a vaguely placating way. The team withdraws to the far end of the wide stone porch. The porch acts as an entryway to the tunnel beyond the odd young human with red hair. The archway is large and imposing, and is covered with random scratched runes, like graffiti. The porch likewise is etched and carved, but in a more artistic manner. There is a single stone step that encircles (ensquares?) the stone slab that acts as a porch, and a few stone steps that lead up to the porch before they disappear into the dirt and weeds of the slight rise. The porch is not large, but the team steps back to the edge and speaks in low whispers.
“We should just go,” Dillium whispers. “We don’t need anything from here.”
“We have given our word to the dwarves. Well, the one dwarf. [1] He seemed to think bad things would occur should the forge was re-kindled,” Arthur replies in a low voice. Does Arthur even know how to whisper?
“Shouldn’t we have asked why the forge was abandoned to begin with?” whispers Zander.
“I say we don’t go in, but we set up camp right here until he goes away,” says a somewhat less frightened but still intimidated Novos.
With that, the team splits up, directs the squires to set up a camp with the animals some distance down the hill, and pulls out the pavillionsol. Opened up, it takes up much of the porch, but it gives the group a chance to go inside to discuss matters. They don’t make much progress, and suddenly Arthur realizes that nobody is actually watching the man or the area. Rushing outside, he and Dillium look around to see that things are largely they way they were before they went into the tent. Dillium returns inside and continues the argument, but Arthur walks a couple of laps around the porch, peering suspiciously at everything around. He does note that even though the pavillionsol appears to be only canvas, he’s unable to hear the party’s voices, or for that matter, the string quartet that constantly plays inside. He also notes that the red-headed man has disappeared, probably back inside. Arthur peers down the tunnel, but sees nothing of any interest. The corridor, some twenty feet wide and thirty or thirty-five feet tall, appears to be carved by dwarven hands, with a smooth floor and walls, arching gracefully up to a rounded ceiling. While there are occasional scratches on the walls that indicate some sort of graffiti, much of the wall is bare, with only a pattern similar to the porch to break up the monotony. No sign of the young man. Returning to the pavillionsol, he pokes his head inside the tent to give the all-clear.
Meanwhile, the party, from the security of their tent, have decided that they might build a campfire and roast some particularly delicious food, then invite the young man to dinner once he is lured by the savory smells. Dillium points out that there are really no trees or wood to build a fire, and the debate begins anew.
While yet another round of debate begins, the ground shakes uncontrollably, knocking people to the ground. A reasonable group might conclude that the ground in the area was unstable and wonder what might be causing it. This group [2] decides that either some unknown force wants them to get a move on, or that the young redhead is upping the ante.
Novos takes things into his own hands. Disappearing, he becomes one with the shadows and scouts the tunnel. Several hundred feet down he spies a side tunnel, not carved in the same way that the dwarves have done with the main tunnel. Following this, he makes it to the end to find a stout wooden door with heavy metal hinges and bands. He asks one of his attending shadows to slip into the room on the other side and say what it sees. “Meat sticks” is the response. Slipping under the crack at the bottom of the door, Novos sees a number of dead bodies, some of them rotted away to skeletons, chained to the walls. In another part of the room, completely un-weirded out by the dead bodies, the redhead man is calmly chewing on his dinner, which is meat on a bone. Probably chicken or something else innocuous, but also possibly the flesh and bone of whatever he's sharing the room with. Novos decides that means he’s a cannibal, and retreats.
The main tunnel runs several hundred feet into the side of the mountain, then opens up to a wide and tall cavern that is dimly lit on one side by an angry red river of something flowing at a slow and steady pace from a hole on one side, and disappearing under the wall on another side of the cavern [3]. He notes the partially caved-in walls and ceiling, and the presence of vaguely humanoid footprints scuffling around in the dust before he feels the pressing need to return to the party to relay his findings.
Meanwhile, the group has abandoned the pavillionsol, put it away, and is cautiously peering down the tunnel corridor. At no point do they think to check on the (perhaps) terrified squires, who are probably safely down the hill trying to placate the animals. Hopefully the animals haven’t run off with the supplies…
Novos reappears next to the team to explain about the cannibal and the delicious-looking red gelatin. Somewhat emboldened, the party troops down the center of the corridor, heavily armored men in the front. As Arthur seems to have an almost dwarfish feeling for the stone, he notes that the corridor is angled ever so slightly downward. The side tunnel Novos noted is actually three hundred and twenty two feet from the entrance, according to Arthur. It is, however, narrow and roughly hewn from the rock. It’s much too narrow to comfortably fit even one heavily armored man down with any room to spare. Arthur gives that a pass and the rest of the group follows without complaint. Another hundred and four feet down (Novos says, “the corridor opens up in another hundred feet or so,” though both Dillium and Arthur can see no opening ahead), the group is greeted by a bright red light ahead of them. Had they been born in another realm filled with roadrunners and train tunnels [4], they might recognize the coming light. They were not, though, and so the huge fiery ball of fire coming down the hall catches them unawares. Most of the group dodge out of the way, though Modred isn’t bright enough to do so. As a bright red scaley figure drops down onto the floor of the corridor in front of Arthur and Zander, the group takes stock.
The fireball has greatly damaged everyone, as the dragon intended. Because he’s a dragon. Modred lies smoking on the ground, unmoving. Felicity is lying on the ground, smoking slightly less, but at least she is moving, barely. Zander and Arthur both learn how hot metal armor can get when exposed to a fire, while Novos’ and Dillium’s dancing around and ducking behind their armored front line has meant they are less damaged than the others. Giving himself a quick Laying of Hands, Arthur attacks, Smiting the (obviously) evil creature. Zander takes a deep breath and catches his Second Wind and attacks. Novos leaps nimbly aside and sneaks around behind the dragon (well, near his tail anyway) and attacks. Dillium casts Revivify on Modred and spares a moment to speak a Healing Word toward Felicity, though others in the party also benefit from the power of her Word.
“Modred, go back. Go find Pocky!” Modred looks at Dillium with huge sad Mastiff eyes, glances at Zander (who is busy smacking the dragon with his sword), and trundles off down the corridor back toward the squires (and away from the huge red beast). Dillium counts this as a win.
The dragon doesn’t notice. Swishing his tail angrily, he manages to knock Novos down. A great head full of large dragon teeth clamps down on Zander, though the dragon isn’t big enough to swallow him whole. A claw and a cantrip are aimed at Arthur, who is painfully reminded of how hot metal armor can get. Again.
Again, the party attacks, though this time without a smite from Arthur, but with a critical stab from Zander. Novos stabs again, but then quickly retreats from the still swishing tail. Dillium again casts healing spells to keep Zander on his feet, but Felicity is still trying to figure out which train hit her as she holds her head woozily.
Having enough of food that fights back, the dragon leaps into the air, spreading his wings and performing a mid-air summersault. His lithe form denies the opportunity for anyone to strike him, though Zander and Arthur both try. With a roar of fury and pain, the dragon disappears down the corridor. The team takes a few moments to regroup. Dillium once again questions the wisdom of continuing on, but Novos has been raised on a diet of stories about dragons and their hoards. With a gleam of greed in his eyes, he goads everyone else forward.
Several hundred feet further on, the tunnel finally emerges into the wide cavern Novos saw. Now in his human form, Novos finds that the lovely red gelatin is obnoxiously hot, and nobody wants to come near it. The room appears to have once been an entrance hall, and Zander thinks he spies the remains of some defensive positions. The roof has partially collapsed, bringing down much of the back wall. While climbable, there’s no particular need, as there is a wide corridor to the side. That corridor, too, is partially caved in, but the footprints in the dust seem to indicate there is a way through the rubble. As Arthur scans the roof (no stalactites!), he sees what appears to be a series of holes, or perhaps caves, up near the ceiling, which Novos and Zander can’t see in the dim light.
The team turns down the corridor, past some cleared rubble and past the base of a column that might once have been topped by a statue. As the group tromps down the hall, they find a stout wooden door, with heavy metal work. The door is unlocked, and inside is a cell with dead bodies in various states of decomposition. While the redhead’s pack, bedroll, and remains of a small fire are still present, the man isn’t. The door on the other side of the cell leads to a corridor that Novos vaguely recognizes as the one he flitted down earlier. But no young man.
Returning to the corridor, the group sees a well in the middle of the floor. Peering down through the heat haze, the Zander spies more of the hot red goo far below. A hole in the wall shows where part of the red substance has eaten away at the structure, but there’s no reason to think the floor is about to collapse.
Continuing on, Arthur sees a bridge up ahead. As he heads toward it, a raucous cacophony sounds, making everyone clutch at their ears. Novos realizes that it’s some sort of alarm spell at about the same time that Felicity says that out loud. Novos disappears and flits on ahead. He sees a rickety wooden bridge, hardly the work of fine dwarven craftsmen. The bridge crosses another river of the hot red goo, far below. On the other side are a dozen beings, mostly human, with large war dogs. The dogs are nearly as large as Modred, though leaner and wearing doggy armor. A large cook stove is one corner and bedrolls and a few cots are lined along one wall. The humanoids are hastily pulling on armor and gathering weapons as the dogs stare intently toward the sound of the recent commotion. Novos returns to the party to relay what he’s seen. They decide that the bandits are in league with the dragon, probably to restart the forge and … nobody knows what comes next.
As the party gathers on one side of the bridge, rising heat waves, steam and ash prevent a good look at the gathering war party, but it is apparent that they are outnumbered, perhaps badly.
“We must parlay,” Arthur intones gravely.

End of Chapter 7


[1] In fact, it was to the Council of Thanes, last chapter.
[2] At some point during downtime, the party have decided they must have a name, and have settled on something to do with Chimaeras. Novos points out that they technically still have a charter in Impiltur, and so having a party name that changes depending on what land they are in is particularly Chimaeric. Also, Novos also says that the group can get away with anything and simply say that it was the Dragon Force that did it, forgetting that witnesses exist.
[3] Based very loosely on Fire Forge Caves by Dungeon Baker in FiveE magazine
[4] such as this one

We were at 29 Palms, Ca. Had journeyed there from Camp Lejeune for two weeks’ desert warfare training. Base Camp was set up in the desert a good distance from the main base area, which we were never permitted to go to during our time there.
Large squad tents to house everyone in for a couple of days before the training evolution began in earnest.
A peculiarity of the place were the occasional dust devils that would spring up without warning, do their thing, and dissipate again just as quickly. Those could range from a four or five foot sand funnel to a larger one of twenty feet or more. Miniature tornados, but the larger ones could still do a little damage.
It transpired on the second day that payday had rolled around. And we were all to be paid in cash. Nowhere to go and nothing to spend it on, but those were the rules.
And so the Paymaster did appear. An Officer carrying a large locked metal cash box in military green, and a binder of payroll records. A folding table and a folding chair for him to sit on had been set up in an open area in the center of our small tent city.
And we got in line to receive the appreciation of a grateful nation. It was payday. Or as we referred to it, in our vulgar way; “The Eagle shits today.” And he always passed greenbacks.
Accompanying the Lieutenant with the money were two MPs standing at alert to either side of his seated form. Watchful and wary. Each with an M16 ready at port arms. Locked and loaded. Not taking any chances. They knew who they were dealing with.
I thought it a tad insulting myself. Who were we perceived to be? Thieves? Had we no honor?
Then I remembered myself. Some of us actually were. That and a few other things. A practice was still being practiced at that time, though not as frequently as it had once been, from time to time, wherein a Judge would offer a young man a choice; a four year enlistment in the Marine Corps, or a period of incarceration. Some chose the former. Some were wise enough not to.
One of our boyos had been charged and convicted of possession of illegal substances with intent to distribute. Quite a bit to distribute.
“How did you get caught?” I ventured to ask.
“My wife found the shit and turned me in.”
“Having problems, huh?”
“Not at all. She was cryin’ and shit. Said she did it for Us. She didn’t want to see me go down that road. Us my ass. It was My ass. Don’t see Her here. And the stuff wasn’t even Mine, OP! I was just holding it for a friend.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
“Swear to God!”
“Whatever you say. You guys work it out?”
“Na. She’s with someone else now. Bitch fucked me twice. Don’t ever get married, OP. That’s my advice. Can’t trust anybody.”
And we had had one of ours convicted and sentenced for assault, assault with a weapon, and armed robbery not long before this particular time.
We’d lost one of our people in Supply. Uncle Sugar took a dim view of people selling his property for personal gain, especially on the scale he’d been doing it. It was getting so a man couldn’t make a dishonest buck.
And delivery drivers had been robbed so often that Domino’s refused to deliver on base at Lejeune anymore.
So maybe two trigger-happy MPs to guard the cash box wasn’t a bad idea, after all. Lot of money. But on the other hand, how would you get away with it, anyhow? Where would you go?
Not saying these considerations were running through My mind - just speaking for a friend.
So you step up, present your military ID, are paid what the books say you’re supposed to get, sign your name that you have indeed received it, and go away.
I’d just gotten mine when a shout went up in the near distance. We all turned to look in that direction, of course. And immediately espied the source of consternation.
A whirling devil of sand and dust a good thirty feet high was tearing through the encampment. Tents and unsecured equipment were being sent airborne and flying in every direction. We scattered like quail. Advisable - it was headed straight toward us. A friend, just before he ran, too, had a sudden pleasant vision of folding money with no home flying everywhere.
The Lt took one look, and mindful of his responsibilities, slammed the lid of the cash box shut, flipped the latches closed, and with its carrying handle in one hand and his ledger in the other, chose a likely direction and ran for his life like everybody else, his minders with him.
The thing wrought a path of destruction through the entire encampment, from one side to the other. Heading straight for the line of porta-potties a short distance away. Unfortunately, as it would transpire, some were occupied at the time. We steered clear of those guys for a while. They were fragrant and tinted blue.
We got off lightly, over all. One guy had his leg broken by a descending thick wooden tent pole. Another was clocked in the head by a flying collapsible cot. THEY got to go to Main Base, lucky bastids.
And a fine set of boxer skivvy drawers had become entangled on a tent line, and hung and flapped there like a small banner. Black silk. With lots of little white whales with tiny red eyes.
No one claimed them, but most of us suspected a certain Lieutenant in our Company.

Blurb: Stranded on the hell-planet of Arachnea, the last remnants of the human Fleet fight to survive in a world overrun by insectoid monsters and a sentient ecosystem gone mad. It is a war they are destined to lose, as with every century that passes, more of the ancient science lies forgotten, replaced by myth and superstition. That is, until assistant navigator Rene stumbles the mightiest weapon of the ancestor-gods...
Link to 1st chapter here: 1st chapter on HFY
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
They encountered no further patrols and reached the outpost before evening fell. Outpost 13 was a smaller mound that had been subjugated not long ago. It was wedge-shaped, far taller than it was wide, with short stumps of feeder towers running down its spine. It was cement grey rather than the virulent black of Mound Euler, and stood like the ominous gravestone of some forgotten giant, crumbling away in a backwoods cemetery, cratered and pockmarked by scores of holes where shells and grapeshot had impacted.
Rene had been part of sieges before, as an ammo hopper in the artillery, and he could well imagine how costly this one had been. The unique shape of the mound would have meant that any advances would have been focused along a brutal, narrow front, where any advantage in numbers enjoyed by the attackers would have been negated. Usually a mound had several entrances through which one could spearhead an assault, pouring into the tunnels from a dozen different directions, but that hadn’t been the case here. Given the smaller population of the Amits, they had only ever needed to construct one gate. He shuddered to imagine the relentless carnage of such a battle, with men and Amits both pouring their numbers into a slaughter of single-minded purpose. He wondered how they had ever managed to take this place, until he saw the segment of the eastern wall that had collapsed entirely. It would have taken a great deal of ordinance to crack open. Even from a distance the walls appeared thick and imposing. He imagined entire weeks spent pounding the place into submission with mortars and heavy canon, engineers making combat runs to find lines of weakness, then directing their fire to hammer home relentlessly on these until finally the place had given way, collapsing all at once in a great thundering sheet of shattered stone. Even now he could see the cross-section of the mound exposed in all its beehive complexity. Amits in their thousands must have spilled out from such a wreckage, cringing at the sudden light of the suns piercing their dark abodes. Then infantry would have poured through, putting them to the bayonet before they could wriggle themselves free of the debris.
It would have been a bloody affair, and he wondered why he had never heard of such an action taking place.
Since then the current occupants had shored up their defenses. Wooden scaffolding spanned the areas of worst damage, brick and mortar replacing the crumbling dolomite. A feeder tower with cracks running down its length had been converted into a commanding keep from which the maws of several cannon peeked out, covering the approaches from either flank. Stout palisades now ringed the outer defenses, constructed in dog-toothed patterns to break the impact of a charge and provide overlapping fields of fire.
They came up to the main road. Along this at regular intervals stakes had been pounded into the ground, onto which the skins of dead Amits had been impaled, desiccated scales rustling in the wind. These grisly trophies dotted the area for several miles around. It served to inform Amits of other broods who might think to try and claim the mound that the place was now occupied by dangerous predators. Once a month a scent detail would make the rounds, splashing over the ground buckets of sharp, pungent death-warning-fear pheromones extracted from dead Amits.
At the palisades they were challenged by a man wearing a steel shod helmet. He saluted them and asked:
“Names and purpose, please.”
“Navigator Deschane, 4^th Command Echelon, Navigator. This is Ensign Rene, of the 3^rd Pathfinder Regiment. We’re here to report our mission results.”
The man peered down at them, saw a pair of disheveled, exhausted men, blood smearing the insides of their sealant suits, with barely enough strength left to stand. He saw the tattered stripes on Deschanes shoulder pad, immediately saluted once more with a clatter of body armor, shouting:
“Aye, sir! Open the gate! We need medical officers here!”
The relief was almost unbearable. The gate unlatched and men rushed to help them as they sank to their knees in the mud, finally safe.
“Don’t know about any mission, but you look to be in an awful state,’ the man said, “How’d the two of you made it this far on your own?”
“There were more of us yesterday,” Rene said heavily.
“Who is the ranking officer here?
“Admiral Prota, sir.”
“Take me to him. With dispatch!”
They were half guided, half carried to the pressure gate, a broad circle of steel that hissed as the airlock within equalized with the outside. The entrance was on the northern edge of the wedge, where it protruded forward at a height of several stories from a barbican. Broad bolts thick as a man’s arm slid back and allowed them in. As it closed behind them and the chamber depressurized once more, men in full cleaning gear came and emptied buckets of decontamination fluid onto their sealant suits, scrubbing them with long handled brushes. A second batch of cleaners peeled off their masks and sealant suits, and for the first time in four days they felt fresh air make contact with their skin. The second door opened, and they entered Outpost Euclid.
The mounds were one of the few places where one could breathe freely without the cloying restriction of a valve. In the natural pockets of stale air that permeated the cave systems, mankind clawed its way to a continued existence. Great turbine fans turning endlessly in the feeder towers served to regulate the air flow and internal pressure, powered by the underground rivers percolating through the layers of soft stone. Without a contained, self-regulating environment and machines to purify the dwelling place a man would die within days, convulsing as the neurons of his brain fired in vain in an atmosphere oversaturated with oxygen.
Mound 13 was a young settlement, only possessing the most basic necessities. Rows of braziers hung from every doorway, framing passing faces in flickering orange light. Stacks of crates and supplies lined the corridors, bales of wire, nails and planks of rough wood littered the floor.
A small crowd had gathered by the entrance, led by a middle-aged woman in medical fatigues. At her signal several attendants bustled forward with stretchers. Deschane sent them back with a scathing look. He looked the woman up and down, and his jaw muscles twitched. If the woman saw this, she gave no sign of offense.
“Well met, lord navigator,” she began, “This way to the hospital ward, if you please.”
“Later,” he snapped, “Where is Admiral Prota? I was told he was in command here.”
“Sir, your medical situation takes precedence. Your wounds are quite serious.”
“Pardon me, but to the void with my medical condition. Madame, I’ve come a very long way to deliver a missive of the utmost importance, and I will not be put aside until I’ve had my say.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“Please don’t be difficult.”
“Difficult? If I don’t see him within a minute from now, I’ll show you precisely how difficult I can be. Respectfully of course, madame.” he said, in a tone that was anything but.
“It’s possible your eyesight might have been affected by recent trauma to the head. Not to mention whatever region of the brain that handles basic etiquette.”
She brought out from her field pouch a strip of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic solution, and came forward to clean his face. In the dim light of the flames Rene caught a glimpse of the pendant hanging around her neck, a thin blue rectangular wafer fashioned from some unearthly glass. Rene drew breath: she was an officer of the 2^nd Command Echelon, almost the highest station in existence. The pendant was her seal of command, a relic passed down generations beyond count. It swung on its leather thong, caught the torchlight and broke it into a thousand points of light.
“Away with that, woman, or by the ancestors I’ll-”
“Sir.” Rene said quickly, with concern.
“Its Rear-Admiral Prota, actually. And it certainly isn’t ‘woman’.”
Deschane blinked, realizing the magnitude of his error. Despite himself, Rene hid a smile behind his hand.
“I must apologize. I presumed-”
“Yes, of course. Now, before I cite you for an infraction, would you kindly come this way? You can debrief me while we stitch your head back together.”
Deschane nodded with reluctance. They allowed themselves to be led away. As they walked it became apparent that the scars of war still lay thick upon the place. The walls were dotted by bullet holes and oddly warped surfaces where streaks of acid had been sprayed to dissolve both stone and attackers alike. Once they even saw the outline of a man, the moment of his death forever etched into the ageless calcite. From the cave entrances sets of shattered columns jutted like broken teeth, reminding them of the storm of violence that had once ripped through the place.
Despite all this, Mound 13 was beautiful. Its spare halls possessed a natural symmetry and decidedly pleasing dimensions that were out of place in a newly conquered mound. All around them, workers bustled about, busy making renovations that would eventually make the place home.
“As you can see, we’ve been rather busy around here,” explained Admiral Prota, “There’s much to do, and not enough people to do it. Why, we haven’t even explored the entirety of the natural cave system yet, not to mention all the segments the Amit added. There’s talk of us being made into a full settlement someday, but of course that isn’t possible, given the nature of our work here.”
“Your work?”
“I’d explain, but you’re losing far too much blood.”
The massive cut across the top of his head had resumed its slow red trickle. Deschane wiped his face and winced as his scalp stretched.
They went into a wide, well-lit room and Rene’s eyes widened. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Above them yawned three massive domes of the purest blue marble, like those of a great basilica, held aloft by elegant pillars and jagged friezes that overflowed like molten candlewax.
Every surface was pockmarked by endless tessellations, countless branching forms and geometric shapes that merged one into the other in pleasing harmony. But what really stood out were the stars.
The tip of every stalactite shone as a thimbleful of water gathered. For a long moment, before gravity took precedence, they hung suspended in all their adamantine brilliance, before the illusion ended, and they flashed downward in lightning streaks of silver.
“Nice, isn’t it?” said Prota, noting his reaction.
“You’ve done magnificent work here madame.”
“Oh, but I can’t take credit for that. None of us can really.”
Rene frowned at this curious remark. He had never seen such a formation, not in all his lifetime spent beneath the ground. At first glance he had marveled at the hands and minds of those whose craft had shaped the place. But now he remembered that there was no way the working crews could have completed such a thing within a few weeks. He put it down as just another one of nature’s novelties.
At the end of the hallway men with picks carefully chipped away at a section of collapsed tunnel, supervised by an engineer.
“What’s behind that?” he asked eagerly.
“One of the sloping tunnels that run beneath the eastern segment where the collateral damage was greatest. We have yet to uncover most of them, but the engineers assure me that beyond this obstruction the tunnel ceilings remain intact. We’d try explosives but we’re afraid the whole place would come crashing down about our ears.”
They entered a small side chamber attached to the basilica, where cots had been arranged for them to sit upon. A medical orderly stood ready to receive them, needle and thread in hand. Deschane sat, wincing as they jabbed at his opened head wound, and delivered his report. Prota stood and occasionally nodded her head, her face devoid of emotion. Until, that is, they stated their estimation of the size of Mound Euler. Then she looked up sharply, asked:
“How large did you say?”
“Ensign, if you please.”
Rene produced the map.
“Madame, around here is where the primary towers are. The new cluster of secondary feeder towers were here. Assuming that the mound is of the usual ovoid shape, and that it’s major axis stretches between these two points, this would be its approximate size.”
He drew the outline with his finger.
“But that would make it-”
“Exactly. Greater than all our core settlements combined. And so,” concluded Deschane, “Given the magnitude of this threat, admiral, I must respectfully request that you evacuate Outpost 13 as soon as possible.”
“I understand. Thank you for bringing this to our attention. You are to be praised for having made it here in one piece. Both of you,” she added, nodding at Rene, who was surprised to be acknowledged.
“But you must understand,” she continued with a set look on her weathered face, “Retreat is not an option for us here at 13.”
Deschane sat up.
“It is not cowardice to withdraw in the face of certain annihilation.”
“Bravery has nothing to do with it. I suppose I had better tell you. I owe it to you for the men you’ve lost, if nothing else,” she sighed. “Navigator, why do you think Command sent you on your mission?”
Deschane shrugged.
“Overpopulation. Settlements Yohan and Gaus are at maximum capacity. The others will reach theirs soon enough.”
“No. Population factors alone do not warrant full-scale invasion of a large mound. It is too costly, and command does not waste lives when there is little of strategic value to be gained. And there is nothing around here worth the misery of claiming it.”
“Except for Mound 13.” said Rene.
“Correct.” She nodded with approval. “You catch on quick.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Navigator, your men died to keep 13 secure. This small mound is the sole reason that Command wants to push north.”
“But why?”
“As you may have guessed, your operation was the first step towards a wider offensive. To claim this mound permanently we must seize control of all surrounding areas, even if it risks aggravating the enemy into surface skirmishes.”
“Madame, what makes you think that they would confine themselves above the ground?”
She persisted, “Even so. 13 is too valuable to lose.”
“But why?” Rene broke in.
“Tell me ensign, how long have you fought the enemy?”
“All my life. Ever since they found a sealant suit that could fit me.”
“What is your opinion of their intelligence?”
They could adapt to situations and plan with meticulous attention to detail. They made tools, fashioning stone into lethal axes and spear heads. They were capable of highly effective communication, both tactile and pheromonal. They built labyrinthine structures that dwarfed any that man could make.
“They’re clever. Given time, they eventually learn. It makes them very hard to kill,” he said finally.
“But would you say they are sentient?”
He thought for a moment.
“No.”
“Really? Above all else, the Amit display an unwavering hatred of all things human. That they can commit themselves to the utter eradication of an entire species outside of their natural food chain is a clear indication of abstract thought, yes?”
“Forgive me, but what does this have to do with the deaths of my men?”
“That chamber of stars behind you?” she paused, a smile playing over her face, “For that’s what it is, I’m sure you had a similar impression. It isn’t natural. We certainly didn’t make it. They did, though why we are still struggling to guess.”
The orderly finished his work. They stood and returned to the star chamber, gazing about in wonder and confusion.
“All through the past year we have been rebuilding and cataloguing items of interest. Beginning to piece together the connotations of this place. What we have here is the first veritable proof of the Amit race possessing a culture.”
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

Hello, I am hoping that someone is able to help me with this, I want to replace the vanilla legionnaire and storm cloak helmet with the New Legion mod I have installed and Sons of Skyrim. But I am not sure how to do this, any help is much appreciated. I have an image but I cant work out how to attach it :(
This is my load order, if there is a better way to do this I am sorry, this the only way I know.
0 0 Skyrim.esm
1 1 Update.esm
2 2 Dawnguard.esm
3 3 HearthFires.esm
4 4 Dragonborn.esm
254 FE 0 UHDAP - MusicHQ.esp
254 FE 1 UHDAP - en0.esp
254 FE 2 UHDAP - en1.esp
254 FE 3 UHDAP - en2.esp
254 FE 4 UHDAP - en3.esp
254 FE 5 UHDAP - en4.esp
5 5 Unofficial Skyrim Special Edition Patch.esp
254 FE 6 SmoothCam.esl
254 FE 7 SimplyOptimizedScripts.esl
254 FE 8 DwemerGatesNoRelock.esl
254 FE 9 StandingAmbusherFix.esl
254 FE a DisableCharacterLight.esl
254 FE b TheLastJourney.esp
254 FE c AHZmoreHUD.esl
254 FE d TrueHUD.esl
254 FE e OCF.esp
6 6 Natural Waterfalls.esp
254 FE f Natural Waterfalls - Dawnguard.esp
254 FE 10 Natural Waterfalls - Dragonborn.esp
254 FE 11 IceShaderDisabled.esl
7 7 IcyFixes.esm
254 FE 12 IceLODFull.esl
254 FE 13 Partitioned snow Meshes.esl
254 FE 14 ProjectedGlacierSnow.esl
254 FE 15 WindhelmIcicles.esl
254 FE 16 Animated Ice Floes.esp
254 FE 17 Cathedral - 3D Mountain Flowers.esp
254 FE 18 Expressive Facegen Morphs.esl
254 FE 19 Lux - Resources.esp
254 FE 1a Lux Orbis - Master plugin.esm
254 FE 1b Lux - Master plugin.esm
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254 FE 24 Kanjs - The Wolf Queen Books.esl
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254 FE 25 Open World Loot.esp
254 FE 26 OWL Randomized Special Loot.esp
254 FE 27 SkyUI_SE.esp
254 FE 28 MCMHelper.esp
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254 FE 32 hideQuestItems.esp
254 FE 33 AdvancedNotificationLog.esp
254 FE 34 Autorun.esp
254 FE 35 ballistacrashfix.esp
254 FE 36 BetterThirdPersonSelection.esp
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254 FE 38 Werewolf Killcam Remover.esp
254 FE 39 Soul-Cairn Objects Secured.esp
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254 FE 3b ChargeDialogueFix.esp
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254 FE 3d BeardMaskFix.esp
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254 FE 42 StalhrimSourceFix.esp
254 FE 43 Sharpen Other Swords II.esp
254 FE 44 PickpocketReset.esp
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254 FE 52 HornsAreForever.esp
254 FE 53 Riverwood Trader Is A Mess.esp
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254 FE 55 DFF - SkyMiscFix.esp
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254 FE 57 Additional Dremora Faces.esp
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254 FE 63 Scared of Shootings.esp
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254 FE 7f Honorhall Fixes and Expansion.esp
254 FE 80 Vampire Lines Expansion - Orc Addon.esp
254 FE 81 Forsworn and Thalmor Lines Expansion.esp
254 FE 82 CarriageAndStableDialogues.esp
254 FE 83 NPCs React To Necromancy.esp
254 FE 84 Chapter II - Soundtrack mod by Dreyma Music.esp
254 FE 85 Melodies of Civilization.esp
254 FE 86 Still.esp
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254 FE 90 BlackreachCosmeticPatch.esp
254 FE 91 BlackReachCosmetic - USSEP.esp
254 FE 92 BlackReachCosmetic - DwemGates.esp
254 FE 93 ALT - Barrels - Diversity - BOS.esp
254 FE 94 Guild Master's Armor First Person Texture Fix.esp
254 FE 95 ALT - Crates - BOS.esp
254 FE 96 Skoglendi - A Grass Mod.esp
254 FE 97 Cathedral - 3D Solstheim Grass.esp
32 20 Landscape Fixes For Grass Mods.esp
254 FE 98 Landscape For Grass Mods - Military Camps.esp
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254 FE 99 CG4 Fx_SnowEffectsMerge.esp
34 22 Footprints.esp
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254 FE 9c CGF - Location Data.esp
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35 23 Moss Rocks.esp
36 24 S3DRocks.esp
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254 FE a1 Shaders of Solstheim.esp
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254 FE a5 WIZ_FoscsF.esp
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254 FE a6 Subtypes of Snowberries.esp
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254 FE a7 BentPines.esp
42 2a waterplants.esp
254 FE a8 HappyLittleShrubs.esp
254 FE a9 IvyAnim.esp
254 FE aa DiverseDragonTongues.esp
254 FE ab DiverseNightShade.esp
254 FE ac Gildergreen Is Really Thicc HD.esp
254 FE ad Gildergreen Is Really Thicc HD - Seasons.esp
254 FE ae mihailchickensandchicks.esp
254 FE af mihailhangingchickens.esp
254 FE b0 mihailwolvesofcyrodiil.esp
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254 FE b1 MihailChickenFixes.esp
254 FE b2 mihailhawkandtern.esp
254 FE b3 UniqueBarbas.esp
254 FE b4 Unique Barbas Height Tweak.esp
254 FE b5 Realistic_Sized_Firefly.esp
254 FE b6 mihailshellbug.esp
254 FE b7 MihailShell - USSEP.esp
254 FE b8 MihailShellbug - USSEP.esp
254 FE b9 Skyrim Snow Dogs.esp
254 FE ba ArmoredSnowDogs.esp
254 FE bb mihailcowvariants.esp
254 FE bc spookier ghosts.esp
44 2c Real Solitude Rocks.esp
254 FE bd Stones of Solitude.esp
45 2d Hellish Hounds.esp
46 2e XPMSE.esp
254 FE be BarbasENBLightAddon.esp
254 FE bf sbbe.esp
254 FE c0 DynamicAnimalVariantsPlus.esp
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254 FE c1 Bears of the North.esp
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254 FE c2 HagravenSkinShaders.esp
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254 FE c3 mihailgiantclubvariety.esp
254 FE c4 EVE - Ghost Mechanics and Shaders Restored.esp
254 FE c5 EVE Ghost Mechanics - Ghostblade Patch.esp
254 FE c6 EVE Ghost Mechanics - Forelhost Patch.esp
254 FE c7 EVE - USSEP.esp
254 FE c8 RedDragonCultist.esp
254 FE c9 RedDragon - EVE.esp
50 32 DiverseDragonsCollectionSE.esp
254 FE ca GoTDragonsEnemy.esp
254 FE cb Natura - Spriggans.esp
254 FE cc mihailfirewyrmandmagicanomaly.esp
254 FE cd MihailFire - USSEP.esp
51 33 AUTOMATON_GLOW.esp
254 FE ce Diverse Fences BOS.esp
254 FE cf FYX - Palace of the Kings - Simplicity of Snow Parallax Fix.esp
254 FE d0 GDOS - Glorious Solitude Door - Rotation Fix.esp
254 FE d1 GDOS - Splendid Mechanized Dwemer Door.esp
254 FE d2 Optimized_Navmesh_Whiterun.esp
254 FE d3 Solitude Clock Tower.esp
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254 FE d4 MoreWoodenBridges.esp
254 FE d5 Vanilla Gravestones Improvement.esp
254 FE d6 East Empire Strongbox Logo.esp
254 FE d7 Diverse Catches BOS.esp
254 FE d8 Rally's Nord War Horns - Unique Torygg's Horn.esp
53 35 Book Covers Skyrim Updated.esp
254 FE d9 BCS - SkyMiscFix.esp
254 FE da Varied Chests.esp
254 FE db VariChest - USSEP.esp
254 FE dc Nordic Ruins Sulfur Parallax.esp
254 FE dd NewGlazedPottery.esp
254 FE de NewNordicPottery.esp
254 FE df Rally's Crates.esp
54 36 Snazzy Furniture and Clutter Overhaul.esp
254 FE e0 PraedysElderScrollSoulCairnFix.esp
55 37 Diverse Candles.esp
56 38 dD - Enhanced Blood Main.esp
57 39 ISC Enhanced Blood Patch.esp
254 FE e1 Smoking Torches And Candles.esp
254 FE e2 Rudy Nordic Pottery SSE.esp
254 FE e3 StrosMKaiRum.esp
254 FE e4 JS Barenziah SE - Johnskyrim.esp
58 3a JS Armored Circlets SE.esp
254 FE e5 JSArmorCirc - USSEP.esp
254 FE e6 JS Unique Utopia SE - Rings - Standalone.esp
254 FE e7 JS Knapsacks SE.esp
254 FE e8 Praedy's SoulEssenceGem.esp
254 FE e9 Praedy's SoulGems.esp
254 FE ea Praedy's Gemstones.esp
254 FE eb Saeri_AetherialCrown.esp
254 FE ec PraedysSkulls.esp
254 FE ed PraedySkull - EVE.esp
254 FE ee HD Quill of Germination - Dark.esp
254 FE ef ALT - The Snow Elves Throne - BOS.esp
254 FE f0 Dynamic Things Alternative.esp
254 FE f1 Simple Snow Improvements - Skyrim.esp
254 FE f2 Diverse Firewood Piles DTA Patch.esp
254 FE f3 Diverse Firewood Piles.esp
254 FE f4 Simple Snow Improvements - Solstheim Ruins.esp
254 FE f5 Simple Snow Improvements - Giant Obelisk.esp
254 FE f6 Simple Snow Improvements - Snow Forts.esp
254 FE f7 man_DaedricShrines.esp
254 FE f8 man_DaedricShrines - Azura Loading Screen by Xtudo.esp
254 FE f9 man_DaedricShrines - Azura Statue Replacer by Xtudo.esp
254 FE fa man_DaedricShrines - Namira Navmeshed by Xtudo.esp
254 FE fb man_DaedricShrines - Molag Bal - Not a replacer by Xtudo.esp
254 FE fc man_dibella.esp
254 FE fd man_kynarethStatue.esp
254 FE fe ElSopa - Potions Redone - My patches by Xtudo - Falmer Blood Elixir.esp
254 FE ff ElSopa - Potions Redone - My patches by Xtudo - Missing Vanilla Potions.esp
59 3b Diverse Foods.esp
254 FE 100 Diverse Foods Hearthfires Patch.esp
254 FE 101 Diverse_Breads_BOS.esp
254 FE 102 Alchemy Station Variants _ Clean.esp
60 3c The Red Wave Fix.esp
254 FE 103 Ships on the Horizon.esp
254 FE 104 JS Instruments of Skyrim SE - Uniques.esp
254 FE 105 JSInstrument - USSEP.esp
254 FE 106 DAV_HiddenEquipment.esp
254 FE 107 UniqueDragonPriests_XB.esp
254 FE 108 Snazzy Bookcases.esp
254 FE 109 Snazzy Noble Wardrobes.esp
254 FE 10a Snazzy Safes.esp
254 FE 10b Snazzy Upper Wardrobes.esp
254 FE 10c Snazzy Common Wardrobes.esp
254 FE 10d Snazzy Ruins Chests.esp
254 FE 10e Snazzy Ruins Chests - USSEP Patch.esp
254 FE 10f Snazzy Strongboxes.esp
254 FE 110 Imperial Tents - Animated.esp
254 FE 111 Small Nordic Tent-Animated.esp
254 FE 112 Skyland Large Nordic Tent - Animated.esp
254 FE 113 Falmer Huts - Animated.esp
254 FE 114 Hagraven Houses - Animated.esp
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254 FE 115 Dremora Lines Expansion.esp
254 FE 116 DapperDeliveries_CourierOverhaul.esp
254 FE 117 WiZkiD ENB Windows.esp
62 3e High Poly Head Vampire Fix.esp
63 3f RSChildren.esp
254 FE 118 Dremora Combat Dialogue Tweak - Dremora Lines Expansion.esp
254 FE 119 RealisticRSChildren.esp
254 FE 11a Children of the Pariah.esp
254 FE 11b BeastHHBB.esp
254 FE 11c BeastHHBB - Kharjo Alt.esp
64 40 PrinceandPauper.esp
254 FE 11d PrinceandPauperRefine.esp
65 41 RaceMenuMorphsCBBE.esp
254 FE 11e Serana Re-Imagined.esp
254 FE 11f DynamicArmorMenu.esp
254 FE 120 DynamicLoweredHoods.esp
254 FE 121 KaliliesBrows.esp
254 FE 122 Beards of Power.esp
254 FE 123 KSHairdosSMP.esp
254 FE 124 KSWigsSMP.esp
254 FE 125 _Fuse00HairPack01.esp
254 FE 126 _Fuse00HairPack02_ESL.esp
254 FE 127 GMsHair aXing.esp
254 FE 128 Xing SMP Hairs and Wigs - Dint999.esp
254 FE 129 Xing SMP Hairs and Wigs - Fuse.esp
254 FE 12a Xing SMP Hairs and Wigs - HHairstyles.esp
66 42 YunDao_Hdt_Hair.esp
254 FE 12b Beards.esp
254 FE 12c Brows.esp
254 FE 12d Glowing Eyes.esp
254 FE 12e TheEyesOfBeauty.esp
254 FE 12f KaliliesBrowsMales.esp
254 FE 130 BnP -Eyepack.esp
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254 FE 131 BeastHHBB - VHR SMP.esp
254 FE 132 ObiWarpaintsTattoos.esp
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70 46 CommunityOverlays3.esp
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254 FE 134 CBBE.esp
254 FE 135 OBody.esp
254 FE 136 3BBB.esp
254 FE 137 BnP - Skinfix.esp
254 FE 138 StormLightning.esp
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254 FE 13a MoonsAndStars.esp
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254 FE 13b Sprites or Specters ENB Light.esp
254 FE 13c Frost Meshes Patch.esp
76 4c DustEffectsSSE.esp
77 4d SparklesSE.esp
254 FE 13d FleshFX.esp
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79 4f Attack_DXP.esp
254 FE 13e Keytrace.esp
254 FE 13f Precision.esp
254 FE 140 Dynamic Impact - Slash Effects X.esp
254 FE 141 Dynamic Impact - Slash Effects X-02ISC.esp
254 FE 142 scar-adxp-patch.esp
80 50 MaximumCarnage.esp
81 51 SekiroCombat_II.esp
82 52 nwsFollowerFramework.esp
254 FE 143 Cancel Attack.esp
254 FE 144 FEC.esp
254 FE 145 Disable Turn Animation.esp
254 FE 146 Smooth Animation.esp
254 FE 147 ImprovedAlternateConversationCamera.esp
254 FE 148 Infinite Stamina Out of Combat.esp
254 FE 149 DynamicBlockHit.esp
254 FE 14a Dynamic Sprint.esp
254 FE 14b SmoothJumpINISettings.esp
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254 FE 14c Sprint Stop.esp
254 FE 14d DSI - AOS.esp
254 FE 14e DSI - Frost.esp
254 FE 14f PSI.esp
254 FE 150 PSI AOS Patch.esp
254 FE 151 Player Spell Lighting.esp
254 FE 152 PSL - SkyMiscFix.esp
254 FE 153 Elegant Candlelight.esp
254 FE 154 Elegant Magelight.esp
254 FE 155 Dawnstar Shore- A Texture Fix.esp
84 54 Quick Start - SE.esp
254 FE 156 LightsOn.esp
254 FE 157 QuickStart - AVO Tweaks.esp
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254 FE 158 CreepClusterCollisionFixes_HFPlanting.esp
254 FE 159 Forgotten Vale Map Markers.esp
254 FE 15a Markarth LOD Unlock.esp
254 FE 15b Lux Orbis.esp
254 FE 15c Lux Orbis - USSEP patch.esp
254 FE 15d Lux Orbis - Northern Marsh Bridges patch.esp
254 FE 15e LuxOrbis - SpiderImbu.esp
254 FE 15f Lux Orbis - Daedric Shrines AiO Patch.esp
254 FE 160 LuxOrbis - MarkarthLod.esp
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254 FE 161 Lux - Embers XD patch.esp
254 FE 162 Lux - USSEP patch.esp
254 FE 163 Lux - No grass in caves patch.esp
254 FE 164 Lux - Solitude Catacombs Tweak patch.esp
254 FE 165 Lux - Daedric Shrines AiO Patch.esp
254 FE 166 SpiceOfLife - OrcLStrongholds.esp
254 FE 167 Spice of Life - Fyx 3D Stockades Walls and Gate Parallax.esp
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254 FE 168 Windhelm Entrance Fix.esp
254 FE 169 WindhelmFakeWindowsFix.esp
254 FE 16a Lux Orbis - Riften Sconce Patch.esp
254 FE 16b Lux Orbis - Windhelm Entrance FYX patch.esp
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254 FE 16c Water for ENB - Patch - Darker LOD Water.esp
254 FE 16d Water for ENB - Patch - Landscape Fixes for Grass Mods.esp
254 FE 16e Water for ENB - Patch - Cabbage ENB.esp
254 FE 16f W4ENB - PatchOverwrites.esp
254 FE 170 Lux - Water for ENB patch.esp
254 FE 171 W4ENB - Lux - AcousticSpaceFixes.esp
254 FE 172 Lux - W4ENBOverwrites.esp
254 FE 173 Natural Waterfalls - Water for ENB Patch (Shades of Skyrim).esp
254 FE 174 NAT - SoS - AoS Patch.esp
254 FE 175 SoS_NATENB_Patch.esp
254 FE 176 AOS_EBT Patch.esp
254 FE 177 RYFTEN - Consistency of windows in Riften.esp
254 FE 178 DawnguardBanner.esp
254 FE 179 DawnGuardDoors.esp
254 FE 17a HPP - My fixes by Xtudo - Chopping Blocks.esp
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254 FE 17b PrinceandPauperRefine_BYOHFixes.esp
254 FE 17c PrinceandPauperRefine_MultipleAdoptions.esp
254 FE 17d PrinceandPauperRefine_NPCs_RSChildrenRealistic.esp
254 FE 17e RRSC-Prince&Pauper-Patch.esp
254 FE 17f ForswornRetexture Unique Armor of the Old Gods.esp
254 FE 180 CotP-USSEP Patch.esp
254 FE 181 PnP - HFMultiKid Patch.esp
254 FE 182 SparklesSE - Immersive Sounds Patch.esp
254 FE 183 ADF - ModNPC - Patch.esp
254 FE 184 DarkElfVoicesForBandits - ModNPC - Patch.esp
254 FE 185 ISC - PSoulGems - Patch.esp
254 FE 186 Kanjs TWQB - BoS - Patch.esp
254 FE 187 DWC Deleveled patch.esp
254 FE 188 FOLIP.esp
254 FE 189 Eldergleam - Grass Bound Data Patch.esp
91 5b Atlas Map Markers.esp
254 FE 18a Blackreach Paper Map for FWMF.esp
254 FE 18b Sovngarde Paper Map for FWMF.esp
254 FE 18c Apocrypha Paper Map for FWMF.esp
254 FE 18d Forgotten Vale Map for FWMF.esp
254 FE 18e Soul Cairn Paper Map for FWMF.esp
254 FE 18f Water for ENB - Patch - FWMF for Fantasy Paper Maps.esp
92 5c Synthesis.esp
93 5d DynDOLOD.esp
254 FE 190 Occlusion.esp
94 5e FNIS.esp
254 FE 191 LUX - Apocrypha Patch - Rudy ENB NAT.esp
254 FE 192 NAT - Patch - Rudy ENB.esp
254 FE 193 NightEyeENBFix.esp
95 5f NW_Sons_of_Skyrim.esp
96 60 Sons of Skyrim Windhelm Shield Fix.esp
254 FE 194 SonS_HDT_patch.esp
97 61 DIS_Heavy_Legion.esp
254 FE 195 ISC - Heavy Legion patch.esp
98 62 DBVO.esp
99 63 Dawn of Skyrim.esp
254 FE 196 Modpocalypse NPCs (v3) Dawn of Skyrim.esp
100 64 The Great Cities - Minor Cities and Towns.esp
254 FE 197 Modpocalypse NPCs (v3) The Great Cities Minor Cities and Towns.esp
254 FE 198 CraftingAnimations.esp
101 65 Trees in Cities.esp
254 FE 199 Trees in Cities Dawn of Skyrim Patch.esp
102 66 WhiterunDefenses.esp
254 FE 19a FYX - Fortified Whiterun Consistency.esp
254 FE 19b Fortified Whiterun - Full Version - Dawn of Skyrim 1.5 patch.esp
103 67 Settlements Expanded SE.esp
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254 FE 19c Modpocalypse NPCs (v3) Settlements Expanded.esp
254 FE 19d Strongholds - Largashbur.esp
254 FE 19e Lux Orbis - Strongholds - Largashbur Patch.esp
254 FE 19f Strongholds - Narzulbur.esp
254 FE 1a0 Lux Orbis - Strongholds Narzulbur Patch.esp
254 FE 1a1 Strongholds - Dushnikh Yal 2.0.esp
254 FE 1a2 Lux Orbis - Strongholds Dushnikh Yal 2.0 Version.esp
254 FE 1a3 Strongholds - Mor Khazgur.esp
254 FE 1a4 Lux Orbis - Strongholds Mor Khazgur Patch.esp
105 69 Undriel_QuaintRavenRock.esp
254 FE 1a5 Daedric Shrines by Mandragorasprouts - Quaint Raven Rock Add-on.esp
106 6a Tel Mithryn.esp
107 6b Skaal Village.esp
254 FE 1a6 Greater Skaal Village - RS Children Patch.esp
108 6c SeranaDialogAddon.esp
109 6d Castle Volkihar Rebuilt.esp
254 FE 1a7 Castle Volkihar Rebuilt - SDAO Patch.esp
254 FE 1a8 CathFlowersCRFPatch.esp
110 6e BarenziahQuestMarkers.esp
111 6f Run For Your Lives.esp
112 70 HoldBorderBanners.esp
254 FE 1a9 DragonCombatDialogue.esp
113 71 Relationship Dialogue Overhaul.esp
114 72 Runandwalkpaces.esp
254 FE 1aa Sleeping Expanded.esp
254 FE 1ab Reanimated Detector.esp
115 73 SimplyFasterArrows.esp
116 74 ZIA_Complete Pack.esp
117 75 DIS_Armor_Fractions.esp
118 76 PrvtIRoyalArmory.esp
119 77 TheChoiceIsYours.esp
254 FE 1ac PaarthurnaxQuestExpansion.esp
254 FE 1ad College Of Winterhold - Quest Expansion.esp
254 FE 1ae Cow_EasyEditionPatch.esp
254 FE 1af COW_RS_Patch.esp
254 FE 1b0 HouseOfHorrorsQuestExpansion.esp
254 FE 1b1 House o fHorrors - TCIY Patch.esp
254 FE 1b2 Caught Red Handed - Quest Expansion.esp
254 FE 1b3 CRH_USSEP Patch.esp
254 FE 1b4 TheOnlyCureQuestExpansion.esp
254 FE 1b5 Nilheim_MiscQuestExpansion.esp
254 FE 1b6 The Whispering Door - Quest Expansion.esp
254 FE 1b7 The Whispering Door QE - USSEP Patch.esp
254 FE 1b8 Innocence Lost - Quest Expansion.esp
254 FE 1b9 Innocence Lost QE - The Choice Is Yours Patch.esp
254 FE 1ba Innocence Lost QE - USSEP Patch.esp
120 78 Less Tedious Thieves Guild.esp
254 FE 1bb The Heart Of Dibella - Quest Expansion.esp
254 FE 1bc The Heart of Dibella QE - RS Children Patch.esp
121 79 Blowing in the Wind SSE.esp
122 7a Blowing in the Wind - SMIM Merged All Patch SSE.esp
123 7b CWB.esp
254 FE 1bd CWB_USSEP Patch.esp
254 FE 1be FaceSculptorExpanded.esp
124 7c Immersive Patrols II.esp
254 FE 1bf Modpocalypse NPCs (v3) Immersive Patrols SE.esp
125 7d SkyrimReputation_SSE.esp
254 FE 1c0 Skyrim Reputation Patch.esp
126 7e AK- Namira for Good Guys.esp
127 7f TCBM.esp
128 80 SaveTheIcerunner.esp
254 FE 1c1 Skyrim Reputation - Heart of Dibella.esp
254 FE 1c2 Skyrim Reputation - Innocence Lost.esp
254 FE 1c3 Skyrim Reputation - Penitus Oculatus.esp
254 FE 1c4 LCO_Framework.esp
254 FE 1c5 LCO_FourSkullLookout.esp
254 FE 1c6 LCO_FalkreathWatchtower.esp
254 FE 1c7 LCO_DragonBridgeOverlook.esp
254 FE 1c8 LCO_CradleStoneTower.esp
254 FE 1c9 LCO_BthalftRuins.esp
254 FE 1ca LCO_BleakwindBluff.esp
254 FE 1cb LCO_BleakFallsTower.esp
254 FE 1cc LCO_BannermistTower.esp
254 FE 1cd LCO_LostValleyRedoubt.esp
254 FE 1ce LCO_MarasEyeDen.esp
254 FE 1cf LCO_MolderingRuin.esp
254 FE 1d0 LCO_Nilheim.esp
254 FE 1d1 LCO_PinefallBridge.esp
254 FE 1d2 LCO_PinemoonCave.esp
254 FE 1d3 LCO_RedwaterDen.esp
254 FE 1d4 LCO_RiftWatchtower.esp
254 FE 1d5 LCO_ShorsWatchtower.esp
254 FE 1d6 LCO_SnowpointBeacon.esp
254 FE 1d7 LCO_StendarrsBeacon.esp
254 FE 1d8 radiantBlocker.esp
254 FE 1d9 Lux patch for FWMF.esp
254 FE 1da MCM for FWMF.esp
129 81 Bells of Skyrim.esp
254 FE 1db Bells of Skyrim - Fortified Whiterun Patch.esp
130 82 CivilWarCheckpoints - All.esp
254 FE 1dc Undriel_QRR Nav Fixed Patch.esp
131 83 Windhelm Exterior Altered.esp
132 84 WindhelmEntranceOverhaul.esp
133 85 CEOWindhelm - Windhelm Exterior Altered Patch.esp
254 FE 1dd CEOWindhelm - Trees in Cities Patch.esp
134 86 CEOWindhelm Navmesh Patch.esp
135 87 Markarth Entrance Overhaul.esp
136 88 Solitude Docks.esp
254 FE 1de RSChildren - Solitude Docks.esp
137 89 RealisticNordShips2.0.esp
254 FE 1df Great City of Dawnstar - DK's Nord Ships Patch.esp
254 FE 1e0 RedWaveCorsairs.esp
254 FE 1e1 RedWaveCorsairsLuxPatch.esp
254 FE 1e2 RedWaveCorsairsRealisticNordShipsPatch.esp
254 FE 1e3 Occ_Skyrim - TGC Minor Cities and Towns patch.esp
254 FE 1e4 Occ_Skyrim-Solitude_Docks_Patch.esp
254 FE 1e5 Occ_Skyrim_City-Entrances-Overhaul-Markarth_patch.esp
254 FE 1e6 Occ_Skyrim_City-Entrances-Overhaul-Windhelm_patch.esp
254 FE 1e7 Occ_Skyrim_Dawn-of-Skyrim_patch.esp
254 FE 1e8 Occ_Skyrim_Fortified-Whiterun_patch.esp
254 FE 1e9 Occ_Skyrim_Windhelm-Exterior-Altered_patch.esp
254 FE 1ea Grass FPS Booster.esp
254 FE 1eb EastEmpireCompanyArmor.esp
254 FE 1ec Titus Mede I's Armor.esp
254 FE 1ed Sons of Skyrim - Lux Orbis Patch.esp
138 8a Immersive Citizens - AI Overhaul.esp
139 8b Bells of Skyrim - Dawn of Skyrim DC Patch.esp
140 8c Bells of Skyrim - ICAIO Patch.esp
254 FE 1ee SFCO - Castle Volkihar Rebuilt Patch.esp
254 FE 1ef SFCO - Immersion Patch.esp
254 FE 1f0 SFCO - Immersive Citizens Patch.esp
254 FE 1f1 SFCO - The Great Cities Patch.esp
254 FE 1f2 SFCO - USSEP Patch.esp
254 FE 1f3 Landscape and Water Fixes - Immersive Citizens.esp
254 FE 1f4 Immersive Citizens Jorrvaskr Door Fix.esp
254 FE 1f5 The Great Cities - Minor Cities and Towns Falkreath ICAO Patch.esp
254 FE 1f6 Dawn of Skyrim - AI Overhaul Patch.esp
254 FE 1f7 DIS_Heavy_Legion_USSEP+WACCF.esp
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142 8e DudestiaOutfitChanger.esp
254 FE 1f8 Lux - Castle Volkihar Rebuilt patch.esp
254 FE 1f9 Lux - Greater Skaal Village.esp
254 FE 1fa Lux - Honorhall Orphanage Expansion patch.esp
254 FE 1fb Lux - NAT ENB.esp
254 FE 1fc Lux - Penitus Oculatus.esp
254 FE 1fd Lux - Quaint Raven Rock patch.esp
254 FE 1fe Lux - Ryften Windows patch.esp
254 FE 1ff Lux - Save the Icerunner patch.esp
254 FE 200 Lux - Settlements Expanded.esp
254 FE 201 Lux - SoS compatibility patch.esp
254 FE 202 Lux - Tel Mithryn patch.esp
254 FE 203 Lux - The Great Cities - Minor Cities and Towns patch.esp
254 FE 204 Lux - Water for ENB (Shades of skyrim) patch.esp
254 FE 205 Lux - Dawn of skyrim Patch.esp
254 FE 206 Lux - HearthfireMultikid Patch.esp
254 FE 207 Lux - HonorHall Fixes And Expansion Patch.esp
254 FE 208 Lux - nwsFollowerFramework Patch.esp
254 FE 209 Lux - Immersive Citizens patch.esp
254 FE 20a Lux - Solitude Docks patch.esp
254 FE 20b Lux - Windhelm Entrance Overhaul patch.esp
143 8f DBM_RelicNotifications.esp
254 FE 20c LOTD Exterior Fixes.esp
254 FE 20d better lotd gate.esp
254 FE 20e BetterSancreTorNavmesh.esp
254 FE 20f DBM_AmuletOfKings.esp
254 FE 210 Extravagant_DBM_Patch.esp
254 FE 211 fate card retexture.esp
254 FE 212 lotd_smim.esp
254 FE 213 Modpocalypse NPCs (v3) Legacy of the Dragonborn.esp
254 FE 214 BCS_TCIY_Patch.esp
254 FE 215 DBM_3DROCKS_Patch.esp
254 FE 216 DBM_DawnofSkyrimDC_Patch.esp
254 FE 217 DBM_ISC_Patch.esp
254 FE 218 DBM_Namira_Patch.esp
254 FE 219 DBM_NewLegion_Patch.esp
254 FE 21a DBM_QuaintRavenRock_Patch.esp
254 FE 21b DBM_RoyalArmory_Patch.esp
254 FE 21c DBM_RSChildren_Patch.esp
254 FE 21d DBM_SMIM_Patch.esp
254 FE 21e DBM_TheGreatCitiesMinor_Patch.esp
254 FE 21f DBM_TreesinCities_Patch.esp
254 FE 220 DBM_WACCF_Patch.esp
254 FE 221 DBM_ZimsThaneWeapons_Patch.esp
254 FE 222 LOTD_TCC_ZimThane.esp
254 FE 223 Lux - Legacy of the Dragonborn - Royal Armoury patch.esp
254 FE 224 Lux - Legacy of the Dragonborn patch.esp
254 FE 225 Occ_Skyrim-Legacy_of_Dragonborn_patch.esp
254 FE 226 DBM_OWL.esp
254 FE 227 Markarth Road Finished.esp
254 FE 228 Museumfront Blended Roads Patch.esp
254 FE 229 Solitude Braziers.esp
254 FE 22a LotD Textures.esp
254 FE 22b LotD Textures0.esp
254 FE 22c LotD Textures1.esp
254 FE 22d LotD Textures2.esp
254 FE 22e LotD Textures3.esp
254 FE 22f LotD Textures4.esp
254 FE 230 LotD Textures5.esp
254 FE 231 LotD Textures6.esp
254 FE 232 DBM_HallOfHeroesLight.esp
254 FE 233 Daedric Shrines by Mandragorasprouts - LOTD Add-on.esp
254 FE 234 RMB SPID - Core.esp
254 FE 235 Better Rkund Maze Navmesh.esp
254 FE 236 RMB SPID - Sons of Skyrim - LLI Additions.esp
254 FE 237 RMB SPID - Sons of Skyrim.esp
254 FE 238 RMB SPID - New Legion.esp
254 FE 239 RMB SPID - New Legion - Recipes.esp
254 FE 23a RMB SPID - New Legion - Always wear helmets.esp
144 90 FWMF for Fantasy Paper Maps.esp
254 FE 23b LegacyoftheDragonborn - Sons of Skyrim patch by Xtudo.esp

[First] [Previous] [Next]
Edited by the man himself, WaveOfWire
- - - - -
Many thoughts whisked throughout the cook’s mind, each spanning from uncertainty about his situation to relief that his fellow villagers had somehow managed to not only find a settlement, but that of a star-sent’s—something he never thought to see in his lifetime! Yet, somehow, the most prevailing impression on his mind at that moment was… Just what spices were imbued into this meat?
It was foolish. He was surrounded by castles made of metal, Malkrin donned in equipment finer and more advanced than that of the high priestess’ holy guards, and a deity’s chosen being… but all he could think about was how a sauce could somehow dance upon his tongue with sweetness, tang, and spice all at once! His home island was small, but whenever merchants had arrived to exchange goods, he always pressured the tavern’s owner to barter for the finest foods. She was always so kind to him, abiding by his request and delivering him herbs and roots grown in the capitol’s isle. He tinkered and melded their mixed tastes, creating some of the finest meals within the entire kingdom.
His achievements felt like nothing in the face of what he had tasted. He had only just now finished the last piece of his meal, its flavor being savored for as long as possible. It was a miracle it had not poached it from him yet, given how quickly the females devoured their portions. The food was such a small thing in the grand scheme of things, yet it would not leave his consciousness. Malkrin from across the kingdom would have flocked to the inn he worked at for a taste of this concoction. The pink male looked up from the empty, cubic plate he was given and toward the other side of the blazing pyre, where the star-sent presided.
Night had dawned a while ago, leaving the group in encompassing darkness, save for the fire and the cloud-covered moonlight, faintly glowing atop the grass and reflective castles. The diety-sent had been in the larger castle while the silent ceramist tended to wounds, and then returned to discussing matters of task allotment and living quarters with his entourage of females and the script-keeper. Fortunately, the rest of the villagers were given an audience for the conversation, sitting or standing around the flame’s warmth.
It was much too important to interfere, so the cook did no such thing—interrupting a star-sent and higher-ranking members would be a death sentence either way. Instead, he managed to suspend his questions about the meal and simply observed the world around him. The Goddess-sent sat upon one of the wooden benches, his skin showing a unique white-tan color in contrast to the various shades of reds, greens, or grays of the Malkrin.
When the star-sent first appeared, it was thought that the metal and sturdy cloth along his head and chest were merely a part of his body, given the general description of one delivered to Ershah from a deity. Yet that was simply not true. It was only recently revealed that the armor atop his skull concealed long strands of damp fur. Curious indeed; this one was certainly not Malkrin, no matter how much his form or intent mimicked one. His accompaniment certainly was, however. They consisted of Akula, the guardswoman and apparent fisherwoman, Shar’khee—a paladin of the… land…?—a quiet ceramist, a craftsman, and another star-sent the chef had yet to see. The latter two were within the other massive metal building, whilst the rest currently stood above the ‘Creator.’ Each of them wore some mix of garments completely foreign and unique, though quite pleasing to the eye. Though few in number, their settlement was certainly not hurting for resources or grandeur.
The banished from the village were still in a mix of disbelief and astonishment at the various nonchalant showings of utter opulence—the numerous robust pockets not going unnoticed. That was without mentioning the various fantastical trinkets and tools held within said storage, or even the finely woven cloths that permeated the garbs of the original Malkrin who resided in the settlement. Then, of course, there was the generous offering of hot food and clean water.
He had expected to arrive on the mainland and thus immersed in poor conditions, but by the luck of the Gods, he was blessed with an opportunity to serve under one who could provide luxuries as if they were commonplace. Hopefully, his profession would still be useful…
“…need to start producing that kind of thing anyway, given the blood-moons,” the star-sent admitted to the elder, the words suddenly catching the chef’s attention.
The script-keeper tilted her head, adjusting herself on the wooden bench to sit taller. “Forgive my ignorance, but why would the crimson nights require the production of sturdy walls?”
The Creator raised a brow. “You don’t know about the hordes?”
The elder held still, letting out a wary breath.“The… Hordes?”
“Yeah, the ‘abhorrent,’ come and attack in droves,” he explained, crossing his singular pair of arms over his chest. Scrutiny marred his face. “I thought you guys knew about that.”
A bewildered expression marred the female’s face. “I… ‘Abhorrent?’”
Akula leaned in, hovering above the foreign male. “Harrison, the abhorrent do not reside within the Land kingdom. They are only found on the mainland.”
“Oh. So they aren’t worldwide, huh? That’s… interesting.” He scratched at his chin hair, eyes focused on the fire whilst he thought. “Guess that’s just the island effect. Either way, we’ll need to start some sort of factory line for something sturdier than wood—maybe a compound using the crab shells we’ve harvested. We’ll use it to build a secondary barracks for you, then walls and pillars for defensive emplacements…”
That was… a confusing string of concepts. It barely even registered in the cook’s mind. He spoke of creating walls, housings and… defenses. His title as ‘Creator’ was quite apt, it would appear. However, there were only fourteen inhabitants of the settlement; how could such large projects be completed? Does the Creator’s abilities defy those of mortals, giving him the power to construct anything without difficulty? Then what of fortifications for the blood-moons? Why was their importance stressed to such an extent? Just what were these beasts?
It seemed his questions were held by the script-keeper as well, her nervous intent breaking the short stint of silence. “S-Star-sent… I am still unsure of what you mean by ‘abhorrent.’ What are these beasts?”
The paladin stepped forward from her spot beside the creator. She addressed the others with a grave tone, her cool orange eyes staring down at the older female. “Eight-legged armored cr—tures that number in the hundreds. T—y have no eyes, only rows of jagged and malformed teeth. Their legs are sharp en—gh to rend flesh itself. You need only look to bel—ve.”
She pulled out an odd spear from the numerous bags on her back, holding it out for everyone around the fire to see, causing a few of the villagers to take a step back. Its jagged segments and edges were covered in black tar-like… blood. The weapon was longer than the chef was tall, and capped with a sharp orange point… Was that…?
“This is the leg of such a cr—ture. Its cruel and deformed body makes for an excellent weapon tip.” She slowly exhaled, letting the blunt end of the spear rest on the ground. “Yet, these are but the smallest of the horrors am—gst the mainland… There are some that tower over even my own frills and are impervious to any sword or spear. Other worm-like creatures suck bl—d through a vile proboscis.”
“H-How are you to defeat such beasts?!” one of the fisherwoman twins suddenly exclaimed.
A devious smirk drew along Shar’khee’s maw. “Of course, I have my str—gth and skills as a paladin to deal with many of the abhorrent, but I am afraid my own ability is not en—gh for the hundreds that approach on crimson nights.”
The lumberjack leaned forward from where she stood, a nervous expression on her visage lighting up under the fire’s glow. “Then what possibly could have dealt with such a number?”
“He sits right be—re you, new one.” The paladin stepped back, gesturing towards the star-sent. The highlighted male rolled his eyes and gave his protector an incredulous look. “The Goddess’ chosen is capable of rend—g countless numbers of beasts into gore with his staff and glorious cr—tions.”
“His staff?” the chef questioned, his sudden outburst surprising himself.
Shar’khee pointed at the lengthy piece of metal and wood resting beside the creator. “Indeed. It is capable of spew—g fire and bringing death from any range, fulminating the shelled b—sts without difficulty.”
The banished wore wide eyes, each of them on the edge of their seat in disbelief. Of course a deity-sent would wield such power. The male had already proved his abilities with the otherworldly equipment that surrounded him, yet the guardswoman beside the cook huffed, her glare growing all the more heated with twitching fingers
“Shar…” The star-sent tiredly stopped the paladin before she could continue. He appeared as if he wished to say more, but elected not to. His attention turned to the group surrounding the pyre. “I assume the rest of you’ve had your dinner by now. Tomorrow, I’ll be needing the lot of you to assist in making your new living quarters before profession-specific tasks can be divvied out, and that’ll be quite the project, so it’d be best to get some rest before hand. The bedding materials should be done fabricating, so we can get you all set up in the barracks for the night… Unless you’d prefer to sleep out here…”
“I thank you deeply for your hospitality, star-sent,” the script-keeper returned warmly, bowing her head. “I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that these last few nights have granted us little in the way of slumber… Rest is what these tired souls need the most now.”
The villagers in attendance solemnly nodded in agreement—the sewist even offering a quiet ‘thank you’ to the star-sent, similar to the gray-frilled elder.
“Alright, we’ll be back with mattresses and blankets. Sit tight for a minute.” The foreign male stood up and rolled his shoulders, nodding for the three females of his cohort to follow him toward the second castle.
They returned with bundles of pristine white cloth and sturdy fabrics within a few moments, bringing them into the closest castle’s entrance. The star-sent looked back and invited the villagers inside as the last one to enter.
The tired mass of Malkrin did not take long to follow suit, shuffling into the building with exhausted yet awestruck expressions. The cook was ready to do the same, but noticed something off. The juvenile, who had been sitting nearby, had elected to stay seated. Perhaps it was just his paternal instincts, but ever since the young one was pushed into their group, he and the sewist had done their best to ensure she was in good health during the arduous trip across the sea. They even offered some of their miniscule rations to the withdrawn pup, knowing it to be essential to her growth.
The chef looked at the illuminated entry to the castle, then back at the only remaining Malkrin, deciding to sit back down on the wooden bench beside her. “Do you not wish to enter the castle, young one?”
Her focus was kept on the fire as she slowly shook her head, a nervous tail curled around her waist. Her arms held onto the appendage timidly, her head dipping down apologetically.
“I understand,” he assured, resting a set of his elbows on his knees and looking into the somber eyes of the juvenile. “It is a monumental change for all of us here, to be ripped from our homes and thrown into a foreign land. I could not imagine how you might feel. However, the fact that you have held on thus far is impressive and shows you harbor more courage than most guardswomen. This, I hope, is a trial to test our fortitude. I too am quite apprehensive at the prospect of joining this settlement, yet I cannot help but be hopeful for all our futures. The people here are still unknown to us, but I have a sense that this may be a divine interaction. The Land God himself is telling us that we are on the right track, rewarding us for our conviction with one who is able to feed, house, and defend us.”
He stood up and offered an open palm to the youngling, her eyes finally meeting his. “Come now. You heard how the paladin described the wildlife. It would be much more dangerous to stay out here than the halls of a great metal castle.”
“…Okay,” the juvenile responded flatly, leaving the wooden bench behind. She was a little taller than him despite the difference in winters passed between them.
The great maw of the building took them in. There was no fire or torches, yet it was well-lit and comfortably warm compared to the cool night air outside. A gate stood on the other side of the room, flanked by a staircase to a second floor. Another door to an unknown area sat on the right, while his left was taken up by a mix of apparatuses, an empty section covered by many beds and the other Malkrin. The original inhabitants of the castle were busy assisting the new arrivals, handing out bundles of soft fabric and holding short conversations about the abhorrent or the metal building itself. The elder script-keeper approached the chef and the juvenile as they entered, looking rather worn.
“Goodness, I thought you two were intending on staying out for the evening. The ceramist has prepared a few bedding spots, so you are free to choose those the others have not already claimed.”
He bowed his head in appreciation. “Thank you, elder.”
The older woman left to deal with her tasks, leaving him to find his own cot. The youngling took a hesitant moment to do the same, striding to an open bed and feeling the comfortable give of the unique material. The chef did the same, appreciating the pliable blanket before letting his aching body fall onto it.
The day was long, and hopefully, his slumber would be even longer… He would certainly cherish such.
\= = = = =
Harrison slipped back into the workshop with Sharky right behind him. The new arrivals seemed alright. They were all settled into their temporary beds, falling asleep or making conversation. They looked a lot better than before, and were openly thankful to him and the others, which was nice. Who knew treating people like… well, people would make them feel better. He felt a little bad about just stuffing them in the lobby after Cera and the craftsman moved their beds to what used to be an open dining room, but neither side complained. Plus, you know, ‘temporary’… Maybe he should ask how their housing was formatted in their society.
That’d be a problem for him… soon. For now, his most pressing issue with the entire process was actually procuring the proper supplies for the job. Wood would work just fine, but the thousands of kilograms of harvested carapace were practically staring at him from the corner of the workshop. It was a good source of chitin—a crucial ingredient for pseudomycelium—which could be made into an alternative lightweight building material. It worked great when combined with steel or concrete, but he didn’t have access to an industrial amount of those.
What did he have access to? There was sand to the east, mud to the south, and rocks to the north, which might be a good place to start a quarry. Well, those rocks were a bit too far away to reasonably bring back. It would be better to just make another wooden cabin in that case. The biome was at least four or five kilometers out, if he recalled how far away the walk to the craftsman’s camp was. Hold on… there were clay trinkets in the tents.
Of course there would be clay; streams and rivers were everywhere. With some of the gray stuff, mycelium, and a source of carbon, he could have a massive supply of mycobrick. It would work perfectly for the foundations and walls of a building, even if it wasn’t as strong as carbon-concrete. It only needed water to meld the blocks in place. All he had to do was find a source of the terracotta, and he knew exactly who to ask about locating some. Unfortunately, Cera was most likely asleep by now, and he wasn’t going to ask her to go searching in the dark, so it would have to start tomorrow.
He could at least start on the mycelium production tonight. Even if there was no clay nearby, it would still be useful to have in general. Then, he could turn his attention to the fabricator project—if he wasn’t exhausted by then…
…Actually, he should have been a lot more tired than he was, now that he thought about it. Sure, he was in a radiation-induced coma for several hours, but walking for in heavy equipment, setting up the new power generators, and the ‘Rad-Away’ side effects should have him absolutely spent by now. The tingling that ran up and down his skin was still very much present, so Cera’s tincture must be running through his veins. That may have been the source of it, but there was no confirming it.
He should just appreciate the lack of nausea while it lasted; radiation drugs do well with clearing radical atoms, but their consequences could sometimes be even more taxing than the illness itself. He had firsthand experience with that. Some planets had much more lax nuclear safety codes compared to Luna or Mars, which led to a lot more leakage than a younger Harrison was supposed to withstand. It certainly didn’t help that those Sino-Venusian companies relied mostly on robotic workers—something that the organic engineer certainly was not.
But that was then. Now, he was already at his desk, and there were more than enough ideas swimming in his head about how to tackle the production line ahead of him. Thank God he could be more liberal with the machines used with the advent of additional electricity. Mycelium would not be as short a process as chopping up dead spider-crabs.
- - - - -
Step one: recycled plant matter and water are softly crushed and mixed together in a standard fabricator, producing cellulose and several other essential organic products.
Step two: chitin bricks are mashed and brought into a simple electrolytic separator, where the material is further parted on the molecular scale while keeping the basic structure.
Step three: previous outputs are piped into a lattice chamber. Said machine will layer the inputs with gamma and ultraviolet rays in sync with Zryachi’s fundamental frequencies of organic materials to form the basis of mycelium.
Step four: the slurry is sent through a purification assembly made of several refining machines that filter out impurities, further concentrating the pseudomycelium.
Setting up these machines and ensuring their efficacy would technically be the end of the task Harrison had allotted to himself for that night, but when he got into the zone of researching the process on top of balancing inputs and outputs per minute, he really didn’t feel like stopping himself. It was relaxing, and almost therapeutic in comparison to how stressful and frantic his other projects were. Again, he wasn’t even the slightest bit tired, so he just preemptively whipped up a second line of machines that would mix the ingredients for mycobricks, shape them, and then essentially slow cook them until they were stiff and workable.
It was well past midnight by now. Sharky helped him move the machines responsible for the mycelium process before quickly passing out afterwards, peacefully resting her arms and head on one side of his desk. She left him enough space to work, but it wasn’t a whole lot. Even less, considering the tail anchoring him in place by his calf. He didn’t mind. Besides the late hour and her hard work today, the sudden reveal of Kegara’s settlement’s existence seemed to take a good bit out of her—no thanks to a self-assured Akula, who wanted to boast about their camp in comparison. Shar didn’t know if it was a relief that someone was out there, or if she should be worried after hearing Akula’s and the craftsman’s stories about their practices, but at least she took the news of their presence well. Thankfully, the paladin agreed with his decision to work on their own camp first before doing anything ‘diplomatic.’
Tracy had left about an hour prior, making him the only conscious person in the workshop. He calmly worked away at the computer, its glow illuminating his hands where the dim overhead light’s intensity failed. He was finishing up the final touches of their plans for creating the custom fabricator. They were able to print every component needed, so the task was more or less regulated by how they were supposed to piece it together, and the steps needed to ensure the programming knew what it was doing with the replaced parts. Coding was mostly going to be Tracy’s doing, but he had the time and energy to help with directing some of it to ease her load of work.
A quiet ‘clink’ echoed from the entrance, followed by short taps. His palm subconsciously pressed against the cool Bakelite pump of his shotgun resting against the desk before craning his neck back to observe the entrance to the fabrication floor. He raised his voice just barely enough to be heard for Shar’s sake.
“Who’s there?”
“Mmm’s jus me,” Tracy’s tired voice called back, the words slurring into each other. Her tank-top-clad form slugged through the row of machines toward him, shoulders dropping and eyes squinting like she just woke up.
His brow raised at the sight. “Weren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”
She made it to his desk, lazily pulling up a rolling chair to the opposite side of the table. She noticed the slumbering shark holding his leg hostage and lowered her speech to a mumbling whisper “I was… but I woke up ‘n said ‘no sleeb for me.’”
He watched the technician cross her arms on the table and rest her chin on them, her barely opened eyes staring up at him. “Woke up from what? Nightmares?”
She looked shocked for a moment before averting her gaze. The way she laid her head down muffled her voice. “Y-Yeah… How’d you know?”
Harrison brought his calloused fingers up to rub his eyelids, mending the strain from looking at a computer screen for so long. “Been there. I understand.”
A short silence permeated their conversation before Tracy quietly continued with a half-guilty, half-hopeful expression. “So… d’ya mind if I stay here…? I-I won’t bug you or anything.”
He shook his head. “You’re all good.”
“Thanks.” She yawned, smacking her lips once afterward. “How’re you feeling by the way? Are you in pain… or feeling nauseous?”
“Perfectly fine, actually. I’ve been meaning to ask you about the radiation, though. You mentioned before that you knew something about the ‘artifact’ thing. What was that all about?”
“Huh?” She squinted further, visibly coming to a realization. “Ooooooooooooh… Yeah, the whole anomaly field jus’ shared some similarities to ‘S.T.A.L.K.E.R.’ I don’t know. Anomalies, artifacts, radiation… they’re probably nothing alike, but at least the nail method worked… Glad you made it out of that… It was close.”
The engineer shrugged. A lot of things came a lot closer than he’d like in general. “It’s… fine. I just need to be more prepared for the next time I go out. I know I’ll need a Geiger counter for sure.”
Her face drew into mild horror. “Do you actually plan on going out again?”
“…Yeah? Four AI cores technically aren’t enough to make modern factory equipment, plus we’ll probably start needing the other modules soon. In all honesty, I’d rather not have to, but who else is going to go interact with the equipment out there?”
She looked a little guilty at the subtle insinuation that she wasn’t expected to volunteer, reluctantly accepting that he’d have to go out eventually. “If you have to… I think that the Geiger counter would only work for detecting artifacts.”
“Why’s that?”
“Only time there’s been radiation has been around that rock. Plenty of anomalies are in places without them, and they haven’t irradiated me despite my own close calls.”
He scratched at his chin, contemplating what he saw earlier. “It could be that there were just so many of them in that one area. I mean, the ground itself was completely different from the swamp around it.”
“I don’t know, dude,” she huffed loudly, causing Shar to stir in her sleep. The technician continued, sheepishly lowering her voice. “This shit isn’t a science. All I’m saying is to have something more proactive than a geiger counter. I saw a good few of them on my journey here. Fire geysers, green caustic puddles, whirlwind-looking things, and those invisible meat-grinders you encountered. Each of them have some sort of giveaway. Like, in the anomaly field, you could sort of see them, and there wasn’t any plant life around it, but didn’t they also give off a low hum?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. So… what? Keep an eye out and print an active headset to hear them better?” He leaned forward, resting on two elbows.
She nodded. “Basically. If you see something, avoid it. If you hear something, you start lobbing nails or sticks at whatever like a maniac until you activate it.”
Christ, even with a ‘plan’ like that, it was such a risk to just go outside. The anomalies weren’t super common, but their presence alone made venturing out a big ask. He should probably use a drone or something to learn about the anomalies before he went out next…
When Harrison didn’t respond, Tracy nuzzled her face further into her arm pillows, leaving the engineer to continue his work. He managed to finish the project within twenty minutes, using the extra time to compare and contrast the available fabricator’s components for their efficiency. His venture was quickly stopped when a certain unconscious Malkrin yawned, stretching her limbs out in all directions. Her taloned hand reached out and hooked his own, softly reeling it back in and adding it to her pile of limbs at the end of the desk. She encompassed his arm wholly, pushing every inch of available skin against it as if to suck the very heat out of him.
He reluctantly accepted it, allowing himself to at least appreciate the cool texture of her skin.
Unfortunately, the new unrequested position meant he was unable to do much with the computer. He still wasn’t very tired either, so now what? Was he going to just sit here until the others awoke? He rubbed his forehead with his free arm. A desk wasn’t the most comfortable place to fall asleep. They should be in bed unless they wanted to wake up with random back pains—something he learned the hard way when working late hours.
His sigh sounded throughout the workshop, overpowering the fabricators’ low hum. He slipped his hand out of the paladin’s embrace, her claws amusingly reaching out for it when their source of heat suddenly disappeared.
“…Harr…ison?” Sharky drowsily asked.
He stood up, tapping the waking giant on her unarmored shoulder. “Hey, we gotta get back to bed. Can you get up?”
“Bed…? We?” she paused, her frills subtly vibrating in groggy excitement as she sluggishly got up. “Of… c—rse.”
Harrison nodded, moving to the other side of the table to arouse the other slumbering girl… who wouldn’t respond. His pokes and prods were only returned with ‘mmm’s and other similar grumbles. Fuck it, he wasn’t patient tonight. He crouched down, hooking his arms underneath her knees and back, and lift her up bridal-style… or princess carry… Whatever it was called.
The cold night breeze brought goosebumps as he and Sharky moved to the barracks, the extra weight in his arms combined with the half-awake paladin’s stumbling lengthening the trip considerably. He would have let his massive companion take Tracy, but the maroon female looked like she was ready to fall over at any moment, barely catching her forward momentum with last-minute steps. The technician was evidently also a little cold, unconsciously pushing her head into his shoulder and loosely dragging an arm around his neck. He ignored the soft pressure of her chest against his—the thin tank top’s poor attempt at being a buffer not helping one bit.
He and Shar skirted by the array of passed-out Malkrin in the lobby-slash-dining room area—some snores and infrequent sharp exhales making up the room’s ambient noise—and trudged up the stairs with difficulty. Thankfully, it wasn’t too hard to put the lightweight woman to bed. He slipped the blanket over her shoulders and placed her data pad beside her.
Well, that was done, and the paladin was also presumed to have gone to bed as well. What was he going to do now? He still couldn’t feel the slightest tinge of exhaustion. Should he return to the workshop? What project would he even work on? Would he continue to compare more fabricator parts? That… almost felt like busy work rather than anything important. Could he attempt to set up another wind turbine? No, that was dumb. It was the middle of the night and he was all alone—that was a recipe for disaster. Was there really nothing to do? Maybe something would show up when he went back to the fabrication floor, like improving his weapon or fixing up his armor.
The engineer turned toward the end of the lengthy bunk room to be greeted with a still-awake Shar. Her massive form was but a silhouette in the dim light entering from the door, slightly swaying from side to side atop tired legs. He approached her, a tinge of worry eating at the back of his head before he whispered to her.
“What’s up? Are you alright?”
She responded in her sluggish half-asleep ‘voice.’ “The night is… frigid, d—rest Harrison”
“…Yeah?” he agreed hesitantly, rubbing the back of his sore neck. “I can turn the heat up for you. I don’t mind.”
He took a step towards the thermostat, only to be stopped by a gentle pressure laying lightly on his shoulder. Harrison glanced at the taloned hand, then at Sharky, the maroon-colored Makrin shaking her head, her smoldering orange irises piercing him with a bashful shade of hopefulness.“No… I wish to… borrow y—r warmth…”
An unusual tightness formed in his chest. “Well, I was just about to…”
His speech petered out when he watched her tired expression fall into disappointment and shame, his reasons for leaving drying up in his throat. Suddenly, he wasn’t so against the idea, and he could feel the need to occupy himself fade. An array of excuses ran through his mind as his legs acted on what his mind had yet to settle, abandoning the idea of adjusting the heaters to bring him closer to the alien who seemed so dejected by his deflection.
There wasn’t anything to do anyway, so why not try to fall asleep?
The best sleep he got was with her, so maybe it would help with the sudden onset of insomnia.
She’s done so much for him, so why not oblige such a small request?
There were a thousand ways to justify it, just as there were thousands more to say no. All of those could be considered as he gave his massive protector a defeated smile and waved a hand towards her sleeping space. Her eyes lit up with fatigued elation, waiting for true confirmation of what he meant.
“Yeah, I’ll join you.”
If he was to be honest in the face of all the poor attempts to be logical about his choice… he had no reason to refuse. He just wanted to do something that she liked, and he had grown not to mind the closeness. There wasn’t anything connected to it besides the fact that every time he woke up and found himself dozing next to her in some way, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate it. The way she cradled him with contentment on her face, how her chest rumbled when she purred.
“Thank you.”
Sharky let her mass down onto her nest of blankets and pillows, settling into them. She raised a portion of the cloth for him to enter, looking up at him with content, warm orange eyes. There was no other conclusion, no other decision to make besides accepting her offer. He stopped, briefly considering what he was accepting, but a subtle grab of her tail on his calf all but made the decision for him. He entered her embrace, enjoying the way her cool skin ran across his own in small sparks. She wrapped all four arms around him, pressing him against her wholly. Her head reached down and nuzzled into him, the bridge between her snout and her eyes prodding into his neck. Her feminine eyelashes mildly tickled him, but the sensation was nothing compared to the complete hold she had on him otherwise. And finally, she tied them together with her tail, sealing his fate.
His mind was quick to recall how Akula reacted to him waking up next to Shar, the faux pas reminding him how little he knew about their culture, not to mention his own. He wondered what Tracy would think of him essentially cuddling up to the Malkrin…
Fuck it. He couldn’t care less. He was damn comfortable and fully surrounded by a ten-foot alien with black horns, sharp claws, rows of serrated teeth, enough slender muscles to rival a transport ‘mech, and her entire purpose in life was to ensure his safety. It contrasted the subtle give of her skin, the feeling of his warmth being siphoned off then returned, and the firm yet ginger cage of care that coaxed him into relaxation.
It was infinitely more preferable to fighting hordes of blood-thirsty bugs, coming face-to-face with an invisible anomaly that could turn him into a red paste, or throwing up his guts from radiation poisoning.
No one could tell him it was wrong to appreciate her company.
- - - - -
Question for y'all: Wooden furniture FAL or M1 Garand?
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Reap what your kind has sewn... A monument to all your sins.

This is something I wrote up for fun. I've shared it with my ST and husband, who both think it is a good read. Personally I'm very proud of this, so I decided to share. :) It's a tad clunky and first-draft-ish, especially in the beginning.
I guess the only context you might need is that the estate is basically a privately owned zoo with no public access. Just lots of exotic animals owned by a rich, mysterious Italian guy and maintained by a sizeable live-on-site staff.
Speaking of Italian, I don't! If any native or just skilled speakers notice anything wrong with my interjections please correct me! I had to use Google Translate and ChatGPT to get what I got...
🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸
[CW: Nothing graphic or gratuitous, but does include some implied child grooming & alcohol use]
🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇
“–very excited to meet with you. You have done much to improve the estate’s facilities in your short time here and he wishes to thank you personally.”
Allison responded with a nervous, polite smile. This evening would mark the first time she would meet her potential financial benefactor. Her family would never be able to help her attend the university she dreamed of, but if she impressed Cecil Bianchi her tuition was all but assured.
Her dark hair was cut shoulder length short, which exposed the deep scoop in the back of the black dress that rested on the edges of her shoulders. She had never worn such finery, opting for grungy-but-comfortable flannel and jeans more often than not. But the estate representative who delivered the invitation had insisted on the dress provided. When Allison had reached for her rarely used makeup bag, the woman waved it away.
“The Master doesn't wish his guests to mask their appearances. You are expected to stand before him as nature made you.”
Allison wanted to point out that she wasn't butt-naked, so the point hardly mattered, but she was smart enough to keep such thoughts to herself. The slightly older woman spoke with a thick Italian accent, clearly English was not her first language. Perhaps she had not realized how awkwardly phrased the statement was.
Now she stood in the manor's parlor with the woman. It was lavishly decorated with dark wood and leather furniture. Her shoes, a pair of expensive black strap sandals, seemed to sink into the plush, red carpet.
When the housekeeper motioned for her to take a seat she quickly obeyed and perched on the edge of a sofa.
Time seemed to drag on agonizingly slow. She fidgeted with the hem of the dress, a stray strand of hair, the stubborn grime that stained the underneath of her fingernails.
Finally the door opened, and a young woman motioned for her to rise.
“Follow me. Master Bianchi will see you now.” She spoke so quietly and demurely Alli had to strain to hear her. She looked almost as young as Alli herself, with wavy dark hair that reached almost to the back of her thighs. Allison walked quietly behind her, her curiosity piqued.
They moved through the manor slowly, down a flight of stairs and through a long corridor. When the silence became too much to bear she spoke up. “I don't think we've met,” she said to the girl, “I'm Alli.” She placed her hand on the girl's shoulder amicably.
The girl turned sharply and Alli flinched in surprise. The unassuming and submissive disposition was gone, replaced with a fearsome, terrifying anger.
“Do not touch me!” She practically snarled the words and Alli took an involuntary step back.
The two girls stood there for what felt like an eternity, but lasted only seconds. Allison could feel her heart beating in her chest so hard it was almost painful. She held the strange girl's gaze for as long as she dared, then lowered her eyes.
“I'm sorry,” she offered. The girl stood motionless for a moment more before she spun on her heels and started down the hall at a much brisker pace. Allison let her go several steps before she continued in her wake. The girl's reaction puzzled and disturbed her for reasons she didn't understand. She was uncomfortably reminded of when she was first introduced to the estate's pack of gray wolves: The feeling of being sized up by an animal that knew it could overpower her if it wished, but feared the consequences.
Finally she stopped at one of the doors and waited for Allison to approach. The placid expression had returned to the girl's features and she knocked twice before opening the door.
“Master Bianchi, Miss Allison Miller, as you requested.” She stood to the side to allow Alli entry to the room.
The windowless office was as impressively furnished as the rest of the manor, if not more so. The huge wooden desk looked like the kind of thing one inherited from a long line of great-grandparents. Along one wall stood a leather couch with a low coffee table before it, with a picturesque painting of what she assumed to be a Tuscan-style villa hanging above. A long mirror on the opposing wall reflected the scene back.
Behind the desk, the taxidermied head of a male African lion bore its teeth in an eternal snarl, flanked on either side by three lioness heads in various expressions of lesser ferocity.
Seated in a large leather chair at the desk was a fair skinned, clean-shaven man. His eyes flittered over the few papers before him dismissively. At first she had thought him quite old; the yellow light of the antique writer's lamp cast hevy shadows under his eyes, giving his face an aged and sickly appearance. When he looked up at her, the shadows and gaunt look revealed to be nothing but a trick of the light, and she found him to be much younger than she first thought.
“Allison, my bellissima bocciolino di fiore, a pleasure to finally meet you.” Smiling, he stood and made his way over, giving her a peck on each cheek. She reciprocated awkwardly, reminding herself that it was a typical greeting in Europe. He seemed untroubled by her clumsy response and clasped his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arms length to look at her. His hands brushed the edges of her hair and he chuffed softly, in disapproval perhaps, before he perked up. “Oh where are my manners? Have you eaten this evening?”
“No, sir,” she admitted. She had been too nervous about the meeting to even entertain the idea of dinner.
“Elizabeth, sangu miu,” he said without taking his eyes from Allison's face, “bring our dear guest some food, and that wine I chose earlier.”
The girl, Elizabeth, offered a short curtsy before departing and closing the door behind her.
“Come, let us sit down.” He steered her toward the sofa. Alli sat on the edge and folded her hands on her lap nervously as he settled alongside her.
“I was reading the transcript you submitted when you first applied for your internship here. Very impressive for someone of your age.” He flipped open the manilla folder that rested on the table. An old school photo of Allison smiled back until he started flipping through the pages.
“Ah, um, thank you,” she stammered.
“It was your array of hobbies that I found most fascinating,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “I'm used to aspiring veterinarians and unskilled hobbyists applying. Not many girls are looking to break into the field of evolutionary biology and domestication genetics at only sixteen years old, let alone ones who regularly attend punk band concerts and list ‘bathroom stall poetry’ as their leisure literary preference.”
Allison felt the heat rise to her face, but said nothing as he went on.
“But I'm very glad I agreed to take you in, even though you were a bit young at the time. You’ve proven to be overflowing with potential. How long have you been here now?”
“About three years,” she replied.
“Philosophy, anatomy, Latin, even a short class on theology. Your attention to detail is admirable, and matched only by your tenacity. I've reports from your supervisors that say you are smart and innovative, though a bit headstrong. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing.”
He smiled when she finally looked at his eyes. Her trepidation eased and she found herself smiling back. “I stand by my convictions,” she admitted. “Sometimes those convictions…” She trailed off, looking for the right words.
“Challenge the status quo?” Cecil offered helpfully.
“Yes!” She answered enthusiastically. “I mean, how can someone claim to know what is infallibly true? The world is constantly changing, constantly evolving, and our knowledge has to be just as adaptive. I challenge what people think to be unchanging truths, and if that makes me uncooperative or contrary then so be it. I have stood up for what I believe is right.”
“Small minds have trouble adapting to new ideas,” Cecil agreed. “Many great men –and women–” he added, “were discounted and even killed for ideas and theories that we now take as simple knowledge.”
“Exactly," she agreed. So few figures of authority in her life understood why she was so antithetical.
Just then a soft knock interrupted them.
“Enter,” Cecil called casually. Elizabeth opened the door and curtseyed. In her hands she held a small, open bottle of dark red wine while a young man pushed a silver serving cart into the room behind her.
Allison watched as they unloaded the cart onto the table, and Elizabeth delicately filled two tall stemmed glasses.
“Thank you,” Allison said as she was handed the glass.
“It is my pleasure to serve our Master and his guests.” Though her tone was mild her eyes flashed with undisguised hatred, and Allison swallowed nervously as Elizabeth placed the bottle on the table.
With their task complete the pair retreated from the office without another word.
“Is she always like that?” Alli asked.
“Don't mind her,” Cecil soothed, “Elizabeth has always been a bit jealous of other girls. But she has been with me for many years, and I do cherish her company.” He closed the folder and placed it on the floor next to the table.
“Now, I must insist you partake in this meal, or at the very least, some of this fantastic wine.” Allison lifted the glass and gazed down at the cold red liquid. He lifted his own glass to his lips and paused when he noticed her hesitation. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not really. I've just realized that I've never had wine outside of communion.” She sipped it delicately. To her surprise it was delightfully sweet, and she must have looked shocked at the revelation.
Cecil placed his glass down to keep it from spilling as he laughed. He rested his elbows on his knees and crossed his arms. “Well, what do you think? A bit better than the ol’ watered down ‘blood of Christ,’ yes?”
Allison found herself matching his mirth and had to put her glass down as well, lest she spill the crimson liquid. “Yes, undoubtedly so. My grandmother would shame me for my enjoyment if she were here, let alone drinking at my age.”
“Then we are lucky she is not,” Cecil said with a grin. “I always forget the States have such arbitrary, age restricting laws. Back home, when you are an adult, you are an adult.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But, it matters not. I do insist you eat something though, as I'm sure you know the effects alcohol can have on an empty stomach…”
They sat there for hours, talking about all manner of things. At first the conversation had stayed on the path of her studies, her hobbies, and what her life was like growing up in a tourist town. Eventually the topics became more and more intimate, until she was telling him things she hadn't even yet admitted to herself.
“–even though I haven't written her back in months,” she was mumbling, but Cecil seemed to catch her every word.
At some point the wine had not only stolen all her anxiety, but left her feeling languid and sleepy. She slouched on Cecil's right shoulder, and he was stroking her head gently while she rambled. “I still think about her all the time. Or, often I guess. Sometimes… Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live her. I mean, love her. Live with her. At least I used to. I still do, sometimes, I think.” She reached forward to refill her glass again, only to find the bottle empty. Her brief disappointment was alleviated when Cecil pressed his untouched glass into her hands. She sipped it eagerly with sleepy eyes. “I think about you like that too.”
“Yes,” he muttered, “I know.”
He was running his fingers through her hair now. They sat quietly for some time as Allison slowly drained the glass. When it was nearly empty Cecil removed it from her loose grip.
“Come with me now,” he said as he stood up and helped her onto her feet. She almost immediately collapsed, but he caught her under her arms as she fought for balance.
“Sorry,” she whispered with a muted giggle. “My knees didn't listen.” As she stood there, supported by his arm around her waist, she caught sight of her reflection in the long mirror.
“Hey,” she tried to stand up a little straighter, unsuccessfully. “My hair is long. How did you do that?” She reached for his free hand and inspected it, as if the answer was written on his palm.
“Don't worry about that.”
“I won't,” she replied, releasing his hand.
He led her to the door, and she gazed at the mounted impala head above it as they passed beneath its glass-eyed stare.
He led her down the hall, and she worked to keep herself upright so as to not disobey him.
She had managed only a few steps down a staircase when her foot slipped. She felt herself fall loose of Cecil's grip as she slid down the steps in a jumble of limbs.
She stopped her descent just shy of the landing. Her body was bruised and aching as she lay there, but the pain wasn't debilitating enough to alarm her.
Cecil's descent was unhurried. As he reached her he paused.
“Get up.” He demanded dispassionately. She struggled to obey, using her hands against the wall to slowly pull herself up. The wall was coarse and cool, and she rested her head against it once she had mostly righted herself.
Her knees buckled beneath her again. Cecil snatched her up into his arms and slung her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her the rest of the way.
She was crying when he deposited her on a foldout cot. The room was dimly lit, and the air was cold and damp. She crossed her arms over herself and shook from both emotion and the chill.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered between her tears, “I tried. I really did.”
Cecil knelt next to the cot and began stroking her head again. “I know, piacere mio. I know you did not mean to fail me.”
“I'm sorry,” she pleaded again.
“I forgive you, bella. But only this once.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and ran his thumb over the myriad of vacant piercings there. When he pulled his hand back the damage was gone, her skin smooth and unmarred. He repeated the motion on her other ear, leaving no trace of the scars behind.
She stared at him, doe-eyed and without understanding as he leaned over her. She felt so much love for this man that it made her chest ache.
“You could do so much, but you are just a little girl. This world will crush the anima out of you and leave you hollow and old. But I will not let that happen. I will save you from such an ignoble end, bellissima potenzialina.”
Allison mumbled something incoherently in response as her eyes drooped closed. She wanted to please him. Nothing else mattered, but she was just so tired.
He began to coax more length from her hair, paying painstakingly close attention as to not overlook a single cut end. Eventually satisfied, he delicately traced a line on her neck just once before his fangs plunged into her throat.
She loosed a startled, half shout at the sudden pain, but it escaped as a barely audible whimper as an intense feeling of pleasure pushed away all other sensations.
She was airborne, floating on some ethereal cloud of euphoric delight. She grasped at him, pulling herself closer and holding on, even as she fell through the sky in a free fall of intoxicating bliss.
Her heart ached at the need to give him everything he wanted. It pounded in her head behind her eyes, a hyper-paced beat that worked for him alone. Her vision quickly became spotty and dark, but she could feel him against her. His cold hand cradled her arched back, and the warmth of his cheek pressed up under her trembling jaw.
The tingling numbness in her fingertips hardly bothered her at first. But when her limbs grew so heavy they dropped to her sides on their own accord she whined piteously. She wasn't strong enough to hold on, but he gracefully moved with her and took on supporting her exhausted frame.
The thrumming of her heartbeat, so quick and loud just moments before, grew quiet and fluttered weakly in her chest.
For a brief moment she was reminded of a time when she had been very small. She’d found a butterfly ensnared in a spider's web amongst the flowers and begged for Dad to save it, but he had refused.
“The spider needs to eat too,” he explained, “It's not our place to deny the natural order.”
She had watched helplessly as the butterfly struggled, fighting to escape and survive, but only entangling itself more and growing weaker for each attempt.
Eventually the butterfly stopped moving.
I am the butterfly, she realized slowly.
She gasped for breath just once—
And then she was nothing at all.
…
—Screeching, scorching anguish blossomed in her mouth like a lily made of flame, of lava, of the sun itself.
She screamed, tore at the thing looming over her, tore at herself as she tried to escape the torture that was her body. The thing held her down, forced more of the blazing torment into her mouth as she writhed and convulsed in its grip.
The burning woke all of her senses, dragged her from the frozen nothingness she had only fleetingly glimpsed. It stretched into her, reaching and wrapping its tormenting tendrils around every inch –every atom– of her being like a hellspawned mycilla.
As the nothingness was pushed back she reached for more of the fire. She fought now to keep it, to hold onto the thing that filled the endless, gaping, yawning void that was open and howling inside her.
It pulled away and she was screaming again, thrashing against the bonds that held her down. She needed more of that burning spark, that fervid life that banished the frigid nothingness that tried to settle back into her.
And then it was in her arms again. She tore into the warmth, sucked it inside desperately. It wasn't the same fire, it was softer, but it filled the terrible emptiness and quieted the screaming caterwauls that lurked in between her body and her consciousness.
She drank until there was nothing left but a dry husk in her hands. Then she tore into it, pulling out and breaking the bones to reach the hints of life inside. The horror of the nothingness drove her to dig into every part she could until she was doubly sure the body had nothing left to offer.
Wailing at the realization that she would never have enough, she collapsed onto the ground amongst the broken remains.

“ I’ve done it!” Quicktalon exclaimed as he burst from the medical hut. I’ve found the cure!” he shouted, the papers rolled up and secured safely in his side satchel. The other young and old drakes began to emerge from their mud huts, wanting to know what all the screaming and shouting was about. “ What is all the fuss about?!” Elder Downpour snapped as she emerged from her mud hut, anger strewn across her face, “The sun isn’t up yet, and our lands aren’t graced in its fire! There is no reason for your shouting this early in the morning!” She roared, far louder than Quicktalon had been shouting.
“ Elder Downpour, that is enough!” Earthquake snapped, “ Quicktalon, what in the blazes has you up and shouting this early in the morning?” Leader Earthquake asked softly. He looked down towards Quicktalon, who was already fumbling for the paper in his satchel, “ I’ve found the cure for the Orid viper’s venom!” He exclaimed as he gave the documents to Leader Earthquake, “We can save our wounded who are bitten!” He exclaimed with a grin as he watched a shocked expression jump from Drake to Drake in their pack. Earthquake sat down on his haunches, read through the papers, and shifted through the documents, “This… this is revolutionary!” He shouted while holding the papers and shaking them, “This changes everything!” Turning to Quicktalon, he said, “You need to get these to the Wyverns! Scholars Osprey and Circinae can help you create copies of these notes, and we can spread them worldwide!” He said with a smile as he turned to address the growing crowd.
“ Drakes, young and old! Today, one of our own has a revolutionary discovery! The cure to the Orid Viper’s venom!” he roared, causing shouts and roars of excitement to echo through the camp and spread from Drake to Drake. “Of course, that doesn’t mean you can go around getting bitten by snakes. So far, this is just in the beginning of its testing stages, but regardless, it has given dragons a new chance at life!” Earthquake called, voice rising above the cheers of the others throughout the pack.
“Once Achira heals from her wounds and the treatment that Quicktalon has discovered takes full hold, he will leave for the great mountains where the wyverns live! They will continue to help him test out his new medicine. Hopefully, he will return to us with the full antidote when he returns!” Earthquake roared to the rising roars of his fellow packmates and excited grins from even the most grumpy and cold-hearted of Drakes. This was fascinating news; if proven true, this would change the course of everything. But for now, the crowd dispersed, and everyone went to do their jobs before the sun rose too much higher in the sky. It was already going to be a bad day as the humidity was rising, and the insects were already screaming. So there wasn’t too much time left before it became too dangerous to go outside.
Quicktalon sprinted to the nearby forest and grabbed as many logs and tree trunks as possible. He made several quick trips to restock their wood pile for the next several nights as he knew it would get cold enough to freeze whatever solid mud was there. Once he finished his chores and brought back an ample breakfast for himself and his sister, he went out to catch a few small mice for the snake, feeling bad that the poor snake hadn’t eaten since it had been captured.
With a promise to his sister that he would return, Quicktalon raced outside to the nearest grassy clearing, hoping to find something suitable for the snake. However, he was beginning to wonder if it would just have been easier to release the snake back where he had found it. “ Oh, by the Ancestors!” He growled before giving up his futile search for mice and racing back to his hut to grab the snake. His head throbbed with the angry hiss of the displeased reptile inside its wooden box. Quicktalon moved quickly to strap the box onto his back before racing off at high speeds towards the Wild Woods to release the snake and promptly return home.
But of course, such a simple task could never be so easy. Quicktalon growled as he tried to figure out how to release the thrashing and writhing snake from its box without getting bitten. He looked around for anything he could add to the box as a quick release so he could open the wooden box and flee without the snake latching onto one of his talons the second the woven strap came undone. But that gave Quicktalon an idea. He scrambled around and gathered a few vines and a long stick; once those items were assembled, he carefully cut the vines, tied the lid shut, and moved back several paces before pointing the stick at the box, pulling the vine hard, and releasing the lid from the box.
The snake lunged forward and out of the box, hissing and spitting angrily. Its angry hisses echoed in Quicktalon’s head and struck fear deep into his heart, but just as the snake had leaped from its box, it had vanished deep into the undergrowth. Quicktalon’s breathing began to slow as his nerves and anxiety began to settle, the fear of a dangerous snake fading away with each breath he took. After gathering his thoughts again, Quicktalon sighed before cleaning up his materials, grabbing a few remaining logs, and carrying them back toward the camp.
The sounds of the insects that filled the Savana began to increase in volume to where the buzzing sounds grew almost deafening. A growl of annoyance left Quicktalon’s throat as he grew disoriented from the loud buzz and the intense heat of the midday sun. Drakes, despite being adapted to the heat. They weren’t immune to the savanna's heat, leaving them to work more in the early mornings, late evenings, and sometimes into the night; it was safer, especially for the youngest dragons, who were far more susceptible to the boiling temperatures of the scorching earth. Quicktalon moved faster as the hot ground began to burn his talons. Despite his callous talon pads and rough scales, the ground could still burn him. The horizon was growing hazy with the heat, and his tongue began to develop dry as he picked up his pace and galloped towards the camp; he could see the medical tent. He just had to make it before the sun reached its highest point.
Quicktalon panted heavily as he broke into a flat sprint and raced towards the cool medical hut. The noises and bright sun increased as the edges of his vision darkened. His eyes were wide in fear as he burst through the door of the medical hut, unable to slow down and crashing into the nearby wall. His sudden entrance and rather hard crash into the nearby wall startled his sister from her slumber. “WHAT’S GOING ON?!” Achira exclaimed as she shot out of bed, attempting to race over to her brother, collapsing down onto her chest from being unable to put any weight on her wounded forearm.
“QuickTalon? What’s going on? Are we under attack?!” Achira asked as she struggled and limped over to her brother, gently nudging him and wiping the leaves and mud from his forehead, “ I-I’m okay, sis; I was trying to race the sun to get back home before it got too hot.” He panted while helping his sister back to her cot so he could redress her wound and make sure her wounds weren't too aggravated when she tried to help him. “Brother, I’m okay, but you need to rest; you’ve been working for the last three days with barely any sleep. You need to rest any more of this, and you could get hurt!” Achira exclaimed while swatting at her brothers, still burning hot talons and claws.
“ I’m fine, Achira. Let me do this.” He said softly while gently nudging her back and cleaning her bite, which was almost completely healed thanks to the medicine. “Quicktalon, I know you’re worried about me, and I know you are worried about our grandmother, but you can’t help me or find her if you’re drop-dead tired, your scales around your eyes are beginning to darken, you are beginning to look like one of those lemurs that run around the camp in the late evening.” She said softly while grabbing her brother's talon, studying the shaking talon the brother hadn’t even realized was shaking.
“Rest, dear brother; I promise I will wake you if anything happens,” Achira promised as she moved back down on her cot, the heat from the outdoors making her feel tired and sluggish. Please, brother, rest.” She pleaded softly, “ Achira, I…” Quicktalon started softly. He wanted to argue, but it felt as if the weight of several elephants were sitting on his back. “ I’ll rest, but you must wake me if anything happens.” He said softly before finishing the new wound wrap and moving towards a barrel full of water. “We’ll see.” She hummed while Quicktalon took a small metal cup from nearby and dipped it into the barrel.
Quicktalon chuckled softly, brought the cup to his jowls, and enjoyed the refreshing water. He was almost completely healed. He didn’t want to admit it right now, but his sister was right; he needed to rest to go on this journey to the mountains, get this cure to the others, and hopefully find his grandmother. But for now, he needed to rest, and taking a nap sounded great, so once he finished his cup of water, Quicktalon moved to his own cot and laid down on the taught and firm water-buffalo hide bed. He closed his eyes with relief and fell into a deep and almost quiet slumber.

I need to write this down because I have begun to question my sanity.
I cannot really say how long I've been stuck on these mountains. My friends tell me that it has been a week, but I know it's been more than that. I'm not sure how much I can trust them either. They've been altered in some way. They aren't how they were when we first left.
I have gaps in my memory. My friends have tried to explain what went on within the gaps, but they keep telling me things I already know.
​
But perhaps I should start from the beginning.
​
There were four of us: Jake, Sarah, Marcus, and myself. It was a stupid impulsive plan. Marcus's grandfather had a cabin on the Rocky Mountain range, somewhere in Colorado. I wasn't entirely sure where in Colorado, but I trusted Marcus and he seemed to know where we were going. So, on the first of October, we took to the roads, exchanging drivers every few hours. From Connecticut to Colorado, we made the journey over several days. Finally, on October 5th, we reached the foothills of the mountains.
"We need more supplies." Marcus started.
"I'll come with you!" Jake said, a bit too excited, and the pair left. Sarah and I shared a knowing look: Jake had been pining over Marcus for a few months now, and Marcus had been in love with him for a year. The two were waltzing around each other, waiting for someone to make a move while Sarah and I were left watching this sad dance.
Sarah and I were never particularly close; I always got the feeling that she never let down her walls with me in the same way that she did with the others. At first, I always chalked that up to my overthinking. However, after an incident, I realized that maybe one of my closest friends doesn't see me as a close friend. It used to put a damper on me, but I had come to accept that our friendship would never be what I had wanted it to be.
"Have you ever been hiking?" Sarah asked, leaning back in the passenger seat. I took a piece of the chocolate raspberries that she packed. She was a health nut.
"Well, not like this. I've been on hikes closer to home, and those were more trails than hikes. Also, we never went during the winter months." She nodded, falling back into silence. I could only remember all the times I would try to fill the silence but found it to no avail.
I looked out the front window and fell into old patterns of thinking. I didn't even realize that I had started to pick at my nails when Sarah manually intervened. I sighed softly and pulled away.
​
Jake came in before Marcus did. He was carrying two bags of canned and packed food, that he began to unpack into one of the empty backpacks we brought. "Marcus is coming in with the rest and then we can start again." I nodded and started up the car again. Marcus came bustling into the back seat, carrying some more basic necessities: flashlights, some lighters, and a shotgun. "You had your license on you?" I asked.
"Funny story, I told the shop owner where we were planning on going and he gave me this."
"He gave you a loaded shotgun?"
"Yes, now let's go before it gets dark. It's already 2!" I stopped the car and looked at him for a second. Perhaps I was a coward, but a man gave him a shotgun after telling him where we were going. I had a right to be suspicious.
"Marcus, did the shopowner tell you anything else?"
"Nah, man just turned around and left." Sarah and Jake were looked back and forth between us. Did they not see the obvious signs?
"Have you been to this cabin recently? I mean, is it safe?" I questioned, as Marcus was stuffing the things into his backpack.
"Aren't these questions you should have asked before we decided to come?" Sarah asked and I tried to not let it annoy me.
"That was before the shop owner decided that it was appropriate to give us a gun because we were going there. Come on, there can't be any more obvious signs that maybe we shouldn't be going here!"
"Shreya has a point," Jake spoke out. "He did seem pretty spooked. Why don't we just go back and ask him why?"
"We could do that, or we could go up. We are losing daylight!" Marcus complained. I sighed loudly.
"Asking him won't take that much time! Maybe we missed something that he knows about."
"Are you scared, Shreya? I know you don't like mountains that much, but you can't let your paranoia get to the rest of us!" My mouth snapped shut, and my brows furrowed. Of course Marcus the idiot would blab something I told him in confidence.
"Wait, what do you-" Sarh began, but I couldn't handle her asking any questions.
"Fuck it, let's just go."
White nonsense, I bit back from saying.
I started the car, but not without saying that if I came out of that cabin with so much as a scratch, I would make sure he bought me food for the rest of his life. I pulled out of the small convenience store parking lot and drove up.
​
It didn't take us long to get there. We had reached around five, but I hadn't accounted for the sun setting so fast. The sun was already sunk halfway across the horizon by the time I parked on the driveway. Having seen it in real life, it was far less creepy than the image I had been painting in my head. Jake was the first to get out, retching until he vomited in a nearby bush. His motion sickness and those hairpin bends did not make for a good combination. Marcus, Sarah, and I unpacked the bags in the meantime.
The cabin was made of some old wood. It was darkening from rotting and damp from the rain, and last year's snow. Despite the smell and rot, it wasn't that creepy of a sight. Perhaps I was overreacting, but there was still a sense of unease and tension. The tension in question was between Marcus and me. The car ride was nothing but unpleasant, with Jake trying to lighten the mood and failing at every hairpin bend until eventually had no choice but to rest his head on Marcus' shoulder and be quiet. Sarah remained silent for the most part, but from the corner of my eye, I could see her glance my way now and then.
​
Marcus fumbled with the keys, the cold numbing his fingers. He finally managed to insert the right key into the hole and twist it open. There was a resounding sound from the cabin, a creaking that seemed to echo within the entire house.
Yeah, this was starting to get too creepy for my taste.
The inside wasn't particularly creepy either. It was rather normal to be honest. It wan entirely made of the same type of wood, a rosewood if I had to guess. Despite the fact that it was externally rotten, the inside was perfectly intact. There was furniture: a sofa, a coffee table, a dining table, and a kitchen. However, the most interesting thing was the paintings. There were about three that I could see from the entrance. They all seemed to be painted by the same painter because they looked like paintings in a series. They were very intricate paintings, all of them having many components to them. As we stepped inside, I was able to get closer to one of them. There was one hung over the sofa. It was rather difficult to tell the subject of the painting. This one was of many people, hundreds, running from something. Some of them were pointing, and some of them had looks of terror on their faces, but they were all running.
Except for one person. There was a singular person in the right corner who was just standing and staring blankly at the audience. It was pointing to the left corner, where I saw a tendril of a black blob.
What an odd choice for a painting.
The others were equally similar. Each had the same setup, a group of people running, a single person pointing at a black blob. In each picture, the blob was getting bigger and bigger.
I wondered if there was a single picture having just the blob. It would make sense given the series.
​
"Marcus, was your grandfather a painter?" I asked, still observing the painting.
"Yeah, he used to paint in his spare time."
"What's this one supposed to be though?"
"Gramps was kind of weird, okay? I'm not really sure what he painted half the time. It could just be another weird one." I nodded, turning away and helping the others unpack.
​
There were only two rooms in the cabin. Sarah and I shared one, while the other was shared by the men. The rooms upstairs were monastic: a single cot with a cleaned mattress on top, and no furniture, save a single night table and a painting. It continued the same theme as before, this time the blob making up most of the painting.
"Sarah, did you notice the weird paintings?"
"What?" She glanced up from her gaze. She was glaring at the bed, which was quite small. I frowned slightly.
"The paintings, Sarah. Did you see them?"
"No, I don't know why I would. This entire place gives me the creeps," My frown grew deeper. "I don't know why we came."
"I asked that in the car. You seemed fine with coming here. Why are you backing out now?" She sighed, sitting down on the bed. "I don't understand why you didn't say anything then."
"Look, I'm sorry. I was fine with it then. It's just that when we reached here, this entire place felt... off. I don't want to be here, and I don't think we should spend the night here."
I understood what she meant. Everything was off here. The choice of decor, to the pristine condition of the house. There wasn't even a speck of dust despite it being locked up for a year since Marcus' grandfather's death.
I sighed loudly. Sarah looked me in the eyes for what seemed like the first time in a really long time.
"Why don't we ask Marcus and Jake if we can head back? I'm sure we can convince them." She nodded solemnly.
We made our way down the stairs and to my left, I saw a painting that I missed the first time I went up them. That in and of itself was odd, because how do you miss a canvas hanging off the wall? I couldn't have missed that. But I did.
It was the painting I assumed was part of it: a canvas painted fully black, save for a little speck in the corner. The little person pointing was now just blankly staring at the audience. It was so detailed, and I could make out its features. Black hair, tan skin, dark eyes, and a little sliver of a scar on the eyebrow.
I stilled for a moment. My blood went cold, and I could feel my heart stop, and then start once again. My heart pounded against my ribcage with such an intensity that I was in pain. Goosebumps erupted on my skin and I felt myself ache all over. I gasped suddenly and sharply for air.
It was just a fucking painting.
No, this place was weird, I decided for the final time. It didn't matter how much Marcus wanted to stay here. I was going to leave his ass right there if he didn't get into the car.
"Are you alright?" Sarah reached out, holding me steady. I had forgotten she was there for a second. I held her hand, trying to calm myself a bit, so that I don't straight up lash out at Marcus and Jake.
"Dude, that person in the painting looks just like me."
"What painting? There is nothing there." My head cranked to the left and there and behold, there was no painting. I couldn't have imagined it. There was a painting right there.
"Don't fuck with me, Shreya. I'm already super freaked out."
"I'm not fucking with you. There was a painting right there. It was... What did you think I was looking at?"
"You were just staring at the wall."
My mouth went dry. Fuck all this shit, I thought. I am not staying here for a single second.
"Marcus, Jake, let's go!" I bellowed, reaching the bottom of the stairs. The two men were just staring outside. Marcus was staring in awe, while Jake, more pragmatically, looked concerned.
"What's going on?" I asked, hints of apprehension creeping in.
"It's snowing."
"What the fuck? It's October!" Sarah exclaimed, pushed herself to the window, and saw. A thin layer of snow peppered the entire background.
"Hell no, pack your shit. We are not staying here." I shouted, getting our bags and stuff and cramming our food and supplies back in.
"What the fuck? Stop that, Shreya, we can't go anywhere. We already checked," Jake came to my side and stopped me. "The ignition isn't starting. We can't go anywhere. Plus, it's already dark and this place has a population of mountain lions. We can't leave right now. We can try again in the morning." Jake's voice held a tremble, and I tried to ignore it. It only aggravated the deep rolling anxiety that was building up. I could feel the jitter in my bones.
"We can't stay here, Jake. This place is weird. I would rather be eaten by a mountain lion than stay here." I whispered. I was no hero, I knew this within myself. I was a fucking coward, and this place was only making it worse. Every creak in the wood made me snarl, ridden with paranoia.
"Okay, why don't we check the car again?"
I nodded furiously and he pulled me towards the door. Marcus silently handed me the keys and I slipped into the front seat.
The ignition wouldn't start. This car was perfectly fine an hour ago.
My breathing was becoming more shallow.
This car was fine a little while ago.
I leaped out of the car and opened the front. Maybe something had frozen. Maybe the gasoline had frozen.
"Do any of you know anything about cars?"
Sarah came to my side and began looking at the front. She went to the back. She took the flashlight and inspected every part.
"The car is fine. It should run. Let me try."
For ten minutes, each of us came in and out of the driver's seat, trying to start the car. Every failed attempt only made my breathing worse.
I am a grown woman, I shouldn't be this scared, I thought to myself the entire time.
​
"We need to stay in the cabin tonight," Marcus said, his tone low and steady. I could tell he was trying to calm me down, but no amount of soothing was going to bring me any comfort. "We need to go inside."
I wasn't going insane. I was mentally clear. I saw that painting. I saw all of them. I wasn't going mad. The cabin light seemed harsh and yellow, as if mocking me, mocking everything I saw.
But there was nothing I could do. Not now, anyway. I let Marcus take me inside and sit me down on the couch. He handed me a bottle of water, which I downed in seconds. I was still frazzled, but far clearer.
"Sarah and I want to leave."
"We want to too, but right now there is nothing we can do. We have no way out and it's snowing. They won't send anyone up here." Marcus sat down beside me.
I thought to myself, while Jake pulled out dinner: canned refried beans, corn, and several bags of tortilla chips. It was quiet, except for the sound of chips and chewing.
"Do you still have that shotgun?" Marcus nodded, pointing to it on the coffee table. "It's loaded?"
"Yes, so if there is anything weird, I got you." He had incredible charisma, I had to admit. It was part of his charm, why everyone grew so close to him. He had a way of making you believe that he was there until the end and that everything was alright.
Of course, that was until I realized that that was a desperate defense mechanism that he used to hide the fact that he didn't really know what he was doing either.
However, I bit my tongue and relished the warm feeling that the words brought. It kept everything else at bay, for now. But the cabin seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting. I know they wouldn't believe me.
We didn't go back up to the rooms. Instead, we split up: the living room was where Sarah and I slept and the kitchen was where Jake and Marcus slept.
I sat on the couch, the nerves still biting, but not with the same force as before. I was picking at my nails, something I did often when I was nervous. Sarah ran her hand across mine and held it. "Stop that."
I scoffed and turned away. "Nothing about this is fine, Sarah. Being here feels wrong."
She nodded. "I know. We can leave in the morning. It's going to be fine. We don't have to sleep. We can just talk."
I wasn't going to get any sleep anyway. I glanced over into the kitchen. Marcus and Jake seemed to have gone to sleep right away. The lights were off and I could see their feet poking out from the covers they placed down.
I leaned back into the chair and looked at her. "Okay, fine."
"Good."
"Why aren't you comfortable with me?" I blurted out before I could contain it. I didn't even realize that that was something I wanted to ask. It wasn't even on my mind that much.
"Wh-what? I am comfortable with you."
"No, you are always nervous, and you talk more with those two. That's fine, but I just want to know why. We've been friends for a long time and I don't like that you haven't been as close with me as you are with them." I could feel the deep resentful emotions that I had kept bottled inside suddenly rushing out.
"Look, it's not what you think it is. I am close friends with you, Shreya. It's not that I'm not. It's just... I can't... I don't know what to tell you." She sighed, her head in her hands. When she looked up again, I could tell her face was flushed. It was always hard to tell with her deeper complexion, but I had known her for too long to not notice.
"I don't understand."
"I don't want to fuck up what we already have. I am really sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like this like I didn't like you enough. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"But you did, and I just want to know why."
"I am close to them, but a lot of the time, I'm talking to them... about you," My eyes widened a bit and I started to get an inkling of where this conversation was heading. "Not bad things, of course. We weren't gossiping."
"Do you like me? Like in a romantic way?" Her eyes shot open fully, and she was so visibly embarrassed that it was cute. She didn't even need to say anything. I giggled a bit and she hid her face in her curly hair.
"I'm sorry, I really didn't want to tell you like this."
"Were you ever planning on telling me?"
"Honestly, no. But I guess, now there isn't a choice, right?" I looked up.
I spend a lot of time in my head, I thought. I could have just asked and cleared it up sooner.
"When we get out of here, let's go on a date," I said, sliding my hand on hers. She looked surprised and then grinned really widely. I couldn't help but mirror it as well. She grasped my hand really hard, and I leaned on her shoulder.
​
Maybe this was a good thing, coming to the cabin.
​
I don't know when but I had fallen asleep. I could have been during the conversations I had with Sarah, but I honestly can't remember. But I do remember getting startled awake. There was a loud groaning. At first, it sounded like the groans accompanied by sexual pleasure. I jolted away, pissed off and ready to tell someone off for waking me up.
However, when I rubbed my eyes and sat up, a bit more clearly, it was very clear that they were not groans of passion. There were deep low groans, accompanied by the sound of crunching. It was a disgusting metallic sound, and it was rhythmic: a groan then a crunch.
Bile rose in my stomach as an odor wafted into the room. It was unlike any smell I have ever smelled. It smelled like carrion and shit, and industrial waste products. It wafted from the kitchen in waves, and even after covering my nose, I could feel the heat of it on my face. My eyes burned and I could feel the return of the dinner.
When my stomach was no longer strong enough, I turned and vomited, tears pouring down my face and I spilled my guts onto the wooden floor. My eyes pried open: the floor was no longer a pristine rosewood but a rotting termite-infested mess. I could see the worms turn in the wet and soggy wood. It looked like it was seconds from decomposing. My heart lurched and I turned to wake Sarah when I realized that Sarah was no longer there. In her place was a mound of swarming worms. They writhed and swallowed. I could hear them moving against each other.
My heart pounded, and it almost drowned out the slippery sounds, and the deep groaning.
There was a small gap that they didn't touch. I could see it from where I sat. In the darkness, I almost didn't see it, but I recognized the features: eyes, nose, mouth. They were being eaten away.
I wanted to scream, but there was nothing.
That was the same person I had been kissing just a few hours ago.
It was as if I was bound with some invisible rope. I couldn't control my body, and I couldn't even move. I just sat there, watching worms eat away at her.
The groaning suddenly crescendoed in volume. The sudden sound jolted me into action. I grabbed Sarah, or what was left of her. I reached into the worms, but I only felt pain in my arms. I could feel the tearing of my flesh as I bit down my tongue from screaming.
I tried to touch anything that was left of her, something to anchor my hands onto so that I could pull, but I only sunk my hands deeper and deeper until I touched the floor.
Biting my cheek, my eyes pouring out with tears, I pulled my hands out only to find them covered in red and black clots. It was as if her body had completely liquified. Tears were cold on my face.
There were a few worms attached to my skin, which I pulled out, taking pieces of my flesh with them. Shallow breathing was starting to hurt my chest.
The groaning stopped and my breathing seemed to echo across the cabin. My eyes widened.
I need to get out of here.
I need to check for Jake and Marcus first.
​
I crouched and crawled my way to the opening of the kitchen door, anticipating a gruesome sight like I had seen before. It was far too quiet. I could hear only the sounds of my blood rushing in my ears with every beat of my heart.
I peeked into the kitchen, ever so slightly so that I was not seen by anything that may be in the room.
​
It was immaculate. There was nothing out of place, cleaner than it had been before. There was nothing that I could have expected: there was nothing at all. It was the same kitchen, stripped down to its four walls. There was no blood, no guts, or worms. Jake and Marcus weren't there either.
There was just nothing.
At this point, I felt like I had lost my mind. I stood, uncaring of how much in danger I was. I just wanted to get out of here as fast as I could. I spun on my heel and ran to the door, leaping over the rotting pile of worms and bounding towards the door.
The moment my hands touched the doorknob, I could feel the world slipping away. It was strange to describe but it felt as if something was being removed from me, and I was overcome with darkness, the feeling stopping as quickly as it came.
​
"Shreya!" I felt myself being shaken and I jolted.
There were three people above me, my friends. They were alive and well.
"You okay? You were mumbling and started crying in the middle." Marcus asked, handing me some water.
I shut my eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief.
It was just a nightmare.
"I had the weirdest dream," I said, taking the water and downing it immediately. "You guys were there and we were in the cabin. It doesn't matter, it wasn't real-"
​
"It wasn't a dream." They said simultaneously, their grins wide enough to show gums, mirroring each other.
The feeling of slipping away overtook me faster this time, and I blacked out.
​
​

Hello guys, ela unnaru! I am planning to rent some basic appliances like - Fridge, washing meachine, wooden cot etc., We didn't want to invest a huge amount in buying as we will be moving out of country in a year or two.I am confused between choosing the right vendors. I have cityfurnish, renticle, rentmojo in my mind. Comparatively renticle is cheaper. Can you please share your genuine review on your renting journey so far??? TIA!
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My grandpa told me a story—a confession, really—right before he died. This was 15 years ago. I had ended up alone with him in hospice and he was lying in bed struggling to breathe.
He said he needed to say something. He and some other kids had killed a boy at summer camp. Ezekiel. He didn’t open his eyes, just held me and started talking, stopping every so often because he couldn’t catch his breath.
​
​
Growing up, my grandpa had gone to a summer camp way up north near the Canadian border. The camp was founded by Teddy Roosevelt, people said, and nice families from Milwaukee, Minneapolis, and even Chicago sent their boys there to toughen them up.
My grandpa was 11 that summer. Ezekiel was younger, maybe 9 or 10. Ezekiel was a strange kid. He came from a farm in Minnesota and was going to camp on a scholarship. His family was deeply religious and didn’t have a telephone, though nobody knew if that was on account of their beliefs or from being poor. They weren’t Amish, but they were in the ballpark.
The camp counselors didn’t know what to do with the kid. They called him “Ezzy” and told him to tie knots and build fires, but Ezekiel would have none of that. He was probably sick of doing real chores on the farm; he definitely didn’t need toughening up. Instead he’d stay in the tent and write long letters and read his prayer book, muttering to himself like he was speaking in tongues. The camp had all kinds of Protestants and a few Catholics, but nothing like him, no faith-healers or snake-handlers. And the way he’d look at you could make your blood run cold.
Looking back at it, Ezekiel was probably afraid, out in the woods with a bunch of rich kids, so he was leaning on his faith. Not that the other kids didn’t give a shit. They bullied Ezekiel--it was fun--and it quickly got out of hand, the way it usually does when adults look the other way.
The kids pretended to lay hands on Ezekiel and yelled gibberish, hid cigarette butts in his food, stole his letters and read them aloud at campfire and wiped their asses with the pages. They did the same to his prayer book. Then one day, on a hike, some older boys took Ezekiel off the trail. It was a big pine forest, almost cold even though it was July, filled with the sound of birds and the wind. My grandpa didn't know what they did to him. He took no part, he swore to God. Whatever the older boys did, they took it too far. The rest of the day Ezekiel lay in his cot, his back to everyone else.
​
The next morning was a Sunday, brilliant weather. The chapel sermon by the lake was about courageous acts of faith. My grandpa told himself that he was going to be brave, like Daniel in the lions’ den. If he saw something wrong, he would speak up. He looked over at Ezekiel, who, like usual, wasn’t listening. The kid was staring out at the lake and the ripples of blue-black water kicked up by the wind.
They had morning swim that day, always ball-numbingly cold, but there was a water slide and a diving tower on a raft and you could get used to the water after a couple minutes, stop shivering at least. The boys were doing dives off the tower. The platform was about 15 feet above the water. My grandpa was in the lake, hugging the raft and watching his friends tumble through the air and fall headfirst into the water.
To everyone’s surprise, Ezekiel was up next, tiny and awkward-looking up on the top of the tower. Everyone quieted down. He stretched his hands out in front of him, bent his knees, and—
Someone shouted something.
My grandpa didn’t catch what it was, but it knocked Ezekiel off balance. He tripped and fell off the ledge and landed face-first onto the raft. They heard his skull break, like the sound of a large egg getting cracked open under a towel, watching him stupidly as he bounced back up and into the water, then looking at the empty diving platform, at the blood on the raft, the blood already thin and runny from mixing with the lake water.
The shock passed. Then bedlam: people diving into the water, others running to the shore, whistles, screaming, water churning everywhere.
The lake was very deep here—for safer diving—and the water quickly got inky black, starting at four or five feet down.
Too much time passed.
Finally they pulled Ezekiel up and swam him to land. As they carried him out, his head fell back limply. His face was crushed in the middle, water dripping from the crown of the dead boy's head.
​
It took a while to reach Ezekiel’s parents. It turned out they did have a telephone but a bad storm had knocked out the lines. They didn’t get word until late, and, roads being what they were, wouldn’t make it to the camp until the next day.
What to do until then? There was no hospital nearby, no sheriff’s office. The Lodge was the only real building on the grounds, a two-story log cabin supposedly built by pioneers with a dining hall attached. They put Ezekiel in the basement of the Lodge since it was cool and dark down there, put him out on a table so he wouldn’t have to be on the dirt floor, and put a handkerchief over his face so they wouldn’t have to look at it.
Then the thunderstorm that had been out west blew through east, a bad one with hail and pounding rain. All the tents got washed out by nightfall and everyone had to sleep in the Lodge, fifty or sixty kids in sleeping bags on the floor, all trying to fall asleep as fast as humanly possible, focusing on the sounds of the storm so their thoughts wouldn’t drift down to the basement.
​
My grandpa unluckily had ended up next to the basement door. As you can imagine, he wasn’t sleeping well. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the blood on the raft, Ezekiel carried out from the water, his face…
BOOM.
A loud crash. My grandpa sat up. Thunder? Nobody else moved. Even the counselors, who had stayed up late on the porch talking gloomily among themselves, men barely older than the boys, were now fast asleep. He looked out alone at the sea of sleeping bodies, the crash still humming in his ears.
Then there was a thud, then another. Someone was a walking up the basement stairs, the old wooden steps creaking under his weight. He reached the top step and paused, right behind the basement door. Then he went all the way back down.
After a minute or two, he started up the stairs again. Then back down again. Eleven steps each way.
My grandpa was furious—he figured one of the boys had snuck downstairs to look at the body or mess with it, and he found his flashlight and stood up and threw the basement door open.
It was pitch black down there. Now he understood how literalness of that expression: in front of him was a darkness so complete that it felt heavy and liquid, like it would cover his hand in tar if he stuck his arm into it. He switched on his flashlight and dragged the beam down the steps, all eleven, until he reached the bottom. Nothing, no one was down there, just the circle of light from his flashlight on the basement wall opposite the stairs.
Then Ezekiel walked into view, like he was stepping into a spotlight. Except it wasn’t Ezekiel. This was his body. This was something else, pale, the handkerchief hanging off of his smashed-in face, and only one eye which saw nothing at all.
My grandpa slammed the door shut. No one else had woken up. A deep, almost drugged sleep hung over the room. He felt so crazed with fear that he thought he might pass out.
The bottom step creaked. Then the next, and soon it reached the top and grew still, but only for a second. The doorknob turned, and the door inched open.
My grandpa stepped back, whimpering, when an idea flashed through his mind: the prayer book. He ran to Ezekiel’s bag nearby and opened it and grabbed the book, degraded from its recent mistreatment, and went back to the door, which was now wide open. Ezekiel was on the top step. He looked almost normal in the near complete dark, when the flashlight wasn't on him, like any other kid who had stepped into a shadow.
Ezekiel grabbed the book from my grandpa, seeming to weigh it in his hands. To think something over. Then he turned and walked back downstairs.
My grandpa shut the door and locked it, waited. Nothing happened. Silence.
Then he grabbed his sleeping bag and brought it to the opposite side of the room, by the front door where it was wet from the storm. He lay in a puddle and waited for daylight.
Ezekiel’s parents came during breakfast. Their clothes were normal. His mother couldn't speak, but his father managed to thank them for letting Ezekiel rest with his prayer book the night before. If they noticed the book’s condition, they didn’t say anything. Then they drove off with their boy and that was it. No lawsuit or anything. Different times.
​
***
​
Once he finished, my grandpa stared up at the hospice ceiling. He didn’t seem relieved for having told me. Then he looked pver, is dark blue eyes sunken deeply into his face.
“I hear him,” he said. “When it’s quiet. Late at night. I hear him on the stairs. After we had Richard, it started. Got worse as I got older.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Now I’m here, and I hear him all the time.”
​
​
***
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​
My grandpa died 15 years ago. For a long time I forgot about what he said. No memory at all. It’s weird, I know, but you never want to remember your family members like they were at the very end. It’s not them. They’ve already left the building and it’s some animal dying there instead.
I recently became a father. We’re all good. Mom’s healthy. Baby’s healthy and beautiful. We’re hardly sleeping as we figure out how to take care of this little human. A lot of time spent in a dark quiet house. Well, sometimes quiet.
The things is, I’m hearing things. I’m embarrassed to admit it. When it does get quiet, and I’m the only one awake, I sometimes hear footsteps on the basement stairs. I hear the steps squeak, and they stop once I tune in, like it knows I’m listening.
Then it starts up again. Not always. But often.
And when I’m falling asleep in bed, I get the feeling we’re not alone. It’s the same feeling I had when I was with my grandpa in hospice—that someone was under the bed.
I’m freaked out, honestly. I don’t know what else to do but write this up. I don’t want to pull anyone else into this mess. But I can’t live alone all my life with it either.
I don’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.

[First] [Previous] [Next]
Edited by WaveOfWire
- - - - -
The screens in front of Tracy flickered and spazzed, the drone’s camera giving her a poor view of the anomaly field. Her fingers rapped on the desk in front of her nervously, her anxiety matched by the olive-colored Malkrin behind her, watching just as intently.
She leaned further forward in her seat, eyes locked onto the monitors. For once, staring at them was a life-or-death situation, unlike what her dad always said. She really wished it wasn’t one; the understanding that she could see the only other human on the planet be turned into red mist at any moment sent cold fear throughout her body and down to her bones.
The engineer on screen took out a box of what she presumed to be nails, though it was hard to see the small movements with the fuzzy view. He quickly began to throw out individual pieces.
Another flash illuminated the barren dirt, then another, and another. Harrison quickly got the hang of it, making a wide circle around the desolate section of the swamp, mapping out the near-invisible anomalies’ outline with small cuts of bandages acting as markers. The tall Malkrin was stunned in awe at the sight, though she eventually locked, falling in behind the engineer and checking for anything out of the ordinary as he went.
Tracy’s thoughts were a mess; they spanned from the horrifying reality of the planet she resided on unfolding before her to how similar it felt… It really was a scene straight out of ‘S.T.A.L.K.E.R.’ The only thing missing was some Slavic shouting, radiation, and artifacts. Huh… artifacts. Those rocks in the center of the anomaly cluster… She grabbed the momentarily forgotten controls for the drone, panning its camera towards the oddity and zooming in until… Holy shit.
Her hand shot up to fiddle with the radio. “Harrison. Hold up. L-Look at the stones in the middle of the clearing.”
The man froze in the process of establishing a perimeter around the anomaly, seeming to eye it warily. [“I… don’t see anything. Is there something there that you see?”]
“Look closer.”
He didn’t respond for a few seconds, taking a while to observe the abnormal rock’s movements. [“Is it… floating? No… Are the anomalies warping how the air looks? Like how asphalt roads look when they’re hot?”]
“Do the reeds or ground behind it look warped?”
[“No, they don’t… Do you know what it is? Is an anomaly holding it up?”]
“It’s… an artifact, I think.”
[“An artifact?”] he asked suspiciously, instantly drawing Sharky’s attention at its mention. [“How do you know what that thing is?”]
“I-I don’t know, it just reminds me of some game I used to play. Doesn’t mean it’s the same thing. J-Just get away from the anomaly field.” It was fascinating, very, very fascinating, but after seeing what happened to the fallen flare… Harrison was just too close to it all. Maybe they could pick the rock up with a drone or something later.
[“…Fair point.”]
Thankfully, the engineer made his way around the field of certain death without any further incident. He took no time in getting to the bridge, approaching the half-sunken entrance without hesitation—seemingly unfazed, despite knowing it was the tomb of their deceased coworkers. The craftsman took the brief interlude get caught up on the situation, asking Tracy a few worried questions. She answered them quickly, keeping a stern observation of the monitors all the while.
She was tempted to follow Harrison into the bridge with her drone, but decided against it, considering she already knew what awaited her inside, plus the reconnaissance machines were meant for, well, reconnaissance. I.E: making sure no bugs snuck up on them… as was her entire purpose for this operation…
So, she waited, returning the manual control of the flying robot back to its original patrolling algorithm. He and Sharky took a good few minutes, finally returning to the daylight before Tracy started to get any more anxious than she already was.
“Everything go… alright?” the tradeswoman ventured, kicking out the creeping nervousness in her voice.
[“Got the AI core and took some medical supplies. I remembered that there’re turrets on the bridge, but I’m pretty sure they’re underneath the water. Might have to come back for them later,”] he responded evenly, without a sign of anything, really. There was hardly any emotion—something she was sort of expecting, given what he saw in the module. She didn’t push anything, because… What would she even say? ‘Hey Harrison, how’d you feel about the dead people you saw?’
She watched the monitors for a little longer, but eventually returned to her task. The nagging fear of the engineer succumbing to an anomaly while she wasn’t looking took up the majority of her focus, though. Her gaze constantly made its way back to the screen, making sure there weren’t any more… oddities. The craftsman took the time to inform the others of what just transpired, drawing worried yet understanding expressions from the massive females in the workshop.
Eventually, the adventurers made it back in one piece after a short side trip to forage, and they managed to bring back a ‘boar-hyena’ as well—how other animals were able to somehow survive alongside the hordes of spider-crabs, Tracy didn’t know. Their things were unpacked, though Harrison was quickly swarmed by the three Malkrin, preventing the process’ completion. Craftsman questioned the engineer about the anomalies—after asking if he was alright, of course. Akula pressured him about the danger he put himself in and started ranting about how it should have been her or something like that, but something else soon took Tracy’s and the olive-colored male’s attention. The human must not have noticed it while listening to the fisherwoman, but Cera was there beside him, just… checking up on his arm like a mother would see to a scratch on her child’s elbow.
Everyone was staring in silence at the black-colored Malkrin by that point. She noticed the pairs of eyes focused on her, yet she continued with a bothered expression, gesturing with a talon to the reddened skin along the engineer’s arm.
Huh.
- - - - -
Things were going well… for a time. Tracy and the rest of the group had gotten over Cera’s decision to stand up from her bed over Harrison having some reddened skin, of all things. The craftsman was ecstatic, Akula was happy to have another pair of hands, and Sharky was… a little bit more worried about the engineer than the ceramist, to say the least.
The automation expert insisted he was fine and that it was probably sunburn—despite the foggy conditions—slipping through the maroon-colored Malkrin’s efforts to tenderly look him over and ensure his health. He added the AI core to the existing group of circuit tree ‘fruits,’ immediately jumping the gun and setting one of the fabricators to print out at least two dozen solar panel and wind turbine kits. The other was left to make some base components for the ‘regulated and totally within the law, definitely not for building illegal firearms’ machine that they had started to work on.
She had to stop the guy from stripping the borked printer to make way for more less-than-legal replacements, reminding him that she was in the middle of planning out that whole operation. He insisted it would be fine to start on it, citing that they only really needed the hull and some ports intact. She countered with the fact that there were plenty of wires and circuits that didn’t need to be substituted and that it would be a waste of energy to tear them out in the first place. The engineer reluctantly accepted, sitting down at an adjacent desk and assisting her endeavors with his extensive knowledge of computer-assisted design.
Akula and Sharky worked to skin the hyena-boar brought in, whilst the humans completed their task. Eventually, the fisherwoman left to do as her name entailed while the paladin replaced the dark-green Malkrin’s post as a guard, though she frequently returned to Harrison to check up on him. He seemed a little dizzy, but it was just the sunburn, right? Shit, she’d be a little out of it if she went through what he had so far today. Tracy still kept a close eye on him over the next hour, watching how his head slowly lolled around… almost like he was drunk. She pressed him about it, but he waved it off, eventually addressing it by asking the paladin for water.
Its contents were quick-lived as he chugged the bottle, taking ragged breaths afterward. His weight was sustained by a single hand on the edge of the desk, eyes constricted. He attempted to move, but shaking limbs refused. The technician stepped forward, asking him again if he was alright. His flush lips moved, but all that came out was a ‘hyuck,’ his chest compressing.
He doubled over the desk, the viscous contents of his stomach splattering against the metal surface. Her eyes widened.
Oh… shit. Oh fuck. Her hands were frozen in place, mind preparing her to do something, but she just stood still. His entire body shook with each retch, eventually collapsing after dry-heaving several times in painful-sounding gags.
The massive red Malkrin beside the technician acted before she could, grabbing onto the engineer, keeping him on his side, and checking him over with brows knitted together in distress. The paladin’s constitution quickly solidified, her no-nonsense voice breaking the silence between Harrison’s wet coughs.
“Harr—on! What ails you? Was it the water? Is it an affliction of the stomach? Does y—r head feel the pain of a pound—g hammer?”
His voice returned with strained breaths. “I d-don’t know. I just… Dizzy…”
His eyes were barely open, but they could hardly keep in one direction, mirroring how his head moved around in the paladin’s hold. The alien’s voice quickened, her confidence faltering and desperation growing with each question. “W—t do you need? More water? Those ‘stimul—ts?’ Is there a treatment for such? Please, tell me.”
“Use the… scanner.”
Sharky had swiftly yet softly pulled the man into her chest, holding him tight as she dipped out of the workshop, sprinting past a stupefied, open-mouthed Craftsman.
“What is happening? Where is she going?” the olive-colored male sputtered.
“Med bay. Harrison’s sick or something!” Tracy returned, following after the ridiculously fast shark girl.
Cool air pressed against the technician’s face as she booked it through the short distance, making it into the barracks and practically running up the stairs on all fours. The automatic door to the pseudo-hospital couldn’t open up fast enough, taking what felt like ages to reveal the sterile metal room behind. Harrison was splayed out atop the singular medical bed while Sharky was stood beside him, hunching underneath the ‘low’ ceiling and fumbling with the array of wheeled machines nearby. Her four arms tore through the equipment, their erratic motions reflecting the feral horror on the Malkrin’s face.
So much had happened so quickly. What should Tracy do? What could she do? What would her dad do?
A shaky exhale left her. She needed to figure out what was wrong what Harrison, and do something about it, or else he might… She was already at the side of the engineer, scrambling through the immediate area for the right instrument. A click from the other side took her attention. The paladin took out the head of… The scanner! She hovered it over the man between herself and the technician, trying to get results on screen, but—
“H-Here, it’s off, let me.” She held out her hand toward the alien twice her size.
Anxious orange irises glanced between the inoperative equipment and the human woman.
Tracy pushed as much confidence as possible into her voice, overpowering her own nervousness. “Trust me. I can use it.”
A tense, impatient moment passed before the alien clenched her jaw and relinquished the medical device, her hope now put into the tradeswoman’s shaking hands.
A few taps, some beeps, and a low hum echoed between the heavy breaths shared by all in attendance. A faint green light ran across Harrison’s black shirt as the small loading circle on the screen ran around itself over and over again, hysterically dragging the process along. The pressure in her head built as her own mumbles spouted what her brain was simply too cloudy to keep in.
“Go… Please… Go… Fuckin’… I swear…”
Her hand vibrated. Done. What did it read?
The door nearby ‘wooshed’ open, allowing two figures of wildly varying heights to enter the room. She ignored them, squinting to see the small text on the interface.
Cuts. Yes, of course, there were fucking cuts. Unconscious? He sure looked it, yeah. Internal organ bruising? No, no. It says that’s not pressing enough to be a problem. The concerning long list of issues went on, leading to… radiation sickness.
Radiation? How? Where?
‘The only thing missing was some Slavic shouting, radiation, and artifacts.’ Tracy’s own words rang within her own mind.
The anomaly field… The fuzzy camera feed… The fucking floating rock at the center of it all. Fuck! She should have noticed! Her free hand balled into a fist, nails nearly cutting into her skin.
“What illness does he suffer from?” Craftsman’s perturbed voice broke the technician’s thoughts.
“Ra-Radiation sickness!” Tracy stammered, trying to concentrate on reading the overwhelming wall of symptoms and treatments. What did he need? Uh… Bone marrow stimulant, potassium iodide… and a hundred other things. She gave up on trying to memorize any of it, approaching the array of cabinets on a nearby wall and throwing the ‘Noncommunicable Disease Treatments’ container open.
No. Not this one. No. No. Nope. Fuck. Fuck!
How was she supposed to know where any of the insane-sounding chemical reagents were when they all had nonsense names? She moved on to the neighboring drawer, finding thermally-regulated boxes. Each held an array of vials with clear liquids within, taped labels with entirely too small a print forcing her to squint fruitlessly. She pulled them out and laid them atop a nearby counter, referencing them with the scanner in hand.
Her eyes lit up upon reading the name of the first one, dubbed ‘Rad-Away.’ An exacerbated whisper of victory left her mouth immediately. “First try… Fuck yeah.”
The finger-sized cylinders contained practically everything needed to treat radiation sickness. What dose, though? It said… about zero-point-eight-five milliliters injected intravenously per gray… How many grays did Harrison receive? Again, she referred to the medical machine in hand, calculating how much of the medicine he needed. Then she did the math again. And a third time. Then a fourth.
Tracy found a nearby machine that interacted with the vials, putting the liquid into a disposable syringe. The correct amount was programmed in and the apparatus whirred for a moment, presenting the injection device. Its cool exterior pressed against her palm, her hand trembling slightly.
The treatment in her grasp was brought over to where Harrison laid, motionless. Sharky held onto the engineer’s arm from the opposite side of the bed, scanning him with a distraught expression. The Malkrin’s breaths were heavy and erratic, hands fidgeting as if in preparation to do something. But they never did. On the other end of the bed, Cera drew something in her notebook, handing it to the craftsman. He looked over its contents anxiously, quickly nodding and leaving the room. Odd.
The technician returned her focus to the task at hand, but as soon as she looked at his exposed elbow joint, she realized how underqualified she was. Was she supposed to clear the skin around it first? What if she injected it wrong? What if there was something she was missing?
Her fingers trembled as the syringe was brought up to his arm.
“What are y— doing!?” Sharky yelled, moving to grab the sharp implement in Tracy’s hand.
The tradeswoman pulled back, glaring back at the paladin with wide eyes. “I’m helping Harrison!”
The alien’s composure calmed, if only by a little bit. “You are?”
“Yes!” she shot back. With a terse exhale, she brought the syringe back to the engineer’s elbow. She struggled to keep it still, stuttered breaths making it all the more impossible. Seconds ticked by with no progress.
“W-What are you wait—g for!?” Sharky nervously shifted her weight from side to side—being a paladin probably only prepared her for the stress of combat, not this kind of stress.
“I just n-need to put the needle in, b-but my hand keeps shaking,” Tracy responded quickly, her distress on full display.
“It only n—ds to be inserted, no?”
“N-No, it needs to be put into one of the v-veins here.”
An unexpected touch on her shoulder startled the technician, almost causing the syringe to be jabbed in. The ceramist had joined Tracy by her side, giving her an understanding look.
“W-What?” Tracy questioned anxiously, the injector in hand still hovering over its target.
The black-colored Malkrin brought a singular, stable arm forward, palm up. Two other limbs mimicked the action of using the syringe on herself.
The technician glanced between her own arm and the offered hand. She knew exactly what Cera was offering. Could she sign the job off to an alien? She seemed nice enough, sure, but trusting her to do this was… Tracy shook her head, handing the radiation treatment over, not even questioning why the ceramist knew about its purpose. The small item looked a little bit awkward to hold in the Malkrin’s massive hands, but it fit snuggly between two stalwart digits.
Cera brought the syringe closer to Harrison’s elbow joint, stopping slightly above it. She took hold of his forearm, delicately holding it in place. Her gaze moved to the technician. Two brows were raised as if to ask ‘now what?’
Tracy understood, dragging up every interaction she had with blood samples and injections to mind. “B-Blue vein, can’t miss it. Harrison’s are pretty huge. Slowly slide it in at a little bit of an angle. I-I’ll tell you when to stop. Then, you press down on that thingy on the b-back. That’s it”
Cera did as asked, letting out a small exhale before starting the quick process. Her movements were slow but deft. Not a singular tremble influenced the massive limb as it pushed the needle through the skin without hesitation. The technician gave the word to stop when it was inserted, then guided the mute Malkrin to slowly press the plunger of the syringe.
And then the process was over. She exhaled thoroughly, feeling her legs shutter a little bit at the massive amount of weight lifted off her back. Her relief was mirrored by the other two in attendance, their shoulders relaxing in sync.
“W—t else is to be done now? How fast will the tincture w—k?” the paladin questioned when no one else spoke.
“Um… I…” Tracy quickly picked up the ‘Rad-Away’ storage case, reading the label once more.
‘Check the patient every hour to monitor the progression of radiation. It may take up to nine hours for damaged cells and radical neutrons to be removed. Patients may be drowsy, fatigued, or nauseous for an additional 2-3 days. Analgesics are recommended. Side effects include…’ The information continued, but she stopped there, happy to relay that it shouldn’t take much longer.
“It says to just check on him every once in a while, and that he should be ‘fine’ by the end of the night.”
“That is of most excel—nt news!” Sharky perked up, her tail waving back and forth in stark contrast to its deathly still situation previously.
Cera shared a similar sentiment, a gentle smile breaching her cheeks.
Tracy let herself down on a stool beside Harrison’ bed, looking up at the ceramist. “Hey, uh. T-Thanks for helping out there. Your hands are… really stable.”
The Malkrin in question waved her hand in an ‘Oh, it’s nothing’ gesture.
The paladin crouched beside the medical cot, leaning forward. “She is both a ceramist and gla—blower, star-sent Tracy. Her occupation nec—sitates such stable hands to create with clay and glass.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” the technician admitted, resting her hands in her lap while absolutely nothing happened. Only quieted breaths and the infrequent beeping of a machine played throughout the room. Tracy cleared her throat awkwardly, breaking the silence. “So… what do we do now?”
Sharky rested her forearms on the side of the bed. “It is as y— said. We wait and check up on him f—quently.”
“It’s going to be… hours, you know”
The paladin’s orange irises appeared to glow with an unseen flame. “I w—ld wait a thousand winters if need be.”
That was… a pretty serious promise… although it might have been because of the posh way Malkrin spoke. Either way, the maroon-colored shark wasn’t leaving. A ‘woosh’ garnered everyone’s attention to the out-of-breath craftsman at the door, who was holding… a wooden bowl? It contained some translucent orange vines, a few long purple leaves, glow berries, and a canister of water.
The ceramist perked up at the sight. She bowed toward Tracy once before turning around and whisking her mate off into the barrack’s depths.
“Do you know what that was all about?” The technician raised a brow at the only other conscious person in the room.
“I am afraid not. P—haps they plan on prepar—g something with those plants.”
\= = = = =
Fishing was quite the remedy to hard labor, in Akula’s opinion. In the land kingdom, it was just a way to make ends meet as fish went for quite a lot when bartered for clothing and housing, and she was intent on capitalizing on it. Every day, she went out into the ocean, using her aquatic-fit body just as the Goddess intended. It was hard to believe there was once a time when she preferred to stay within her chambers instead of the open waters.
Now, the water swept through her frills, intermingling with each of her sharp digits as she darted from the sea floor to the surface in a matter of moments. She only needed to stop briefly to take aim and slay an unsuspecting fish with a roped bolt, reeling it in before the creature stopped squirming.
A single thrust of her talon was all it took to end its wriggling misery before its corpse was added to the growing net of food. The fisherwoman’s tail whipped around, orienting her body level with the ground and repeating the motions of fishing once more. She went on, watching the sun slowly fall across the sky. The deep blues were just starting to turn into purple when she finally filled the container. She had traveled a considerable distance up the beach, away from the castles, by then.
Her gaze floated toward the shoreline and the stone wall that stood tall behind it. The orange sands glimmered in the last light of the day, stray underwater flora and the odd boulder ruining its smooth surface. A few flocks of avians took refuge from their long flights, resting on the beach or hunting for small fish in the frothy tides.
A light breeze settled above the cycling waves as she floated atop them, letting the smooth motions relax her tight muscles. She completed a successful hunt, proving her worth to the star-sent, and was about to return home to a fine meal, warm housing, and a comfortable bed. What could be finer? It was more than just an improvement to the squalor on that pitiful island called a ‘village.’
Of course, there was stress to be had within their group—especially relating to the abhorrent. That being said, it hardly meant anything in the face of the star-sent’s extraordinary creations; her ears still rang somewhat from the turret’s resounding shots. It was quite a unique feeling to find oneself so comfortable with the abnormal. Fabricators, heaters, and even the recycler were but the wildest of dreams for anyone unacquainted. Her father would have fainted at the prospect of such.
Her lips drew into a smirk at the thought.
And then she was submerged entirely, an errant pulse of liquid washing over her form, the sudden ruination of her water bed wiping the smile clean off her maw. Why would the Goddess send such a large wave now, of all times? The fisherwoman hoped it was not anything dire; dealing with a predator would be—
Oh.
She could see a black oval cutting the ocean’s surface, below the undulating water. Was that… a boat? Her head peeked above the blue expanse, confirming exactly what she thought.
The shadow of a singular mast passed her by in the blink of an eye, its diminutive size appearing to be… a sloop. Its wooden hull barely rose above the waves that rippled behind the vessel. It tore across the open sea, barreling toward the orange sands with reckless abandon. The ship was likely to beach itself and possibly crash into the rocky hill behind it at the speed it was going. The small boat appeared to bank to the side, but it was far too late. The hull shook as it dragged across the sea floor. Towering white-crested blasts of water were thrown into the air as the sound of its keel being torn asunder echoed off the stone cliff behind it. Eventually, its groaning stopped, placing it just shy of the land.
Akula skimmed the water, frozen in place, a multitude of questions breaching her consciousness as she realized what she was looking at. Who was on that ship? Was it more banished colonists? Of course it was, who else would be sent to the mainland? None from the Water Kingdom, that was certain. Yet that hardly explained the speed of the vessel. Was their captain incompetent? Did they even have a captain? How many were aboard? Were they a threat? Should the fisherwoman approach them? Should she return to the castles for aid?
No, she was entrusted to be the guard of their new home. These were no different than invaders. Their purpose was unknown, and their numbers were uncertain. The idea of using Harrison’s radio device to warn the others crossed her mind, but it was quickly ignored; the star-sent had tasked her to deal with such troubles, and she would face only shame if she were to submit without putting forth an effort. Shame was not something she wished more of. Not anymore. With her mind set and her scowl grim, she swiftly switched the speargun’s roped ammunition for the lethal, metal bolts.
Her tail had already begun to whip through the water, pushing her toward the shore. It was not like the trespassers could harm her anyway; not when she was blessed with the weapon and tools of the Creator himself.
Her feet pressed into wet sand, small droplets of water dripping off her skin-tight clothing. The sun’s final blessings warmed her side as she approached the boat with a stride as strong as the tides. A dent in the shoreline surrounded the crash, small waves licking at its sides. She watched the small gathering of Malkrin on the ship make sense of themselves, snarling maws and wide arm gestures telling of a vehement argument between two parties. Two similar colored ones stood beside a belligerent female, whilst the rest stood behind the other. Some tried to step between, but others pulled them back, shielding their comrades with arms and tails alike.
There were seven seen on the deck, five tall females and two squat males, but there was no telling if there more were within the hull. She gave each of them a cursory inspection to judge if the newcomers would prove more bothersome than desired, but they wore only ragged and torn tunics, each looking to have been dirtied and soaked with seawater—none with any weapons, too. The fisherwoman continued forward, the decreasing distance affording her more details. The sloop listed ever so slightly toward the land, allowing her to see how barren the boat was. There was absolutely nothing aboard its surface besides the rotting wood of the floor and the Malkrin aboard it. A male was crying, another female was shivering, and all of them shared an aura of desperation.
“…can not even leave for better land!” one of the yellow-skinned females yelled, gesturing to the shore, not bothering to properly direct her intent.
“It has been days, we needed to stop somewhere!” an elderly one retorted, this one decorated in finer fabrics compared to the others, but still just as ruined.
The belligerent provoker threw her arms out wide. “And that requires the beaching of our only ship?”
“It was not my intention… to…”
The conversation ceased its momentum, and so did Akula. She had made it to the portion of the beach closest to the boat, which was no more than ten strides away. All eyes were on her now. They way they stared at her fantastical equipment and luxurious clothing almost brought a smile to her maw, but it was quickly shut out to be replaced with a cold glare. She swiftly drew up everything she knew of her family’s royal guards, standing up as tall as she could.
“You are encroaching on the blessed territory of the star-sent. State your intentions, *trespassers.*” The fisherwoman brandished her speargun in two hands, crossing the other pair over her pocket-covered chest.
A stunned silence choked the air, only the faint squawk of an avian above. Not a single motion came from the entire band of Malkrin. The yellow one, however, was an exception. Her brows furrowed even further, the glow in her eyes heightening as her ire increased. Their lacking response irritated Akula.
“State. Your. *Intentions*,” she repeated.
The disgruntled female stepped to the edge of the deck, a scowl sewn into her muzzle. “And who would you be?”
“I am guardswoman *Akula, servant of the **star-sent Creator. You would do well to answer my queries,”* she asserted, training her weapon on the threat’s head.
The trespassers’ eyes widened at the mention of a God’s chosen, yet the yellow-skined fool only snarled in return. “I care not for your lies, or your foolish threats. I have traveled far and—”
THUNK.
A silver bolt vibrated to a standstill, having torn through the air, traveled right between the female’s frills, and embedded itself into the sloop’s mast.
The group froze once more, each individual turning to observe the cause of the frill-shaking noise. It would appear the fisherwoman’s threat had its intended effect.
Akula growled, reloading her weapon. “Will I be required to repeat myself a third time?”
The Malkrin with finer cloth and gray frills stepped forward shakily, using two arms to push the yellow-skinned female back. “W-We were banished from the Land Kingdom! We mean not to encroach upon your territory, our p-presence here is unintentional.”
The meek response vexed the fisherwoman, only telling her what she already knew. “I am aware you are of the exiled. Tell me what your plans are, what your home island is, and what your occupations are.”
“T-There are no plans we share. We were only told to seek Kegara. Our home island is south of the Mountain, no larger in width than the golden city itself and host to only two hundred souls. I-I am the village’s s-script keeper, and she—” the script-keeper gestured to the yellow female behind herself. “—is our guardswoman…”
The more reasonable Malkrin continued, pointing out two fisherwomen, a lumberjack, a sewist, and a cook—the last two being the males, naturally. She finally referred to one last person as… unknown. That individual was apparently below deck, and was quickly called from the thin depths of the ship.
It was revealed to be… a female child—a juvenile, more accurately. Akula stopped at the sight. To send a child along the open seas after presumably casting her as a heretic was… heinous.
Such was to be expected of barbaric ground worshipers, she supposed. The fisherwoman shook those thoughts away, returning to her task at hand. What was she to do with the new ones? Should she tell them the way to Kegara’s camp? No, that was not going to happen. That brute made Shar’khee look like an innocent pup in comparison, and that decrepit place certainly was not fit for the fairer sex. The two males aboard the boat deserved better. But what other options were there? What would Harrison want? Would he want them turned away or would he appreciate their labor? He would probably complain about ‘more mouths to feed’ or something of that ilk. Yet, the ranks of those before her included two fisherwomen, and few others of potential use. Their food requirements would be covered and then some, complimented by others to assist with the labor-intensive jobs that the star-sent requires. Additionally, the males may also help to serve with cooking, or perhaps assisting with foraging. So perhaps Harrison would not deny them, and instead praise Akula’s efforts to recruit these banished into his ranks…
“W-What do you seek from us?” the script-keeper questioned.
The green-skinned fisherwoman looked between the eight Malkrin aboard the beached ship, lowering her spear gun—they understood the threat of its presence already. “You will follow me to the star-sent Creator. He will decide what happens next.”
Their hesitation was clear, but it only took a sharp ‘Now!’ to get them into motion.
The yellow guardswoman raised her arms in frustration, sparking another argument with her group. Her intent was not directed at Akula, keeping her out of the heated back-and-forth. Each of the females soon joined in. Talons were pointed, exasperated gestures were made, and sparse words were leaked.
“…the wilderness?”
“Kegara was supposed to…”
“…what other choice?”
“…she said star-se—”
Akula glowered at the new ones, annoyed at their unwillingness to follow simple orders. She was about to shout or perhaps make another threat but was stopped when the others finally made up their foolish minds. Most of them appeared quite anxious, while the yellow one stayed upset. That one would have to be watched closely.
The group hopped off the side of the boat into shin-deep water one by one. The two males assisted the juvenile female before jumping off themselves with the guardswoman being the last. They approached the worshiper of the cycle, a little more certainty in their actions after leaving their refuge behind.
The elderly script-keeper stepped up first, respectfully bowing her head. “We shall follow your lead, guardswoman Akula.”
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - checks chap count oh fuck, right, this was supposed to be a city builder...

First time attempt at this. Please give honest opinions. I want to know if this makes you want to read more, if it's boring/dull, does it draw you in, etc.:
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Chapter 1
****
She was still reeling from the memory.
One moment she was walking down the street and the next she awoke to screams and herself standing with corpses strewn around her. All of them had blood seeping from their eyes, ears, and noses as if their very insides had been melted and drained from their orifices. Twenty people had dropped abruptly in a concentric circle around her with her standing in the middle. They had been innocent villagers, just random passersby on their way in the village no different than her. She was left standing with nothing more than a nosebleed. However, instead of considering her a survivor of the same attack, she was cast into suspicion.
She was in a dungeon since then, scratching at the manacles around her wrists. None of this made any sense - she was an orphan and worked on a farm. The day had been no different than the others - she had just gotten done dropping off cans of cow’s milk at the village shipping silo. She was initially accused of using weapons to murder everyone and the stories got more and more far-fetched till the village elder finally suggested simply putting her in the dungeon until it was time for a trial.
The dank, dark dungeon was a level below ground and there was a tiny triangle shaped window just too high for her to peek through. The stench of old rot and rat feces permeated strongly enough to where she was sure it was in her hair. She was terrified - first of what happened, second of not knowing why it happened, and lastly of what may happen to her. Her heart was racing and thundering against her chest as she curled up against the mossy, limestone walls. There was a distant, rhythmic drip of water as if from a leaky pipe somewhere and it drove her almost as mad as her own anxieties.
She could think about nothing but the guilt from those dead faces, but also conflict because she was so certain she hadn’t done anything wrong. She was just as confused as the rest of the witnesses that saw the bodies abruptly collapse. She had known some of those people and she would never forget their sunken cheeks and bloody visages for as long as she lived.
She already heard many villagers calling for her to be executed immediately for her crimes. Several others averted their gaze in fear and prayed to their gods as she passed them to the dungeons. Some prayed for her soul for demons had claimed it. She couldn’t imagine anyone fearing her. She was 19, scrawny with unruly black hair, bronze skin, dull dark eyes and a plain, unremarkable appearance. She was Lani. Just Lani. How could anyone be afraid of her?
Lani surveyed the manacles that had to be especially tightened around her dainty arms. She was hoarse from crying and shouting her innocence, from screaming about how she was not possessed and how she didn’t kill all those people. No one listened to her. No one heard her. She sighed and hugged her knees to her chest, peering into the dark, metal bars of her cell. She had no choice but to wait for her sentencing, terrified and alone, accused of something she never did.
Lani was about to delve further into her self-destructive thoughts again when she heard footsteps approaching. She straightened up where she was seated, blinking through the darkness as the orange glow of a torch illuminated the dungeon corridor. There was just enough light to reveal the skeletal remains of the prisoner in the cell across from hers. Lani chewed on her lip, trying not to cry all over again.
“Prisoner,” The gruff voice of the guard resounded. The man was a titan, huge broad shoulders, a full beard and a malicious glint in his eye. She was sure if she was sentenced to die, he would swing the ax with a booming, maniacal laugh, “You are summoned. Get up,” He ordered, fishing out the keys to her cell and opening the door with a slow, grinding creak.
Lani shakily rose to her feet, her wrists firmly bound with the metals, “Please, I didn’t do this. I could never kill those-”
“Shut up,” He snapped, cutting her off, “Get moving,” He gestured with the torch for her to walk ahead of him. Lani’s gaze flicked down to spot the blade at his hip. She knew better than to run and hasten her own death.
The girl walked up the stone steps to the upper level of the prison. The village she lived in had been a peaceful one and it wasn’t often anyone managed to get thrown into the dungeons. Old Gibbsy was the last one to get tossed in for wandering around as a drunken fool one night in the village square. With a grimace, Lani wondered if that skeleton from earlier was the eccentric old man…
She arrived at the top of the steps where the floor opened to a wide hall with stone floors and curved, domed ceiling. She could overhear some voices already.
“-I don’t see how this needs to be escalated to the Crown,” Lani overheard the voice of Warden Violet, a severe and shrewd woman that vaguely reminded her of a venus flytrap. She strutted about through the square looking for excuses to condemn people to the dungeons or paying fines. Lani didn’t have to see her just yet to know the Warden was livid.
“This is classified business,” A masculine voice with a velvety varnish answered back, the inflection perfectly calm. It was a stark contrast to the rising temper in Warden Violet’s tone.
“Well this is positively absurd! I must insist-”
Lani turned the corner then - having been nudged forth by the guard after she started stalling. She stared wide-eyed at the two figures looking right at her - on the right was the Warden with a high-neck full-sleeved emerald dress to hug a thin, wiry frame. Her face sported a permanent grimace and an aquiline nose. Her hair was tied in a tight bun, streaks of gray weaving in with the black.
On the left was a man Lani had never seen before but could only describe him as…ethereal. He stood tall, almost unnaturally tall, with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, a flush of tan to his skin, and striking silver eyes set under pronounced black brows. His hair was perfectly styled without a single strand out of place. The way he carried himself and his posture suggested he didn’t frequent villages like hers often. Despite the way he carried himself, she doubted he was but a few years older than her.
“This is she?” The man asked without giving Lani more than a cursory glance, his gaze returning to Warden Violet.
“Yes,” The woman snapped.
“Very well,” The man said, unfazed by the Warden's clear agitation, “She will be accompanying me back to the castle.”
“And what am I supposed to tell the families of the decease-”
“Rest assured,” The man said, his baritone icily cutting through Violet’s theatrics, “They will be compensated and move on.”
Lani forgot how to breathe during this entire exchange. She was still reeling from the deaths, wondering about her fate and now he mentioned the castle? She was going to the King’s castle? Lani felt sick to her stomach. She knew what was going to happen - they were going to execute her before the masses. They would make an example out of her by parading her around the square to let everyone throw vegetables at her and then her head would roll off to thunderous applause. Her skin turned pale and clammy, and she was positive her knees were weak enough to collapse.
“Are you hard of hearing?” The male voice sternly cut through her line of thought like a hot knife through butter. Lani realized the tall man was standing right across from her, clearly having addressed her. She had to crane her neck to regard him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He had no patience for her antics and looked back at Warden Violet.
“Remove her binds,” The man ordered.
Warden Violent looked as if someone slapped her across the face, “I beg your pardon?” She scoffed. The man stared blankly at her, clearly on his last nerve, “I will give you the key, my lord, but I would prefer if she remained bound till you exit our borders.”
The man said nothing to that, extending a hand for the key. He turned to Lani at last, “Come,” He ordered and Lani’s legs moved of their own accord as she followed him like an obedient puppy. Lani blinked at the bright sunlight after spending several days in the dark dungeon, her hair ratty and matted. She was sure she smelled like a corpse, especially next to the tall stranger who smelled of earthy musk and patchouli.
It wasn’t till she spotted a golden crested carriage with four, massive Percherons with braids waiting out front that it dawned the man was not simply a messenger from the court. Why did Warden Violet call him ‘my lord’? Lani was too terrified to ask him questions and stood in place. She briefly wondered if he was simply going to tie a rope to her binds and make her walk behind the carriage.
The man opened the door to the carriage and waited, a noticeably disinterested look on his face. After staring in confusion, Lani finally got the hint and quickly scrambled inside. She immediately noticed the seats were a handsome, maroon velvet and the side lace and curtains were golden silks. The interior of this carriage was the epitome of luxury compared to her cot which smelled of cow dung and moldy cheese. She glanced out the window to spot the curious faces of the villagers who gathered to watch her go, all wondering what would become of her fate. As a no-name orphan, she assumed most of them only hoped to show up at her public execution and treat it as a holiday. She wouldn’t blame them - not after those deaths.
Before she could think about what this all meant, the wheels began to turn and the carriage was soon on its way out of Parvan Village.
She stared in silence as the carriage moved past Salma’s Sundries, the general shop where she often traded in jams she canned. Salma, a heavyset woman with an apron, was standing outside the shop with her hands on her hips. She was perhaps the only one who would ever consider Lani’s innocence. Salma was always kind to Lani and had taught her how to read. Now she had a somber expression, her gaze full of pity. It was almost worse than the angry stares.
Lani looked away and bit her lip, hot tears leaking from her eyes again. She was deeply embarrassed, sitting here next to this mystery man as she was carted off to her doom. The slight bumps and grooves from the carriage reminded her of the different turns and paths she recognized so well. They were just making it past the town square after passing through the residential buildings and the great church. She could picture the church spire looming tall above everything else in the village, the perfectly manicured peonies and coneflowers.
The paved road turned into dirt as they slowly began to exit the outskirts of the village. Lani gave a final glance back at the wooden, perimeter fencing before she gazed ahead. There were nothing but green fields stretched out as far as the eye could see on both sides. She had never set foot outside of Parvan Village, and certainly had no idea what lay beyond the fenceline. The ridges of Halyon Mountains loomed far ahead but she knew the castle was several days away at least.
Lani dared to cast a glance back at the passenger next to her, having pretended he wasn’t seated there in his refined, statuesque glory the whole time. He thrived in silence, the brush of wind from the open window the only thing to mar his perfectly coiffed hair. Did he even notice she was blatantly studying him as one would appraise a work of art?
“W-Who are you?” Lani muttered, “My lord,” She added at the end, her voice awkwardly an octave higher.
It seemed like he didn’t hear her, and if he did, he certainly didn’t care to answer. Lani pursed and wetted her lips, staring back down at her lap. This was going to be a very long journey if the man refused to speak. She half wondered if the carriage driver was just as surly.
She wasn’t sure if it was the gentle rocking of the carriage or the ridiculously cushy seats, but Lani was fast asleep moments later. It wasn’t until they came to a halt that her head lurched down towards her collarbones. She awoke with a start, realizing she fell asleep with her face plastered against the window with her mouth hanging open and bits of drool dribbling down the corner of her lip.
Lani didn’t dare to glance at the mystery man and catch that judgmental gaze, but she heard his side of the carriage door open. She quickly wiped off her face, squinting and realizing that she had been asleep for hours and it was nighttime. The soft glow of lights and the sound of voices suggested they had arrived at another town. Her side of the door opened and she almost toppled out, barely catching the carriage’s top prop with a hand to catch herself. That was when she realized she only needed one hand to do it.
When had her manacles been removed?
A hand reached up to help her down, and she saw the kind, elderly face of the coachman. He had been driving the carriage, blocked away from the passengers with the divider. While the tall man was nowhere to be seen, the coachman stayed behind, “My name is Osmond,” He explained as Lani gingerly took the steps down.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” She asked him in desperation, hoping this man would at least shed some light on her fate.
“I’m afraid that’s between you and the crown, my lady,” Osmond said, crestfallen, “I’m not privy to much myself other than retrieving you from Parvan and bringing you back to the castle.”
“Who is the other man with me?” Lani finally dared to ask.
Osmond looked over as if considering his words carefully, “Lord Emrys of Astalon, the King’s Court,” He said with a nod, “He is a noble from the Crown.”
Lani suspected as much. The man carried himself as if he was born to rule over the hearts and minds of all who dared to behold him. She silently followed Osmond as he led her toward what appeared to be a tavern. From the looks of it this was a crossroads checkpoint with a tavern with room and board, along with a few tiny shops scattered around. Travelers stopped here for the night before continuing on the King’s Road. The sign above the tavern was a wooden, rackety thing that had ‘The Grumpy Toad’ written on it in crude letters. Lani could already spot a woman standing outside in a revealing bodice, flashing leering gazes at the men that passed.
The inside of the tavern was bustling with life - there were several patrons from various towns and different walks of life. There were rugged men with mugs of foaming ale, there was a woman in the corner strumming some strings and singing a tune, customers banging their mugs on the table to call the barmaid over, and a hooded man in the far corner.
“Ah! That’ll be him,” Osmond said as he gestured Lani towards the man, “I’ll go back to tend to the carriage, you take care!”
Lani awkwardly shuffled towards the table in the back where Lord Emrys was seated as discreetly as someone that tall could. Before she could pull up a chair to sit, he spoke without looking up, “I booked two rooms,” That familiar baritone resounded as he slid some keys across the table, “Go have a bath. The women should have prepared some clothes for you.”
“O-Oh, th-thank you,” Lani said before she began to add, “M-My lord”
He said nothing in return, not lifting his gaze to meet hers. As if she wasn't there at all. Lani felt like a tiny worm on a hook and she quickly spun on her heel and bolted away. The man was awful! How could a noble have such terrible manners and social skills? She was furious the entire way up the stairs and into the room, though her anger melted away when she saw a warm bed and a bath already drawn. There was clothing laid out for her on the bed and oil reeds to add a gentle, vanilla scent to the air. Compared to the loft atop the barn where she normally slept, this was a night in a castle.
Lani sank into the hot bath, taking a moment to simply soak before she began to scrub the muck and grime off from the prison dungeon. She may have had an execution coming up in a few days, but she would fully embrace whatever hospitality and luxuries she could until then. For once, her thoughts shifted away from the deaths and towards the journey away from Parvan. She thought of all the other lands in the realm of Zarul she only heard about in passing - the town of Vuul and its precious gems, the mining city of Olgoth at the base of Halyon Mountains, the great old forest of Rhynwood. They had all been stories and legends to her, but she would be passing by some of these on the path to Castle Astalon.
Why was a noble of the Crown here to escort her personally? They could have sent any lowly worker to fetch a random girl on trial for murder at an unremarkable village. Lani finished the bath at last, dressing in a tunic that ended at the knees with some leggings underneath. There was a cloak that she fastened atop it as she took a moment to gaze at herself in the mirror. She could almost pass for a middle class civilian, venturing to smile at her reflection now that the grime was off her face.
The smile was gone by the time she descended the stairs again to rejoin her prickly companion. The prissy noble hadn’t moved an inch, still seated at that corner table and now with a plate of bread and cheese in front of him. Lani didn’t know anyone else, so she awkwardly took a seat across from him.
After a moment of fidgeting in silence, Lani sighed and looked at Emrys, “Am I a prisoner or am I free?” She asked, holding up her wrists that were no longer bound.
The man said nothing, quietly nibbling on a piece of bread.
“Look at me!” Lani snapped at him, a sudden lull in the dialogue around her suggesting that a few patrons were looking their way. She didn’t care - she was fed up with the silent treatment. The gesture got his attention and he slowly met her gaze. Those same, striking eyes always made her want to shrink back. His face was set in stone, the contours of his handsome face perfectly chiseled through years of royal bloodlines. She almost fumbled out an apology, but she stood her ground this time, staring intently at him.
“You did kill those people,” He said at last. Those simple words came crashing down on Lani like a tidal wave, and she was suddenly pulled underwater with pressure threatening to collapse her lungs. All of her worst fears had come true. She couldn’t fathom how or why, but a place deep inside, nestled in her gut, always suspected that she was responsible.
“H-How?” She croaked, “I..I don’t remember any of it. I was a victim myself! I had a nosebleed!” She pointed at her own nose as if the evidence was there now.
“You will be told more in time,” Emrys said dryly.
Before Lani could protest, the doors to the tavern were slammed open. Three armored individuals strutted in, one man and two women. They were adorned in leather armor, the women carrying blades and the man with a mace. He stood tall and bulky, his head bald and a red tattoo of a sickle etched over the side of his face.
One of the slightly drunk guests stood up from his table, walking over to the trio as he gave a lazy point with his finger, “Hey, you’re not -hic- s’upposed to have weapons in here!” He half slurred, moving a bit closer. His next words ended in a gasp as one of the women grasped him by the shoulder and drove one of her daggers right into his gut. The man fell with a thud on the ground, clutching his profusely bleeding abdomen.
Emrys quickly turned to Lani, his gaze severe, “Hide,” He commanded. Lani didn’t need to be told twice, scrambling to her hands and knees and shuffling away to duck behind the bar.
“HEY!” The stabbed man’s friends jumped up from their seats, taking swings at the group. The women moved efficiently, ducking under incoming punches to drive their weapons into ribs and lungs. One of the men fell dead with a dagger pierced through the eye.
“We are looking for a Weave Touched girl!” The armored man’s voice boomed. The inn was perfectly silent in fright save for the quiet whimpering of the man still alive with that gut wound. The armored man took a few steps forth, raised his mace and slammed it down to smash the dying man’s face in, putting him out of his misery, “A girl of 17 or 18. Came in that pretty little carriage outside.”
Lani froze where she was. Were they talking about her? She was trembling, slowly glancing up at the barmaid that was on this side of the bar. The elderly woman’s gaze flicked down to her and then back towards the thugs.
“If you’re hiding her, we’ll kill every single person in here till we find her!” The male’s voice resounded.
Lani felt sick to her stomach. She silently pleaded with the barmaid, but she could see the terror on the woman’s face. The woman took a deep breath and looked back towards the attackers, “She is-” Before the woman could finish, a strange layer of ice formed right over her mouth. The rest of her sentence ended in shocked, muffled mumbling as she clutched at the thin sheet of ice layered over her lips.
From where she was, Lani could hear absolute chaos and commotion. She quickly crawled out from her hiding spot to peek on the other side. To her shock, it was her broody companion! He sprang into action and was actively engaging the three combatants. Emrys had what appeared to be blades made of ice protruding from his hands as extensions of them, weapons he forged himself. Lani had only heard stories of such powers.
One of the female mercenaries slashed at Emrys with her blade, and he met it with an ice blade, parrying and pivoting around her to drive his second blade into her chest. Before the woman ever hit the ground, the blade was out of her chest and Emrys spun around to meet another incoming attack from the remaining woman. He ducked as the male slammed down with his mace, though a second attack shattered through one of the ice blades.
Emrys was a blur of motions, gracefully spinning and moving on his feet like a dervish. He was an abstract of that faint, chilling blue of ice that blended against the brown backdrop of the tavern. He was moving so fast Lani could barely keep up, the sound of clanking blades echoing as shards of ice chipped away from every hit. The tavern patrons all scrambled in different directions, finding any exit they could. Some shattered the windows open and crawled out, others found an opening to run out the front doors and a few ran upstairs to hide. Lani was stuck where she was, the barmaid almost tripping over her to run away with her hands clutching her frozen mouth.
Lani was considering her next move when Emrys abruptly arrived around the corner, “It's safe now, let's go,” He barked at her. She noticed he was clutching his side, his hands still pale blue from where he had forged the ice blades. Lani bolted and followed after him, noting the way he hunched as he moved.
“You’re hurt!” She called out after him. As expected, he said nothing. Lani cast a quick glance at the dead mercenaries, all wearing deep slash or stab wounds that were cauterized with an icy burn. She noticed Emrys pause briefly to snatch something off the dead male's body before the two of them stepped outside.
They were back at the carriage and Lani gasped, spotting Osmond the coachman lying dead on the ground in a pool of his own blood. He had been killed before the mercenaries ever entered the tavern. Unsure of what to do, Lani began to climb into the carriage.
“No,” Emrys half gasped, “We take the horses,” He said, his voice sounding weak.
“We have to get you help!” Lani yelled at him, “You’re not going to last long with that wound!”
Emrys paused and inspected his side, moving his hand to reveal the blood. He sighed to himself, quickly undoing the tethers on the horses, “We will ride the rest of the way,” Emrys said, “It’ll be faster and-”
“You are bleeding out!” Lani shouted, her tone firmer than she expected, “You will fall off your horse and die this way!”
“There is no time,” Emrys said as he untethered one of the horses, “Those people do not operate alone. Reinforcements are on their way,” He said, wincing as pain shot through his body. Before he could climb on the horse, he stumbled and looked down at his wound again. Had the jab been that bad?
Lani despised this feeling of helplessness. On one hand, she could watch him die and she could run away. There would be no execution, no imprisonment, no parading her around. Then again, she would always have questions that went unanswered. What was a Weave Touched? Why did Emrys have such strange abilities? Why were those mercenaries looking for her? No, he wasn’t allowed to die on her. He owed her too many answers.
Before she realized what she was doing, a shuddered gasp escaped her. Emrys eyed her curiously as Lani began to tremble where she stood. She surrendered to that feeling of her rage and anger, that stubborn desire to keep Emrys alive. His silver eyes widened as he studied his wound, feeling the pain subside and alleviate.
Lani’s eyes were glazed over and the pool of blood around Osmond’s body began to evaporate. After a moment, she snapped out of her reverie, staring in confusion at Emrys. She scowled at him, “We need to get you help!” She recalled her last line of thought.
Emrys remained silent, glancing from Lani, to Osmond, and then back to Lani. He opted not to say anything on the topic, “It is only a surface wound,” He said dismissively, “I will live,” He would live now that she had saved his life without even realizing what she had done. Without understanding how she applied one of the most twisted forms of Weaving. It was haunting to behold and it left him internally shaken.
Shouts behind them suggested the reinforcements were on their way. Emrys hopped onto his horse after freeing a second one, “Get on a horse,” He commanded, “You know how to ride, yes?”
How did Emrys seem stronger? He was fading away just moments prior. Lani stared up at him sheepishly, “I… well, one time when I was a child, Old Gran Millie put me on a pony and-”
The man growled to himself, grasping Lani to hoist her up into his horse. She yelped as she was unceremoniously plopped on Emrys’ horse right in front of him, his arms and broad frame wrapping around her to take the reins. Before she could complain, Emrys snapped the leathers and the horse bolted into a gallop, leaving death and the chaos behind in their wake.
**