Cold sweat, rapid heartbeat, faintness
[Routine Help] Why is my face beet red after a shower and applying a basic moisturizer?
2024.05.28 00:42 FunctionSimilar1574 [Routine Help] Why is my face beet red after a shower and applying a basic moisturizer?
I take hot shower - yes I know that's not great - but I never let the hot water touch my face. When it's time to wash my face I switch the water to luke-cool and then when I get out of the shower I bend down and put even colder water (still cool, not cold) on my face to minimize irritation.
When I get out of the shower my skin looks pretty normal but once I put my super basic St Ives moisturizer on it faintly stings and when I looked in the mirror my forehead, apples of the cheeks, and chin are beet red like a bad sunburn.
What am I doing wrong ? I actually haven't even used acids for over a month since I got a facelift and was told to hold off. All this time I've only been using Eucerin sensitive skin physical sunscreen and St Ives moisturizer after my showers.
Why is this happening and am I aging myself? I'm really scared I don't want to ruin the collagen in my skin after getting an expensive surgery. It's still very faintly stinging like 5-10min after.
submitted by FunctionSimilar1574 to SkincareAddiction [link] [comments]
When I get out of the shower my skin looks pretty normal but once I put my super basic St Ives moisturizer on it faintly stings and when I looked in the mirror my forehead, apples of the cheeks, and chin are beet red like a bad sunburn.
What am I doing wrong ? I actually haven't even used acids for over a month since I got a facelift and was told to hold off. All this time I've only been using Eucerin sensitive skin physical sunscreen and St Ives moisturizer after my showers.
Why is this happening and am I aging myself? I'm really scared I don't want to ruin the collagen in my skin after getting an expensive surgery. It's still very faintly stinging like 5-10min after.
2024.05.28 00:35 andrxwwxvi Was suicidal because of possibly exposing others to Covid.
So originally, I had some mild symptoms such as a cough and a sore throat, but no fever or body aches. I was concerned it might have been Covid but I came to the conclusion it was probably just a cold especially given the fact that the seasons are changing. My symptoms improved, but then they ended up getting worse. I developed an even louder cough. Still, I didn’t take a test yet. I didn’t want to believe it was Covid. I thought it could have just been a bad cold, but I did fear it was Covid. Eventually I went to two stores, but forgot to take my mask because when I left I was in a dark place and wasn’t thinking about safety precautions. I wasn’t thinking at all honestly and I hate myself for it. But on the way there I considered that it could be Covid since I was sick for a while but also told myself I could be wrong and maybe it isn’t. The next day when I went somewhere, I did end up masking. And I also tested afterwards to make sure it wasn’t Covid. It came back negative. A friend I hadn’t seen in a while asked me if I wanted to hang out. Since I deal with crippling loneliness, I said yes without hesitation even though I was worried my test could be a false negative. We went to a restaurant and I had a minor cough. I wasn’t wearing a mask around him and I have no fucking clue why. The next day, I take a few more tests and I see a faint line on one of them. So now, I’ve probably spread Covid to so many people and could be the reason they die. The guilt is consuming me. I haven’t slept well at all these past few days and feel like a killer.
submitted by andrxwwxvi to SuicideWatch [link] [comments]
2024.05.28 00:18 Saltybee7 I was Haunted by a Nocturnal Visitor
My name is João, and I hesitated a lot before deciding to share this story with you. People tend to be incredulous about these matters and often judge quickly. However, on recommendation, I have resolved to reveal this experience here.
At sixteen, my life unfolded in the serenity of the interior of Pernambuco, Brazil. Our home was located on a vast expanse of land, surrounded by endless sugar cane fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. The nearest town barely deserved the title of a town; it was just a cluster of modest houses, a simple church, and a few shops scattered along a single dirt road. Life there was slow and peaceful, as if we were immune to the pressures and worries of the outside world.
We lived on a sugar cane farm, a property that had belonged to my family for generations. It was arid land, marked by the relentless sun that shone mercilessly over the golden fields. My father spent his days working in the cane fields, sweating under the scorching heat, while my mother took care of the house and us, her children, with unwavering love and dedication. My little sister, Ana, was the light of our lives, with her innocent laughter and insatiable curiosity about the world around her.
Our farm was a haven of tranquility, an oasis of calm amidst the bustle of the modern world. At night, we could contemplate the starry sky without the interference of city lights and listen to the sounds of nature echoing through the landscape. It was a simple life, but full of meaning, where family bonds were forged by close companionship, and traditional values were preserved with pride.
My routine was a delicate dance between obligations and leisure moments. The sun would rise, painting the sky with orange hues, and I would already be up, ready to help my father in the plantation. The hours passed between hard work under the scorching sun, the sweet smell of sugar cane filling my senses. Each movement was a repeated ritual, a choreography I knew as well as my own breath.
In the afternoon, when the heat began to wane, I returned home. My mother, with agile hands and keen eyes, coordinated the household chores with the precision of a conductor. I helped where I could, washing dishes, sweeping the dirt floor, bringing firewood to the kitchen. It was a simple but comforting routine, an echo of ancient times when life flowed smoothly, without haste or worry.
At night, after a simple and comforting dinner, I had a brief moment of freedom. Sometimes, I retreated to a quiet corner of the house to devour the pages of a book, letting myself be carried away by stories that transported me to distant worlds and thrilling adventures. Other times, I went out to meet my friends, walking along dark roads under the starlight, sharing laughter and secrets until late into the night.
However, this tranquility was abruptly interrupted by something strange and inexplicable. It was on a morning like any other, when the sun rose on the horizon and the birdsong heralded a new day, that my father noticed the marks on the door. They were not simple scratches; they were deep grooves in the wood, as if something with sharp claws had torn the surface with supernatural force.
At first, we attributed these marks to wild animals, perhaps a jaguar in search of food or a hungry wolf. But we soon realized that there was something more sinister at play. The marks always appeared during the full moon, as if some hidden power were in tune with the cycles of nature, waiting for the right moment to manifest itself.
My family, rooted in the ancient legends and superstitions of the region, began to act cautiously. We placed food outside the house, hoping to appease any disturbed entity behind the mysterious marks. But, to our dismay, the manifestations did not cease; they only diminished in intensity, as if the creature haunting us was only testing our limits, waiting for the right moment to make its next move.
As the nights passed and the marks continued to appear, fear began to creep into our hearts. Every unexpected sound, every shadow in the darkness, left us tense and alert, fearing what might be lurking beyond the walls of our home. However, the worst part was when my younger sister, only six years old at the time, became the target of the creature. She reported hearing whispers in the wind at night, as if someone were outside her window, whispering dark secrets to her.
Restlessness began to grow within me. The nights were filled with a strange silence, interrupted only by the rustling of leaves and the sounds of the forest. Every noise, every unexpected sound made my heart beat faster. We knew something was out there, but we didn't know what. However, we became accustomed to the situation, in part thanks to the offerings our parents left every full moon night outside our house. Even in the face of strange events, we felt some relief in believing that we were a little safer.
As the nights unfolded, something even more sinister began to manifest. In addition to the marks on the door, mud marks began to appear on the windows, as if the one tormenting us not only wanted to scare us, but also to watch us closely. The fear that was already present in our hearts began to grow, fueled by each new clue of the invisible presence surrounding us.
Then things took an even darker turn. My sister, Ana, who was only six years old at the time, began to report disturbing things. She said she heard whispers in the wind at night, as if someone were outside her window, whispering dark secrets to her. Her frightened expression and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed the sleepless nights and torment that haunted her.
Worry and terror took hold of us. Every night became a frightening challenge, where every shadow seemed to hide an imminent threat. Even with the offerings left outside, we couldn't shake the feeling that something malevolent was lurking around us, patiently watching, waiting for the right moment to act.
Until it happened.
On that fateful night, darkness fell upon the house like a shadowy mantle, enveloping every corner in a cold and relentless embrace. The wind blew with a supernatural intensity, its howling gusts echoing through the corridors like the wails of lost souls begging for redemption. The moonlight, pale and sinister, cast its trembling rays through the windows, turning the furniture into twisted shapes and casting grotesque shadows on the walls.
Ana's sharp cry pierced the silence of the night, a sound so ominous that it seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. It was as if a veil had been torn, revealing the hidden terror lurking in the shadows. We ran desperately to her room, our footsteps echoing through the empty corridors like the drumbeat of an imminent funeral.
Upon entering the room, we were greeted by a scene that resembled a painting of hell. The window was shattered into a thousand pieces, the sparkling glass scattered on the floor like shards of a broken mirror. The moon, in its macabre fullness, cast a trembling light on the scene, illuminating the nightmare unfolding before us.
Ana was crouched in a corner of the room, her small body trembling with terror, her wide eyes reflecting the horror consuming her from within. A sinister shadow loomed over her, a distorted and grotesque figure that seemed to have stepped straight out of the darkest nightmares. It was the Labatut, its presence exuding an aura of malice and despair.
It was an imposing and terrifying figure, a manifestation of terror in its most primal form. Its body was colossal, dominating the space with its intimidating presence. Hoofed feet pounded the ground with a force that made the earth tremble under its weight. Every step it took echoed like distant thunder, announcing its imminent arrival.
Its body was covered in rough and tangled fur, a dark coat that seemed to absorb the light around it, casting sinister shadows in all directions. Its single eye, in the middle of its forehead, gleamed with a terrifying intensity, radiating an aura of malice and power. It was as if it could see directly into the soul of those who crossed its path, probing the deepest secrets and fears.
The Labatut's mouth was filled with grotesque teeth, each as sharp as a blade, resembling elephant tusks ready to tear its prey apart. A low, menacing growl escaped its throat, filling the air with a sense of imminent terror. It was impossible to face that monster without feeling a shiver run down the spine, fear paralyzing the muscles and clouding the mind.
Its movements were agile and silent, despite its enormous stature. It moved like a shadow in the darkness, gliding between dark corners and narrow alleys with alarming ease. It was as if it were always lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to launch its deadly attack and disappear again into the shadows.
The Labatut was more than a simple creature; it was terror itself personified, a force of nature that defied any rational explanation. Its presence was a grim reminder that evil can take many forms, some beyond human comprehension, and that even the bravest can succumb to the darkness it represents.
My father, driven by a mixture of anger and despair, grabbed his shotgun and fired at the creature, but the shots seemed to dissipate in the air like smoke. The Labatut let out a deafening howl, a sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my bones tremble with fear. And then, in the blink of an eye, it lunged at Ana, its claws outstretched to grab her and drag her into the darkness.
My mother, in a final act of desperation, threw herself over her, trying to protect her with her own fragile body. But it was too late. With a quick and brutal movement, the Labatut grabbed Ana and disappeared before our eyes, leaving behind only the echo of her anguished screams.
We stood there, paralyzed by shock and pain, as the emptiness of loss enveloped us like a cold mist. What remained of our family was torn apart, our hearts heavy with grief and despair. In the days that followed, the farm seemed darker and lonelier than ever, every shadow twisting like the very manifestation of the fear that consumed us from within.
I, especially, was haunted by the trauma of that fateful night. Every dark whisper of the wind transported me back to that moment, and every shadow turned into the grotesque figure of the Labatut, its sinister presence haunting my thoughts and deepest dreams.
I knew I could no longer live on that farm, surrounded by such painful memories and the constant fear of the unknown. So, when the time came, I left behind the life I knew, setting out in search of a new beginning in the big city. But even from a distance, the terror of that night never left me. The Labatut became a permanent shadow in my life, a ghost that haunted my thoughts and pursued me wherever I went. Every dark corner, every elongated shadow, was a cruel reminder of that terrible moment that changed the course of my existence forever.
In the big city, I tried to bury my memories under the weight of everyday life. I immersed myself in work, keeping my mind busy during the day to avoid the horrors that came at night. But even there, among the skyscrapers and bustling streets, I couldn't completely escape the past that haunted me.
The nights were the worst. Wrapped in the darkness of my apartment, I found myself at the mercy of my own dark thoughts. Every creak of the building's structure, every whisper of the wind, made me tremble with fear, transporting me back to that fateful night when the Labatut entered our lives and tore away our innocence and happiness.
I tried to find comfort where I could, seeking the help of therapists and counselors who promised relief for my tormented soul. But nothing seemed to completely dissipate the terror that clung to me like a persistent shadow, always present in the darkest corner of my mind.
Years passed, but the Labatut still remained as an indomitable presence in my life. Its twisted face appeared in my most vivid nightmares, its claws outstretched to pull me back into the depths of despair. I became a prisoner of my own fear, unable to escape the clutches of the monster that haunted me since that fateful night.
Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to free myself from the terror that consumes me, if I will ever find peace away from the clutches of the Labatut. But until then, I continue to fight, a lost soul in a sea of darkness, desperately awaiting the light that will one day free me from the nightmare that has become my life.
submitted by Saltybee7 to nosleep [link] [comments]
At sixteen, my life unfolded in the serenity of the interior of Pernambuco, Brazil. Our home was located on a vast expanse of land, surrounded by endless sugar cane fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. The nearest town barely deserved the title of a town; it was just a cluster of modest houses, a simple church, and a few shops scattered along a single dirt road. Life there was slow and peaceful, as if we were immune to the pressures and worries of the outside world.
We lived on a sugar cane farm, a property that had belonged to my family for generations. It was arid land, marked by the relentless sun that shone mercilessly over the golden fields. My father spent his days working in the cane fields, sweating under the scorching heat, while my mother took care of the house and us, her children, with unwavering love and dedication. My little sister, Ana, was the light of our lives, with her innocent laughter and insatiable curiosity about the world around her.
Our farm was a haven of tranquility, an oasis of calm amidst the bustle of the modern world. At night, we could contemplate the starry sky without the interference of city lights and listen to the sounds of nature echoing through the landscape. It was a simple life, but full of meaning, where family bonds were forged by close companionship, and traditional values were preserved with pride.
My routine was a delicate dance between obligations and leisure moments. The sun would rise, painting the sky with orange hues, and I would already be up, ready to help my father in the plantation. The hours passed between hard work under the scorching sun, the sweet smell of sugar cane filling my senses. Each movement was a repeated ritual, a choreography I knew as well as my own breath.
In the afternoon, when the heat began to wane, I returned home. My mother, with agile hands and keen eyes, coordinated the household chores with the precision of a conductor. I helped where I could, washing dishes, sweeping the dirt floor, bringing firewood to the kitchen. It was a simple but comforting routine, an echo of ancient times when life flowed smoothly, without haste or worry.
At night, after a simple and comforting dinner, I had a brief moment of freedom. Sometimes, I retreated to a quiet corner of the house to devour the pages of a book, letting myself be carried away by stories that transported me to distant worlds and thrilling adventures. Other times, I went out to meet my friends, walking along dark roads under the starlight, sharing laughter and secrets until late into the night.
However, this tranquility was abruptly interrupted by something strange and inexplicable. It was on a morning like any other, when the sun rose on the horizon and the birdsong heralded a new day, that my father noticed the marks on the door. They were not simple scratches; they were deep grooves in the wood, as if something with sharp claws had torn the surface with supernatural force.
At first, we attributed these marks to wild animals, perhaps a jaguar in search of food or a hungry wolf. But we soon realized that there was something more sinister at play. The marks always appeared during the full moon, as if some hidden power were in tune with the cycles of nature, waiting for the right moment to manifest itself.
My family, rooted in the ancient legends and superstitions of the region, began to act cautiously. We placed food outside the house, hoping to appease any disturbed entity behind the mysterious marks. But, to our dismay, the manifestations did not cease; they only diminished in intensity, as if the creature haunting us was only testing our limits, waiting for the right moment to make its next move.
As the nights passed and the marks continued to appear, fear began to creep into our hearts. Every unexpected sound, every shadow in the darkness, left us tense and alert, fearing what might be lurking beyond the walls of our home. However, the worst part was when my younger sister, only six years old at the time, became the target of the creature. She reported hearing whispers in the wind at night, as if someone were outside her window, whispering dark secrets to her.
Restlessness began to grow within me. The nights were filled with a strange silence, interrupted only by the rustling of leaves and the sounds of the forest. Every noise, every unexpected sound made my heart beat faster. We knew something was out there, but we didn't know what. However, we became accustomed to the situation, in part thanks to the offerings our parents left every full moon night outside our house. Even in the face of strange events, we felt some relief in believing that we were a little safer.
As the nights unfolded, something even more sinister began to manifest. In addition to the marks on the door, mud marks began to appear on the windows, as if the one tormenting us not only wanted to scare us, but also to watch us closely. The fear that was already present in our hearts began to grow, fueled by each new clue of the invisible presence surrounding us.
Then things took an even darker turn. My sister, Ana, who was only six years old at the time, began to report disturbing things. She said she heard whispers in the wind at night, as if someone were outside her window, whispering dark secrets to her. Her frightened expression and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed the sleepless nights and torment that haunted her.
Worry and terror took hold of us. Every night became a frightening challenge, where every shadow seemed to hide an imminent threat. Even with the offerings left outside, we couldn't shake the feeling that something malevolent was lurking around us, patiently watching, waiting for the right moment to act.
Until it happened.
On that fateful night, darkness fell upon the house like a shadowy mantle, enveloping every corner in a cold and relentless embrace. The wind blew with a supernatural intensity, its howling gusts echoing through the corridors like the wails of lost souls begging for redemption. The moonlight, pale and sinister, cast its trembling rays through the windows, turning the furniture into twisted shapes and casting grotesque shadows on the walls.
Ana's sharp cry pierced the silence of the night, a sound so ominous that it seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. It was as if a veil had been torn, revealing the hidden terror lurking in the shadows. We ran desperately to her room, our footsteps echoing through the empty corridors like the drumbeat of an imminent funeral.
Upon entering the room, we were greeted by a scene that resembled a painting of hell. The window was shattered into a thousand pieces, the sparkling glass scattered on the floor like shards of a broken mirror. The moon, in its macabre fullness, cast a trembling light on the scene, illuminating the nightmare unfolding before us.
Ana was crouched in a corner of the room, her small body trembling with terror, her wide eyes reflecting the horror consuming her from within. A sinister shadow loomed over her, a distorted and grotesque figure that seemed to have stepped straight out of the darkest nightmares. It was the Labatut, its presence exuding an aura of malice and despair.
It was an imposing and terrifying figure, a manifestation of terror in its most primal form. Its body was colossal, dominating the space with its intimidating presence. Hoofed feet pounded the ground with a force that made the earth tremble under its weight. Every step it took echoed like distant thunder, announcing its imminent arrival.
Its body was covered in rough and tangled fur, a dark coat that seemed to absorb the light around it, casting sinister shadows in all directions. Its single eye, in the middle of its forehead, gleamed with a terrifying intensity, radiating an aura of malice and power. It was as if it could see directly into the soul of those who crossed its path, probing the deepest secrets and fears.
The Labatut's mouth was filled with grotesque teeth, each as sharp as a blade, resembling elephant tusks ready to tear its prey apart. A low, menacing growl escaped its throat, filling the air with a sense of imminent terror. It was impossible to face that monster without feeling a shiver run down the spine, fear paralyzing the muscles and clouding the mind.
Its movements were agile and silent, despite its enormous stature. It moved like a shadow in the darkness, gliding between dark corners and narrow alleys with alarming ease. It was as if it were always lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to launch its deadly attack and disappear again into the shadows.
The Labatut was more than a simple creature; it was terror itself personified, a force of nature that defied any rational explanation. Its presence was a grim reminder that evil can take many forms, some beyond human comprehension, and that even the bravest can succumb to the darkness it represents.
My father, driven by a mixture of anger and despair, grabbed his shotgun and fired at the creature, but the shots seemed to dissipate in the air like smoke. The Labatut let out a deafening howl, a sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my bones tremble with fear. And then, in the blink of an eye, it lunged at Ana, its claws outstretched to grab her and drag her into the darkness.
My mother, in a final act of desperation, threw herself over her, trying to protect her with her own fragile body. But it was too late. With a quick and brutal movement, the Labatut grabbed Ana and disappeared before our eyes, leaving behind only the echo of her anguished screams.
We stood there, paralyzed by shock and pain, as the emptiness of loss enveloped us like a cold mist. What remained of our family was torn apart, our hearts heavy with grief and despair. In the days that followed, the farm seemed darker and lonelier than ever, every shadow twisting like the very manifestation of the fear that consumed us from within.
I, especially, was haunted by the trauma of that fateful night. Every dark whisper of the wind transported me back to that moment, and every shadow turned into the grotesque figure of the Labatut, its sinister presence haunting my thoughts and deepest dreams.
I knew I could no longer live on that farm, surrounded by such painful memories and the constant fear of the unknown. So, when the time came, I left behind the life I knew, setting out in search of a new beginning in the big city. But even from a distance, the terror of that night never left me. The Labatut became a permanent shadow in my life, a ghost that haunted my thoughts and pursued me wherever I went. Every dark corner, every elongated shadow, was a cruel reminder of that terrible moment that changed the course of my existence forever.
In the big city, I tried to bury my memories under the weight of everyday life. I immersed myself in work, keeping my mind busy during the day to avoid the horrors that came at night. But even there, among the skyscrapers and bustling streets, I couldn't completely escape the past that haunted me.
The nights were the worst. Wrapped in the darkness of my apartment, I found myself at the mercy of my own dark thoughts. Every creak of the building's structure, every whisper of the wind, made me tremble with fear, transporting me back to that fateful night when the Labatut entered our lives and tore away our innocence and happiness.
I tried to find comfort where I could, seeking the help of therapists and counselors who promised relief for my tormented soul. But nothing seemed to completely dissipate the terror that clung to me like a persistent shadow, always present in the darkest corner of my mind.
Years passed, but the Labatut still remained as an indomitable presence in my life. Its twisted face appeared in my most vivid nightmares, its claws outstretched to pull me back into the depths of despair. I became a prisoner of my own fear, unable to escape the clutches of the monster that haunted me since that fateful night.
Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to free myself from the terror that consumes me, if I will ever find peace away from the clutches of the Labatut. But until then, I continue to fight, a lost soul in a sea of darkness, desperately awaiting the light that will one day free me from the nightmare that has become my life.
2024.05.28 00:15 DragonKnov Kunlun Sect's Weakest Disciple: Chapter 26
[📖First ⏮️Previous Next⏭️]
In the next moment, as if not yet finished and unwilling to merely counter her martial art move, Ji Wuye began to imitate her posture with uncanny precision under Song Jia's shocked gaze, her mouth agape in disbelief. His movements mirrored hers flawlessly, resembling her reflection in a still pond.
Taking a slow, deep breath, Song Jia watched transfixed as Ji Wuye relaxed his stance to mirror her position perfectly— his knees bent, balanced on the balls of his feet, with his wooden sword arm held loose yet ready, every muscle poised to strike.
The way he held himself, the subtle shifts in his breathing, all echoed her own with eerie accuracy.
‘It’s too perfect!’ she shouted inwardly as her fingers trembled slightly as she pointed them at him, still unable to believe what her own eyes were witnessing. "Y...you..." She stuttered, taking an involuntary step back, her mind reeling.
Shaking off that useless thought, Song Jia solemnly met Ji Wuye's gaze once again before executing her sword art with fluid grace.
...
From Ji Wuye's perspective, he noticed Song Jia's form once again disappearing, her body turning blurry as she harnessed her Qi. But he could sense the subtle shifts in her breathing and posture, closing his eyes slightly to immerse himself in heightened focus.
Opening his eyes, he was greeted by Song Jia initiating a circular overhead slash towards him, her blade whistling through the air.
The wooden sword, now mimicking a real sword, gave the impression of a razor-sharp edge aimed at his forehead. Yet, even as it descended, he observed the slightest change in trajectory, with her wrist subtly adjusting the angle of attack.
In response, he moved in perfect tandem, channeling spirals of Qi from his Lower Dantian throughout his body, guiding his movements with preternatural precision.
CLANK-!
Their wooden blades met, the impact sending a gust of wind that blew dust into their faces.
Song Jia's finely arched eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at Ji Wuye's accurate imitation of her opening Gentle Breeze technique.
The disbelief etched on her delicate features deepened as her body once again seemed to blur, the swords spun through the air in mirrored rotations, neither gaining an advantage. ‘Not yet!’ she shouted inwardly.
Meanwhile, Ji Wuye's brow furrowed in intense concentration, carefully observing every minuscule move Song Jia made, his eyes tracking the intricate dance of her sword like a hawk stalking its prey.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow from the intensity of their exchange, glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.
Across from him, frustration tightened the corners of Song Jia's mouth as her finely honed techniques were matched at every turn by this mysterious stranger. Her brows knitted deeper with each clash…
CLANK-!
CLANK-!
CLANK-!
Their wooden blades colliding, the force of their blows even sending tremors up her arms.
The battle raged on, the clashing of wooden blades echoing through the courtyard as the sun slowly sank below the horizon.
Song Jia launched technique after technique at Ji Wuye, varying her speed and angles of attack with dizzying complexity, but he continued to anticipate and mirror her movements perfectly, as if he could predict her every intent.
“Ha…ha…ha…” Exhaustion gradually took hold of Song Jia's body, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as sweat poured down her flushed face. Her swings became sloppier, her footwork less sure as fatigue set in.
Meanwhile, Ji Wuye showed no outward signs of tiring, his movements remaining fluid and precise, an unshakable calm settling over his features.
Until at last, after what seemed like hours locked in their deadly dance, the sky turned an inky black, glittering stars adorning the night sky like tiny jewels strewn across a velvet canvas.
Ji Wuye stood beneath the night sky, calmly looking down at Song Jia, who lay sprawled on the ground, stretching her hands out and breathing heavily, her chest heaving.
"I…i-I'm l…lose!" she admitted at last, her gaze filled with a mixture of pain and unwillingness as she bit her lower lip, tasting the tang of exertion. The words felt like ash on her tongue, bitter with the sting of defeat.
In stark contrast to Song Jia's disheveled state, with her white martial robe covered in dust and disarray, Ji Wuye's clothes remained neat and pristine, and his breath steady, as if he had merely been taking a leisurely stroll.
He withdrew the wooden sword from where it had been pointed at Song Jia's neck, the implicit threat now lifted.
"Thank you for your guidance, Sister Song," he said, cupping his hands together and pointing the tip of the wooden sword downward in a gesture of respect.
With surprising gentleness, he reached down and helped the exhausted Song Jia to her feet, and they exchanged bows.
...
Meanwhile, from Song Jia’s perspective…
She remained on the ground for a few moments longer, catching her breath as disbelief swirled in her mind like a tempest.
How was any of this possible? In all her years of rigorous training, honing her skills to a razor's edge, she had never encountered anyone who could so flawlessly match and counter her Master’s sword art.
The implications of Ji Wuye's uncanny abilities made her stomach turn.
As she finally stood on shaking legs to return his bow, her thoughts raced, a maelstrom of questions buffeting her from all sides.
Who or what was this man? She stared intently at Ji Wuye, searching his composed face for any clues, but it revealed nothing out of the ordinary, a mask of polite calm.
A million questions bubbled up within her, desperate for answers, but bone-deep exhaustion overwhelmed her in that moment.
After exchanging bows, she turned and left without another word, unable to even broach the subject of how high is Ji Wuye's martial realm or how he could so perfectly imitate and defend against her Master’s sword art.
...
Back to the present…
Ji Wuye watched as Song Jia's figure slowly blurred into the distance, a small smile curling upon his lips. "That's a nice sword art," he murmured appreciatively.
[!] You have successfully analyzed and replicated Pulse of Blade - First Move, Gentle Breeze sword art!
...
As the transparent notification screens flickered rapidly before his eyes, Ji Wuye felt a strange influx of information pouring into his brain, as if knowledge were being directly imprinted onto his consciousness.
His gaze trembled slightly before he took a deep, steadying breath and sat down cross-legged on the ground.
"Ha!" He exhaled heavily, his breathing suddenly becoming erratic, his heart pounding in his chest as his body temperature spiked. The sensations washed over him in an overwhelming wave before subsiding just as quickly, leaving him slightly disoriented.
"Heh... That's quite a leap," he thought to himself, a smile forming inwardly as a sense of satisfaction blossomed within him. The next transparent screen began overlapping the current one, displaying the upgraded details of his newly evolved skill.
Upon seeing the greatly enhanced effects of the Quick Adaptation skill, Ji Wuye paused for a moment before bursting into delighted laughter that rang through the courtyard. "Hahaha! So this is what they call a fraudulent skill!"
A wide, excited smile stretched across his face as he felt a surge of exhilaration from how far his abilities had advanced.
His hand trembled slightly, the thrill of excitement coursing through his veins as the true extent of his newly upgraded abilities sank in. His chest felt tight, constricted by the sheer weight of happiness and anticipation for the new heights his powers could reach.
Unbeknownst to Ji Wuye in that moment, caught up in visions of his boundless potential, he found himself lying on his back on the cold, unforgiving ground, gazing up at the vast tapestry of glittering stars that blanketed the night sky.
His eyes shone with fierce determination, alight with the flames of ambition stoked by the profound evolution he had just experienced.
"This is only the beginning..." he murmured, the words carrying a weighty finality as they escaped his lips in a hushed exhalation.
[📖First ⏮️Previous Next⏭️]
submitted by DragonKnov to HFY [link] [comments]
In the next moment, as if not yet finished and unwilling to merely counter her martial art move, Ji Wuye began to imitate her posture with uncanny precision under Song Jia's shocked gaze, her mouth agape in disbelief. His movements mirrored hers flawlessly, resembling her reflection in a still pond.
Taking a slow, deep breath, Song Jia watched transfixed as Ji Wuye relaxed his stance to mirror her position perfectly— his knees bent, balanced on the balls of his feet, with his wooden sword arm held loose yet ready, every muscle poised to strike.
The way he held himself, the subtle shifts in his breathing, all echoed her own with eerie accuracy.
‘It’s too perfect!’ she shouted inwardly as her fingers trembled slightly as she pointed them at him, still unable to believe what her own eyes were witnessing. "Y...you..." She stuttered, taking an involuntary step back, her mind reeling.
Shaking off that useless thought, Song Jia solemnly met Ji Wuye's gaze once again before executing her sword art with fluid grace.
Pulse of Blade - First Move, Gentle Breeze!
...
From Ji Wuye's perspective, he noticed Song Jia's form once again disappearing, her body turning blurry as she harnessed her Qi. But he could sense the subtle shifts in her breathing and posture, closing his eyes slightly to immerse himself in heightened focus.
Opening his eyes, he was greeted by Song Jia initiating a circular overhead slash towards him, her blade whistling through the air.
The wooden sword, now mimicking a real sword, gave the impression of a razor-sharp edge aimed at his forehead. Yet, even as it descended, he observed the slightest change in trajectory, with her wrist subtly adjusting the angle of attack.
In response, he moved in perfect tandem, channeling spirals of Qi from his Lower Dantian throughout his body, guiding his movements with preternatural precision.
CLANK-!
Their wooden blades met, the impact sending a gust of wind that blew dust into their faces.
Song Jia's finely arched eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at Ji Wuye's accurate imitation of her opening Gentle Breeze technique.
The disbelief etched on her delicate features deepened as her body once again seemed to blur, the swords spun through the air in mirrored rotations, neither gaining an advantage. ‘Not yet!’ she shouted inwardly.
Meanwhile, Ji Wuye's brow furrowed in intense concentration, carefully observing every minuscule move Song Jia made, his eyes tracking the intricate dance of her sword like a hawk stalking its prey.
Beads of sweat formed on his brow from the intensity of their exchange, glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.
Across from him, frustration tightened the corners of Song Jia's mouth as her finely honed techniques were matched at every turn by this mysterious stranger. Her brows knitted deeper with each clash…
CLANK-!
CLANK-!
CLANK-!
Their wooden blades colliding, the force of their blows even sending tremors up her arms.
The battle raged on, the clashing of wooden blades echoing through the courtyard as the sun slowly sank below the horizon.
Song Jia launched technique after technique at Ji Wuye, varying her speed and angles of attack with dizzying complexity, but he continued to anticipate and mirror her movements perfectly, as if he could predict her every intent.
“Ha…ha…ha…” Exhaustion gradually took hold of Song Jia's body, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as sweat poured down her flushed face. Her swings became sloppier, her footwork less sure as fatigue set in.
Meanwhile, Ji Wuye showed no outward signs of tiring, his movements remaining fluid and precise, an unshakable calm settling over his features.
Until at last, after what seemed like hours locked in their deadly dance, the sky turned an inky black, glittering stars adorning the night sky like tiny jewels strewn across a velvet canvas.
Ji Wuye stood beneath the night sky, calmly looking down at Song Jia, who lay sprawled on the ground, stretching her hands out and breathing heavily, her chest heaving.
"I…i-I'm l…lose!" she admitted at last, her gaze filled with a mixture of pain and unwillingness as she bit her lower lip, tasting the tang of exertion. The words felt like ash on her tongue, bitter with the sting of defeat.
In stark contrast to Song Jia's disheveled state, with her white martial robe covered in dust and disarray, Ji Wuye's clothes remained neat and pristine, and his breath steady, as if he had merely been taking a leisurely stroll.
He withdrew the wooden sword from where it had been pointed at Song Jia's neck, the implicit threat now lifted.
"Thank you for your guidance, Sister Song," he said, cupping his hands together and pointing the tip of the wooden sword downward in a gesture of respect.
With surprising gentleness, he reached down and helped the exhausted Song Jia to her feet, and they exchanged bows.
...
Meanwhile, from Song Jia’s perspective…
She remained on the ground for a few moments longer, catching her breath as disbelief swirled in her mind like a tempest.
How was any of this possible? In all her years of rigorous training, honing her skills to a razor's edge, she had never encountered anyone who could so flawlessly match and counter her Master’s sword art.
The implications of Ji Wuye's uncanny abilities made her stomach turn.
As she finally stood on shaking legs to return his bow, her thoughts raced, a maelstrom of questions buffeting her from all sides.
Who or what was this man? She stared intently at Ji Wuye, searching his composed face for any clues, but it revealed nothing out of the ordinary, a mask of polite calm.
A million questions bubbled up within her, desperate for answers, but bone-deep exhaustion overwhelmed her in that moment.
After exchanging bows, she turned and left without another word, unable to even broach the subject of how high is Ji Wuye's martial realm or how he could so perfectly imitate and defend against her Master’s sword art.
...
Back to the present…
Ji Wuye watched as Song Jia's figure slowly blurred into the distance, a small smile curling upon his lips. "That's a nice sword art," he murmured appreciatively.
[!] You have successfully analyzed and replicated Pulse of Blade - First Move, Gentle Breeze sword art!
[>>[QUICK ADAPTATION(F)]<<] The proficiency of your passive skill has been increased by 0.01%!
[>>[QUICK ADAPTATION(F)]<<] The proficiency of your passive skill has been increased by 0.01%!
[>>[QUICK ADAPTATION(F)]<<] The proficiency of your passive skill has been increased by 0.01%!
[>>[QUICK ADAPTATION(F)]<<] The proficiency of your passive skill has been increased by 0.01%!
[>>[QUICK ADAPTATION(F)]<<] The proficiency of your passive skill has been inc...
...
As the transparent notification screens flickered rapidly before his eyes, Ji Wuye felt a strange influx of information pouring into his brain, as if knowledge were being directly imprinted onto his consciousness.
His gaze trembled slightly before he took a deep, steadying breath and sat down cross-legged on the ground.
"Ha!" He exhaled heavily, his breathing suddenly becoming erratic, his heart pounding in his chest as his body temperature spiked. The sensations washed over him in an overwhelming wave before subsiding just as quickly, leaving him slightly disoriented.
[>>[INFORMATION]<<] Congratulations! The skill Quick Adaptation(F) has evolved into -> Quick Adaptation(E)!
"Heh... That's quite a leap," he thought to himself, a smile forming inwardly as a sense of satisfaction blossomed within him. The next transparent screen began overlapping the current one, displaying the upgraded details of his newly evolved skill.
[>>[QUICK ADAPTATION (E) ]<<] Type: Passive skill 1st: You can copy and analyze all the attack patterns of your opponent! 2nd: Your vision will not be affected or obscured by any environmental or elemental changes!
Upon seeing the greatly enhanced effects of the Quick Adaptation skill, Ji Wuye paused for a moment before bursting into delighted laughter that rang through the courtyard. "Hahaha! So this is what they call a fraudulent skill!"
A wide, excited smile stretched across his face as he felt a surge of exhilaration from how far his abilities had advanced.
His hand trembled slightly, the thrill of excitement coursing through his veins as the true extent of his newly upgraded abilities sank in. His chest felt tight, constricted by the sheer weight of happiness and anticipation for the new heights his powers could reach.
Unbeknownst to Ji Wuye in that moment, caught up in visions of his boundless potential, he found himself lying on his back on the cold, unforgiving ground, gazing up at the vast tapestry of glittering stars that blanketed the night sky.
His eyes shone with fierce determination, alight with the flames of ambition stoked by the profound evolution he had just experienced.
"This is only the beginning..." he murmured, the words carrying a weighty finality as they escaped his lips in a hushed exhalation.
[📖First ⏮️Previous Next⏭️]
2024.05.28 00:10 happysloth6782846 When do I get concerned?
I've had had severe acid reflux since I was 15 (31 now), so I've been seeing a GI specialist for a long time. Somewhere down the line he said, "yeah you also have IBS", but that's all I ever got. I mostly get on/off really bad stomach pain and diarrhea.,
I went to Costa Rica in February and literally as we were about to fly home I had a mix of what seemed like constipation and diarrhea. I was cold sweating, felt like I was going to pass out, was in so much pain I wondered if I needed to go to the ER. Ever since, I've been on a consistent cycle of not pooping for 2-4 days then the last day I'm miserable and the pain and everything returns.
But this past week it's just been constipation. I look pregnant, I'm nauesous, it's hard to breathe. This is day 5 of Miralax and I've had a handful of small, soft, bowel movements. Is that enough? My fear is exteme back up and needing to go to the hospital. When do you know? Anything else I can do? Unfortunately, my job involves hiking all day so not eating isn't really an option :(
The good news is I have a Colonoscopy/endoscopy coming up in 2 weeks!
submitted by happysloth6782846 to ibs [link] [comments]
I went to Costa Rica in February and literally as we were about to fly home I had a mix of what seemed like constipation and diarrhea. I was cold sweating, felt like I was going to pass out, was in so much pain I wondered if I needed to go to the ER. Ever since, I've been on a consistent cycle of not pooping for 2-4 days then the last day I'm miserable and the pain and everything returns.
But this past week it's just been constipation. I look pregnant, I'm nauesous, it's hard to breathe. This is day 5 of Miralax and I've had a handful of small, soft, bowel movements. Is that enough? My fear is exteme back up and needing to go to the hospital. When do you know? Anything else I can do? Unfortunately, my job involves hiking all day so not eating isn't really an option :(
The good news is I have a Colonoscopy/endoscopy coming up in 2 weeks!
2024.05.28 00:09 Hiviemindied I was followed by the Corpse of an Angel
When I was a little younger, (about 8-10 years ago) something completely unexplainable happened to me. I don’t tell this story to anyone, mostly because up until earlier today even I thought it wasn’t real. I’m not sure what to do about it or if there is anything I could do, so I thought to post here, maybe at least just to ease my head and hear what others think.
Around high-school time, I was a loser and complete shut-in. Most of my time during these formative teenage years I’d just spend inside, playing games or listening to music and spacing out. Though I’ve always had a fond interest with photography. Capturing life through brief screenshots is precious, plus its fun and easy to do with just the average phone.
So, occasionally, I would leave on my own to wander the woods at the end of our street. Gave me plenty of time alone to get fresh air and stretch as well as snap a bunch of pictures of mostly bugs but other animals or plants I found pretty too.
On one of these walks, I heard a very offputting sound. It vibrated very quietly along the trees and in the surrounding area. Whilst I'm normally a very paranoid person and I was certainly uneased by the presence of this noise, I thought I recognized it. From the distance I was to whatever was producing it, the sound vaguely resembled that of a pig. My thought was maybe some livestock had escaped from a nearby farm or something.
Whether I was right or not, it sounded hurt. The slow agonized rattle, piercing the odd bird chirp or rustle of a branch falling. Then, I made a decision that would scar my life forever. I approached; if it was hurt, I wasn’t just going to leave it to bleed to death or whatever. I know, circle of life and all that, but I was young and much dumber than I am now.
I made a brief trek off the path to find the source of the noise and (hopefully) save it. Wading through a bramble bush that slightly cut my legs, I began to focus on the sound. Or, rather, the sound seemingly gave me no choice but to focus on it. No birds were chirping anymore and aside from my movements, the rising repetitive groans were all I could hear. Everything from the leaves in the trees to the soft blowing winds fell still.
Something felt off and in my stomach I had a strong rising urge to turn back. But I didn’t, the sound grew closer and I hadn’t ventured too far from the path. It wasn’t deafening by any means, but the sound punched through the silence with now a twinge of desperation, like I needed to find it.
Up until this very moment, I have never forgotten what I saw.
In a ditch, just like any other, surrounded by trees and leaf litter but completely devoid of life. Something indescribable. The closest resemblance I could give you is it was similar in shape and size to whale carcasses that wash ashore. A messy pile of color and rotting substances. Except there were so many materials, so many different textures I simply couldn’t identify. There was no discernable body shape or figure, it merely looked as if you had fused together parts of every animal alive and draped a cloth overtop of the result.
It was warping constantly, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. I simply couldn’t understand what this was. What confused me the most was the smell. Or rather, lack of one. The environment smelt just fine, the leaves and earthy natural scent, as if this thing in front of me wasn’t even there.
My heart began to thump a little. I’d never seen a dead body in person, obviously, so I had no clue if I was stumbling upon something I wasn’t supposed to see. This wasn’t what I was looking for and the groaning sound was pulsating from it.
On edge, the slightest sounds began to feel like spears of anxiety cutting straight through my chest. I fell back a little, caught myself and ran back to the path. No-one was around so I didn’t care about keeping my composure and I ran until I caught sight of home again.
My mother was home and noticed me sweaty, shaky and on edge.
“Home already? Your walks normally last a while longer.” she inquired, with a very minor tone of concern.
“I... yeah. Just got a bit tired.” I explained, as I still hadn’t fully come to terms with what I’d seen and didn’t feel that anyone in my family would think anything of it other than that I was losing my mind.
She told me that food was being prepared and wouldn’t be very long, but I returned to my room swiftly and collapsed face first onto my bed. I pondered for a while over what it could have been and came to the conclusion of an art project. It had no scent so perhaps it was a sculpt with sound effects for a film? The indescribable mass being man-made brought me enough comfort to slow my heart rate for the time.
For a brief duration, nothing else happened. I refused to return to the woods for a while so I had no more encounters with whatever it was, purely so that I could continue to convince myself that it was nothing more than a creative pursuit.
That didn’t last for very long, though. Cosy and warm in bed, I was scrolling my phone absent mindedly. I hadn’t thought about the thing all day as I had spent it hanging out with friends outside of school. The slight buzz of my bedside lamp, the busyness of the kitchen downstairs. The slow, creeping ringing in my ears as everything fell silent. Then that haunting, slow rasping seeping under the crack of my door. The drawn out groan pushed its way into my room, my only safe place. I could listen to nothing else, I could think of nothing else as I watched a shadow slowly stretch along the floor invading the dim light.
My eyes grew wide and fearful. I clutched my phone as if it was my last hope and I shuffled out of bed to avoid being caught off guard. If I needed to run, I could run. The doorknob turned, muted by the great harrowing moans. The door creaked open, drowned out still by the desperate sounds of that nightmarish sight.
The doorway opened, giving way to a strange light. It flooded my room as if bright yet pervasively infected each corner of my vision with darkness. In a swift jarring movement, a mass stretched out from behind the obscurant surface. Like skin being pulled from someone’s body to create the mockery of a head. It had the same damn warping textures as the thing I found in the woods. It had no other features and was merely a protruding clump of moving substances.
Except, somewhere within the shifting motion, I could pick out a face. One with a deep haunting gaze. It was as if its eyelids had been peeled back and fused into the skin above and below its eye sockets, unprotected orbs that only stared and stared. Similarly, deep holes, where the nose had been pushed back into its head and once again fused into its undefined formless mass. It had no mouth. All it could do was emit muffled cries as it stretched and quivered in place.
I blinked.
“Hon, we’re going out for a little to get some shopping done, we’ll be back soon. Love you!” my mother called out, as I watched her slip back through the door. That vision, that thing had vanished instantly. But its presence remained.
A few days later, I had calmed down once again, thinking I must’ve hallucinated from a lack of sleep after panicking over the thing I’d seen. The bell rung for the sixth time in the day and I headed to Art class.
I sat by my friend, Alex, with a slight uneasy shiver in my body. I tried to brush it off and we joked a little in murmurs as the teacher rambled on. Toward the end of the subject, as we were doing practical work in the form of paintings, when the bell rang a little earlier than I’d expected. I turned my face to see how everyone else was responding to it.
They’d all turned to me, too. Blank, staring faces. Even Alex, even the teacher. Everyone.
In an immediate fit of panic I jolted out of my seat, slamming my knees on the desk. I winced in pain but still, their eyes followed me perfectly. I shuffled past people, wobbling a little from hurting my knees and bolted out of the classroom. Things just kept happening and I didn’t know why.
Through the hallways, that growing darkness began to appear, before I burst out into the courtyard. There, a slow rattling groan awoken in my ears again. I was becoming extremely familiar and recognized it immediately. Tears began to roll out of my eyes as I screamed, trying to drown out the sound, but it didn’t work. It grew louder and louder, deafening my surroundings.
I opened my eyes wide again to see a huge, limp mass in front of me. Shapeless and constantly contorting, it had no identifiable features beyond the shifting unknown textures and colors. Taller than it was wide, I tried to see where a head should be on a human but once again, just a repulsive slurry that I couldn’t understand.
But it was looking at me. It was looking. At me. Watching, staring, observing anywhere I moved I could not hide. The sound began to hurt, the pulsing rising groan of misery that pained me. I screamed once more, clutching my head.
Alex grabbed my arm violently.
“... Hey?” he questioned, worriedly. I let go of myself and looked up. My classmates all turned to look at me, but no longer staring. They were whispering amongst themselves. Then the bell rang and the teacher awkwardly hurried to move everyone out. I looked back down shakily. Very faint blood stains where I had clasped my ears and everything felt a little quieter.
Alex offered to take me to the medical office and I was far too exhausted to refuse. He had to return to classes after the break, but I was too shaken up to even speak, so they let me stay a little longer and I was sent home shortly after.
I went home and stayed quiet. I was drained. I lay there, appreciating the precious silence of my room. School had just finished and I received a text from my friends. We shortly arranged to go on a walk together through the woods to help me feel better. I wanted to show them what I’d been seeing.
Though my parents were hesitant, they allowed it since my friends, Alex and May, would be there. They arrived and we set off toward the woods, but I directed them to the specific section I had ran out from, I didn’t want to be out here longer than I needed to be.
We arrived at the spot, but the sounds weren’t there anymore. Maybe it was because of my slightly dulled hearing, but there was nothing. Desperate to convince myself I was still sane, I hurried them off the path.
“No, there’s something here you need to see.” I began, immediately turning and stumbling in the direction of where I’d seen it. Alex was less hesitant than May, but both eventually followed.
“If you say so. What is it anyway?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know.” is all I could respond with. He turned to May with confusion, who anxiously shrugged back.
I stepped over the bramble bush again, making sure not to cut myself on it like before. Still, nothing. The ditch was there, there was a clear indication that something had filled this space due to the unnatural scatter of leaves around it. But it just wasn’t there.
“It... it was here before!” I cried out. As much as it freaked me out, I was hoping for any sign that I was overreacting.
“The leaves? The trees? What, what are we looking at here.” Alex chipped in. I turned to him with a dreary hopelessness. His expression fell a little.
“I... there was...”
“Why don’t we just head back onto the trail for now?” May called.
I gave in, slowly returning to the path. Since it wasn’t there, maybe I had nothing to fear travelling through the woods again. But there it was. The distant, faint sound of a hurt animal groaning in slow, painful misery.
“You guys hear that?-” Alex commented. Immediately, I snapped with fear.
“YES.”
I didn’t know what to do, my legs began to shake again and my vision was blurring as the sound grew closer. But we weren’t moving this time. It was. I ran, I couldn’t help myself. I think Alex or May called out to me just before I did but I couldn’t stop.
The further I ran, the sound never faded, but it never grew. Only when I reached my home did it disappear. I ripped open the door, slammed it shut and ran straight up to my room. I didn’t wait to take my shoes off or hear what my mother had to say, I buried myself in my pillow and cried.
Later that night, they both texted in our group chat, frustrated that I pulled a weird prank like that, expressing how worried and concerned they were.
I stopped going to school for the rest of the week as my ears had both become infected and hard to hear out of. It was irritating as hell so I was more than happy to lay in bed all day.
This last part is a little hazy to me due to the actions I took at the end. Most of this is missing details, but this night specifically I have desperately tried to block out of my memory. It wasn’t until recently it came back to me in pieces.
I remember my whole family was out for various reasons. My parents were both working late shifts and my sister was having a sleepover at her friend’s. I was especially anxious already because of my situation, so I crawled out of bed and clumsily headed downstairs. I poured a very shallow bowl of cereal, when that familiar sound kicked up again. I was taking absolutely no chances, dropping the bowl on the counter and rushing to lock everything I could. Every single door, every single window, up until the very last one. I turned, jittery and terrified.
Something was there. The front room’s secondary window, a smaller more ornate patterned window compared to the large glass pane in the center of the wall. Through the textured glass I saw it.
I was face to face with an angel.
A stretched, warping face, with the familiar peeled eyes and nose. We locked eyes and it immediately slipped away unnaturally. I could hear nothing, but I locked the window as fast as possible and nearly tripped skidding back to the stairs. The sound grew louder yet again, louder than it had been, making my ears burn with searing agony.
Nowhere was safe. I hadn’t locked this thing out, I had caged myself in for it. My panic grew as my heart beat faster, I rushed into the bathroom as I heard the door downstairs very slowly creaking open without the slightest resistance from the locks. I ripped open the medicine cabinet and darted back to my room with sleeping pills in hand.
I knew this was it for me. I had an unexplainable feeling, just as indescribable as the formless carcass that was coming for me. I didn’t want to be there when it happened.
Last I remember, I finally smelt it approaching, a hideous mesh of ash and rotten meat. The smell permeated my room as my eyes began to shudder. I could feel the physical pain of them kicking in. I was already exhausted and I don’t know if I fell asleep quickly or if I just blocked out most of before I did.
I awoke a week later. My parents were in tears, wondering why I’d ever try to take my own life and wishing that I’d spoken to them.
For 10 long years, my story has ended there. A crazy drug trip from trying to take my own life.
Just yesterday, I checked my phone’s old storage to see what was on there and I saw a video I didn’t recognize. It was dark blue and grainy. A few minutes in however, a door in the background opens. Light flickers in, illuminating... me. Asleep. Twenty long minutes follow.
Twenty long minutes of raspy, death rattles and the cold, lifeless stare of the corpse of an Angel, watching over me.
submitted by Hiviemindied to nosleep [link] [comments]
Around high-school time, I was a loser and complete shut-in. Most of my time during these formative teenage years I’d just spend inside, playing games or listening to music and spacing out. Though I’ve always had a fond interest with photography. Capturing life through brief screenshots is precious, plus its fun and easy to do with just the average phone.
So, occasionally, I would leave on my own to wander the woods at the end of our street. Gave me plenty of time alone to get fresh air and stretch as well as snap a bunch of pictures of mostly bugs but other animals or plants I found pretty too.
On one of these walks, I heard a very offputting sound. It vibrated very quietly along the trees and in the surrounding area. Whilst I'm normally a very paranoid person and I was certainly uneased by the presence of this noise, I thought I recognized it. From the distance I was to whatever was producing it, the sound vaguely resembled that of a pig. My thought was maybe some livestock had escaped from a nearby farm or something.
Whether I was right or not, it sounded hurt. The slow agonized rattle, piercing the odd bird chirp or rustle of a branch falling. Then, I made a decision that would scar my life forever. I approached; if it was hurt, I wasn’t just going to leave it to bleed to death or whatever. I know, circle of life and all that, but I was young and much dumber than I am now.
I made a brief trek off the path to find the source of the noise and (hopefully) save it. Wading through a bramble bush that slightly cut my legs, I began to focus on the sound. Or, rather, the sound seemingly gave me no choice but to focus on it. No birds were chirping anymore and aside from my movements, the rising repetitive groans were all I could hear. Everything from the leaves in the trees to the soft blowing winds fell still.
Something felt off and in my stomach I had a strong rising urge to turn back. But I didn’t, the sound grew closer and I hadn’t ventured too far from the path. It wasn’t deafening by any means, but the sound punched through the silence with now a twinge of desperation, like I needed to find it.
Up until this very moment, I have never forgotten what I saw.
In a ditch, just like any other, surrounded by trees and leaf litter but completely devoid of life. Something indescribable. The closest resemblance I could give you is it was similar in shape and size to whale carcasses that wash ashore. A messy pile of color and rotting substances. Except there were so many materials, so many different textures I simply couldn’t identify. There was no discernable body shape or figure, it merely looked as if you had fused together parts of every animal alive and draped a cloth overtop of the result.
It was warping constantly, I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. I simply couldn’t understand what this was. What confused me the most was the smell. Or rather, lack of one. The environment smelt just fine, the leaves and earthy natural scent, as if this thing in front of me wasn’t even there.
My heart began to thump a little. I’d never seen a dead body in person, obviously, so I had no clue if I was stumbling upon something I wasn’t supposed to see. This wasn’t what I was looking for and the groaning sound was pulsating from it.
On edge, the slightest sounds began to feel like spears of anxiety cutting straight through my chest. I fell back a little, caught myself and ran back to the path. No-one was around so I didn’t care about keeping my composure and I ran until I caught sight of home again.
My mother was home and noticed me sweaty, shaky and on edge.
“Home already? Your walks normally last a while longer.” she inquired, with a very minor tone of concern.
“I... yeah. Just got a bit tired.” I explained, as I still hadn’t fully come to terms with what I’d seen and didn’t feel that anyone in my family would think anything of it other than that I was losing my mind.
She told me that food was being prepared and wouldn’t be very long, but I returned to my room swiftly and collapsed face first onto my bed. I pondered for a while over what it could have been and came to the conclusion of an art project. It had no scent so perhaps it was a sculpt with sound effects for a film? The indescribable mass being man-made brought me enough comfort to slow my heart rate for the time.
For a brief duration, nothing else happened. I refused to return to the woods for a while so I had no more encounters with whatever it was, purely so that I could continue to convince myself that it was nothing more than a creative pursuit.
That didn’t last for very long, though. Cosy and warm in bed, I was scrolling my phone absent mindedly. I hadn’t thought about the thing all day as I had spent it hanging out with friends outside of school. The slight buzz of my bedside lamp, the busyness of the kitchen downstairs. The slow, creeping ringing in my ears as everything fell silent. Then that haunting, slow rasping seeping under the crack of my door. The drawn out groan pushed its way into my room, my only safe place. I could listen to nothing else, I could think of nothing else as I watched a shadow slowly stretch along the floor invading the dim light.
My eyes grew wide and fearful. I clutched my phone as if it was my last hope and I shuffled out of bed to avoid being caught off guard. If I needed to run, I could run. The doorknob turned, muted by the great harrowing moans. The door creaked open, drowned out still by the desperate sounds of that nightmarish sight.
The doorway opened, giving way to a strange light. It flooded my room as if bright yet pervasively infected each corner of my vision with darkness. In a swift jarring movement, a mass stretched out from behind the obscurant surface. Like skin being pulled from someone’s body to create the mockery of a head. It had the same damn warping textures as the thing I found in the woods. It had no other features and was merely a protruding clump of moving substances.
Except, somewhere within the shifting motion, I could pick out a face. One with a deep haunting gaze. It was as if its eyelids had been peeled back and fused into the skin above and below its eye sockets, unprotected orbs that only stared and stared. Similarly, deep holes, where the nose had been pushed back into its head and once again fused into its undefined formless mass. It had no mouth. All it could do was emit muffled cries as it stretched and quivered in place.
I blinked.
“Hon, we’re going out for a little to get some shopping done, we’ll be back soon. Love you!” my mother called out, as I watched her slip back through the door. That vision, that thing had vanished instantly. But its presence remained.
A few days later, I had calmed down once again, thinking I must’ve hallucinated from a lack of sleep after panicking over the thing I’d seen. The bell rung for the sixth time in the day and I headed to Art class.
I sat by my friend, Alex, with a slight uneasy shiver in my body. I tried to brush it off and we joked a little in murmurs as the teacher rambled on. Toward the end of the subject, as we were doing practical work in the form of paintings, when the bell rang a little earlier than I’d expected. I turned my face to see how everyone else was responding to it.
They’d all turned to me, too. Blank, staring faces. Even Alex, even the teacher. Everyone.
In an immediate fit of panic I jolted out of my seat, slamming my knees on the desk. I winced in pain but still, their eyes followed me perfectly. I shuffled past people, wobbling a little from hurting my knees and bolted out of the classroom. Things just kept happening and I didn’t know why.
Through the hallways, that growing darkness began to appear, before I burst out into the courtyard. There, a slow rattling groan awoken in my ears again. I was becoming extremely familiar and recognized it immediately. Tears began to roll out of my eyes as I screamed, trying to drown out the sound, but it didn’t work. It grew louder and louder, deafening my surroundings.
I opened my eyes wide again to see a huge, limp mass in front of me. Shapeless and constantly contorting, it had no identifiable features beyond the shifting unknown textures and colors. Taller than it was wide, I tried to see where a head should be on a human but once again, just a repulsive slurry that I couldn’t understand.
But it was looking at me. It was looking. At me. Watching, staring, observing anywhere I moved I could not hide. The sound began to hurt, the pulsing rising groan of misery that pained me. I screamed once more, clutching my head.
Alex grabbed my arm violently.
“... Hey?” he questioned, worriedly. I let go of myself and looked up. My classmates all turned to look at me, but no longer staring. They were whispering amongst themselves. Then the bell rang and the teacher awkwardly hurried to move everyone out. I looked back down shakily. Very faint blood stains where I had clasped my ears and everything felt a little quieter.
Alex offered to take me to the medical office and I was far too exhausted to refuse. He had to return to classes after the break, but I was too shaken up to even speak, so they let me stay a little longer and I was sent home shortly after.
I went home and stayed quiet. I was drained. I lay there, appreciating the precious silence of my room. School had just finished and I received a text from my friends. We shortly arranged to go on a walk together through the woods to help me feel better. I wanted to show them what I’d been seeing.
Though my parents were hesitant, they allowed it since my friends, Alex and May, would be there. They arrived and we set off toward the woods, but I directed them to the specific section I had ran out from, I didn’t want to be out here longer than I needed to be.
We arrived at the spot, but the sounds weren’t there anymore. Maybe it was because of my slightly dulled hearing, but there was nothing. Desperate to convince myself I was still sane, I hurried them off the path.
“No, there’s something here you need to see.” I began, immediately turning and stumbling in the direction of where I’d seen it. Alex was less hesitant than May, but both eventually followed.
“If you say so. What is it anyway?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know.” is all I could respond with. He turned to May with confusion, who anxiously shrugged back.
I stepped over the bramble bush again, making sure not to cut myself on it like before. Still, nothing. The ditch was there, there was a clear indication that something had filled this space due to the unnatural scatter of leaves around it. But it just wasn’t there.
“It... it was here before!” I cried out. As much as it freaked me out, I was hoping for any sign that I was overreacting.
“The leaves? The trees? What, what are we looking at here.” Alex chipped in. I turned to him with a dreary hopelessness. His expression fell a little.
“I... there was...”
“Why don’t we just head back onto the trail for now?” May called.
I gave in, slowly returning to the path. Since it wasn’t there, maybe I had nothing to fear travelling through the woods again. But there it was. The distant, faint sound of a hurt animal groaning in slow, painful misery.
“You guys hear that?-” Alex commented. Immediately, I snapped with fear.
“YES.”
I didn’t know what to do, my legs began to shake again and my vision was blurring as the sound grew closer. But we weren’t moving this time. It was. I ran, I couldn’t help myself. I think Alex or May called out to me just before I did but I couldn’t stop.
The further I ran, the sound never faded, but it never grew. Only when I reached my home did it disappear. I ripped open the door, slammed it shut and ran straight up to my room. I didn’t wait to take my shoes off or hear what my mother had to say, I buried myself in my pillow and cried.
Later that night, they both texted in our group chat, frustrated that I pulled a weird prank like that, expressing how worried and concerned they were.
I stopped going to school for the rest of the week as my ears had both become infected and hard to hear out of. It was irritating as hell so I was more than happy to lay in bed all day.
This last part is a little hazy to me due to the actions I took at the end. Most of this is missing details, but this night specifically I have desperately tried to block out of my memory. It wasn’t until recently it came back to me in pieces.
I remember my whole family was out for various reasons. My parents were both working late shifts and my sister was having a sleepover at her friend’s. I was especially anxious already because of my situation, so I crawled out of bed and clumsily headed downstairs. I poured a very shallow bowl of cereal, when that familiar sound kicked up again. I was taking absolutely no chances, dropping the bowl on the counter and rushing to lock everything I could. Every single door, every single window, up until the very last one. I turned, jittery and terrified.
Something was there. The front room’s secondary window, a smaller more ornate patterned window compared to the large glass pane in the center of the wall. Through the textured glass I saw it.
I was face to face with an angel.
A stretched, warping face, with the familiar peeled eyes and nose. We locked eyes and it immediately slipped away unnaturally. I could hear nothing, but I locked the window as fast as possible and nearly tripped skidding back to the stairs. The sound grew louder yet again, louder than it had been, making my ears burn with searing agony.
Nowhere was safe. I hadn’t locked this thing out, I had caged myself in for it. My panic grew as my heart beat faster, I rushed into the bathroom as I heard the door downstairs very slowly creaking open without the slightest resistance from the locks. I ripped open the medicine cabinet and darted back to my room with sleeping pills in hand.
I knew this was it for me. I had an unexplainable feeling, just as indescribable as the formless carcass that was coming for me. I didn’t want to be there when it happened.
Last I remember, I finally smelt it approaching, a hideous mesh of ash and rotten meat. The smell permeated my room as my eyes began to shudder. I could feel the physical pain of them kicking in. I was already exhausted and I don’t know if I fell asleep quickly or if I just blocked out most of before I did.
I awoke a week later. My parents were in tears, wondering why I’d ever try to take my own life and wishing that I’d spoken to them.
For 10 long years, my story has ended there. A crazy drug trip from trying to take my own life.
Just yesterday, I checked my phone’s old storage to see what was on there and I saw a video I didn’t recognize. It was dark blue and grainy. A few minutes in however, a door in the background opens. Light flickers in, illuminating... me. Asleep. Twenty long minutes follow.
Twenty long minutes of raspy, death rattles and the cold, lifeless stare of the corpse of an Angel, watching over me.
2024.05.27 23:48 yoshibike AC broken but no shorts allowed
I seriously got so fucking pissed off and had such a migraine today I just had to go home.
I got hired at this large mall department store in February, and come to find out as winter faded, the air hasn't worked in this place for years...?
I wore a pair of shorts on the hottest day thus far a week or so ago, and my boss says they're not within dress code. So I talk to the in house HR, are you really going to enforce that when it's 15 degrees hotter in here than outside?!
She's a reasonable person and said no, shorts can be allowed. Then I regretfully wrote into the online portal "employee policy feedback" option saying I think shorts should be allowed, they can be just as professional looking as skirts or dresses.
I should've known it'd bite me in the ass, because now in house HR says corporate sent an angry reminder of the dress code and she's not letting my wear shorts anymore. No where did I in anyway say people are wearing shorts at my store, just said I think they can look professional and appropriate and is an unfair double srandard...
It's just ridiculous. As if I look unprofessional in a short sleeve blue button up and grey 9inch shorts. While there are technically a ton of other dress code violators - girls wearing uncovered leggings, everyone wearing jeans, people wear sneakers instead of dress shoes.
I literally heard my old coworker wondering why she's been feeling so sick and faint. I've been having more migraines. All the customers are sweating balls. And my shorts are the issue!?!
Luckily I can quit this place in a little over a month, once I get a surgery with their good insurance. Love it here in America 🙃
submitted by yoshibike to retail [link] [comments]
I got hired at this large mall department store in February, and come to find out as winter faded, the air hasn't worked in this place for years...?
I wore a pair of shorts on the hottest day thus far a week or so ago, and my boss says they're not within dress code. So I talk to the in house HR, are you really going to enforce that when it's 15 degrees hotter in here than outside?!
She's a reasonable person and said no, shorts can be allowed. Then I regretfully wrote into the online portal "employee policy feedback" option saying I think shorts should be allowed, they can be just as professional looking as skirts or dresses.
I should've known it'd bite me in the ass, because now in house HR says corporate sent an angry reminder of the dress code and she's not letting my wear shorts anymore. No where did I in anyway say people are wearing shorts at my store, just said I think they can look professional and appropriate and is an unfair double srandard...
It's just ridiculous. As if I look unprofessional in a short sleeve blue button up and grey 9inch shorts. While there are technically a ton of other dress code violators - girls wearing uncovered leggings, everyone wearing jeans, people wear sneakers instead of dress shoes.
I literally heard my old coworker wondering why she's been feeling so sick and faint. I've been having more migraines. All the customers are sweating balls. And my shorts are the issue!?!
Luckily I can quit this place in a little over a month, once I get a surgery with their good insurance. Love it here in America 🙃
2024.05.27 23:46 roseiskipper Wednesday music: Desperate Electric with Cold Sweat (of Hiahli) and Chris from Amateur
 | submitted by roseiskipper to rochestermn [link] [comments] |
2024.05.27 23:27 okok8080 Killer Concept: "The Effigy"
The Effigy is a mischievous killer, evading and eluding survivors in order to transform using its Mist of Malice.
Its personal perks, Stone Cold, Tricky Tactics, and Ancient Anger allow it to confuse and surprise survivors to gain the upper hand.
MAP: Mistwater Temple
REALM: Forsaken Boneyard
For the sake of this post, I will post the power before the lore description, since the idea originally stemmed from the power in the first place. While this power concept is obviously flawed, I think it could have the potential to be really fun if it was actually implemented in game. I would describe this killer as "a favorite for survivor mains."
POWER: MIST OF MALICE
At the start of the trial, all survivors are inflicted with Mistification, which slowly accumulates over the course of 100 seconds. Certain actions will slightly speed up the Mist Meter, such as healing, repairing generators, cleansing or blessing totems, opening chests, and powering exit gates. These actions are also slightly dampened and slow down the higher the Mist Meter's progression is (This sounds sketchy, but the Effigy needs slowdown because of how its power works, it will make sense if you read down below).
POWER: IMP FORM
In this form, the Effigy moves at only 4.2 m/s. Downed survivors can be taken to hooks at an increased speed of 4.8 m/s, but the Effigy cannot injure survivors. Also, generators can only be damaged for 1% regression, and the action takes twice as long.
However, in Imp Form, the Effigy has other abilities to compensate. In addition to an initial 5% haste boost when detected by a survivor, vaulting actions are 100% faster while in Imp form. The Effigy can also drop a unique object called Shadow Pallets, which only appear while Imp Form is active. These pallets can stun survivors and be broken by them, and will not respawn until the Mist resets.
SPECIAL INTERACTION: CAPTURE
The Effigy will always begin the trial in Imp Form until at least one survivor reaches full Mistification. In order to defend against the buildup of Mist of Malice, survivors must engage in a chase with the Effigy while this is in effect. When the chase begins, the Effigy will gain temporary haste for a few seconds to get a head start.
During this time, only the survivor chasing the Effigy can catch them, and collisions with other survivors is disabled. The chaser is also exhausted until the chase ends, such that exhaustion perks cannot be abused to perform a catch action quicker. However, their Mist Meter pauses as long as the chase persists, and all other Mistified survivors progress at half the normal rate. The chase can only be won by reaching the Effigy and performing the Capture action.
If the Effigy is successfully captured, it will teleport away from the chase. The chaser is rewarded with a full depletion of their Mist Meter, and 33% is deducted from all other survivors as well.
However, if the survivor fails to capture the Effigy for 60 seconds, if no other survivors have full Mistification, the chaser will rapidly become Mistified and fill their meter completely in a matter of seconds.
POWER: DEMON FORM
Once a survivor reaches full Mistification, all Mist Meters begin to regress over a span of 100 seconds. This time is reduced to 60 seconds if the Effigy was caught before the last Mistification was completed. Survivors who were not fully Mistified regress at a much slower rate.
The Effigy will enter Demon Form as soon as the Mistification occurs. In this form, movement speed is boosted to 4.6 m/s, but vault speeds are reduced by 80%. However, The Effigy can now more easily perform killer actions like damaging generators, pallets, and breakable walls, and all of these actions are sped up 60% (compared to normal killer speeds). Most importantly though, they can injure and down survivors. The person who causes the form switch will become exposed until they are downed or the Demon Form wears off.
When a survivor is hooked while Demon Form is active, it pauses the regression of the Mist Meter, prolonging the Demon Form's activation. This effect is nullified if the Effigy lingers in a 24m radius. A similar effect occurs while a survivor is being carried, slowing the regression significantly.
Killer instinct is active for all survivors during this time. The more buildup on the Mist Meter, the further the killer can detect them from. When outside of chase, the survivor who caused the phase change will be constantly revealed by a blue killer instinct marker. When hooking a survivor, killer instinct will trigger for 10 seconds for all survivors and then deactivate until the survivor is unhooked.
PERK LOADOUT:
STONE COLD:
You feel no remorse for those who commit sacrilege.
When a survivor performs an unhook, an illusionary terror radius begins to intensify for all survivors in a 32 meter range of the hook. You are also granted Undetectable for 30 seconds.
This perk then goes on cooldown for 80/70/60 seconds.
TRICKY TACTICS:
You have an aptitude for outwitting your victims.
After hooking a survivor, gain a token, up to a maximum of 10. Hold down the interaction button on a pallet to use 2 tokens and trap it, causing the next survivor who fast vaults it to break it and become Hindered for 3/4/5 seconds. (Basically chemical trap for killers)
ANCIENT ANGER:
You don't let misdeeds go unpunished.
After a survivor stuns you by any means, reveal the survivor's aura for 8/10/12 seconds.
LORE:
The ruins of ancient Mesoamerican civilizations are home to a stunning collection of historical treasures. One such site was excavated near a coastline in northern Mexico in the early 20th century. The region had dried up significantly over the past few decades, and in an area that was previously inaccessible due high tides, archaeologists uncovered an entrance to a massive stone temple buried beneath the earth, speculated to be the tomb for a deceased royal figure.
Unlike other findings of its kind, this temple did not bear resemblance to most of the digs associated with recorded civilizations situated in historical Mexico. For one thing, this structure in its entirety was projected to stretch down nearly a quarter of a mile underground beneath dense, sandy terrain that was previously submerged underwater. Scholars from around the time of the initial excavation believed that this temple could only have existed thousands upon thousands of years ago, when the terrain was far different than it is today.
The site is still shrouded in mystery ever since its discovery. No one really knows who constructed it or what its purpose was, and it was never even given a proper name. Most simply refer to it as the "Mistwater Temple," because many locals reported a strange mist that blanketed the region surrounding the dig site. Some would report strange sightings of old stone artifacts seemingly misplaced along the coast, but these were never explained. These rumors led people to believe the land was cursed, and steered clear of the dig site.
George Maxwell Remington, the third in his family to bear that name, prided himself in his commitment to studying the secrets of the past. Ever since visiting Pompeii as a child, he was deeply fascinated by the lives of generations that came before him. The thrill of adventure he felt whenever he tread upon these places of such historical significance filled him with energy and enthusiasm. He knew from the time he entered high school he wanted to dedicate his life to exploring the many lost wonders of the world, and while his father was a stern professor, he never tried to dampen his son's ambition.
It was around the 1990's when he embarked on his latest expedition. He was fairly old at this point, mid-forties, still not quite accepting that his youth was behind him, but his wanderlust had not yet faded. After having seen so many of the historical landmarks on his typically open to tourism, he yearned for something greater, and sought to pursue the rumors of a forbidden ruin located somewhere along the beaches of Mexico.
George roamed the long sandy stretches of arid Mexican country for weeks. For a while, none of the locals pointed him in the right direction, but eventually he encountered an elderly woman who actually did recognize the name of Mistwater Temple. His spanish was pretty terrible, but the tone of her words came across pretty plainly... she gave him a grave warning, and insisted he turn back home. But he had already been wandering for nearly a month, and it was pretty hard to deter George from doing anything once he was set in his ways.
Eventually, George stumbled across a strange sight on one of the northern Mexican beaches. His vision seemed to fog up suddenly, and he noticed something unusual. A long line of stones surrounded a small depression in the sand, and a single wooden post marked the spot. Some kind of hazard warning, he figured. He ignored it and looked into the depression, and realized his journey was finally at an end. He had found the stairs to the elusive Mistwater Temple at last. His father would be proud.
He immediately pulled out his notes of the location. While written records of the ruin were rare and mostly unheard of, he had gotten his hands on a crude charcoal drawing providing a simple layout of the ruins. Many passages abruptly cut off, presumably because they were collapsed or sealed off, but he knew there was a series of connected chambers full of various relics, most likely a treasure hoard of sorts.
Considering how the stairwell was completely exposed to the elements, he figured looters probably raided the place frequently. Step after step after step... he was excited, but the descent dragged on for ages. He continued down the steps for what felt like ages before the ground beneath him seemed to give way.
He tumbled violently, unable to steady himself during the fall as he helplessly plummeted into the dark. He came down with a resounding thud on the stone floor, fairly certain he had crushed his nose flat. But when he raised his head, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he immediately found himself entranced.
The expanse was massive, with various stone statues and overgrown vegetation all around him. Massive columns comprised of cubed stones with strange symbols rose to the ceiling. Light barely penetrated the room through small cracks, though George had no idea how light made it down here at all. He couldn't believe his eyes at how alien it looked, it was like nothing he had ever seen before in all his years. His nose was still bleeding from the fall, but he hardly noticed.
Eyes darting between the ruins surrounding him and the map in his hand, he walked up a set of stairs that ramped up to a major set piece, a massive mural that stretched all the way to the top of the room. The symbols looked like nothing he had ever studied before, certainly not Spanish.
They looked more like hieroglyphics, telling a story or lesson of some sort. He struggled to comprehend what he was looking at, but two symbols stood out above the rest. A demon like figure towered above all else, its eyes burning with anger. Next to it, an image of what looked like a small woodland creature with pointed horns grinned maliciously. He realized what the symbols below the two figures resembled now... they were people, cowering on the ground in fear.
It was only now that he noticed the strange phenomenon taking place around him. A thick mist was beginning to creep its way into the chamber with him, and it began to obscure his vision. He started to panic, feeling like he was quickly losing his grip of reality. The artifacts in the room started to look animated, like they were shifting around randomly and without reason.
Then he saw it. A slight shadow skipped along the floor on the other side of the room, reaching no more than two feet off the ground. This couldn't be a hallucination, he could clearly see it dancing across the floor in front of him. But what could possibly be living down here?
He stumbled after it, following it into a side entrance leading out of the central chamber. The little shadow outpaced him, and he swore he could hear it chuckling as though it was mocking him. His legs were already so tired, but he was determined to chase this thing to the end. He had to know what this place was hiding.
He lost sight of the shadow, and turned a corner into a new chamber. This place felt more ominous than the last. His vision was still obscured by the mist, but he could see the floor was riddled with some kind of pale white rubble, and in the far corner of the room, there was this huge rectangular shape resembling a container of some sort. It had symbols like the ones from the mural, but it was heavily damaged. A large cavity was bored out of the stone, as though it was destroyed from the inside. Shreds of torn rope were scattered inside the cavity.
He strained his eyes to examine the scrap of paper in his hand again. If this room was the one on the map, the words scrawled on the drawing could only mean...
He was in a prison. And something was locked away here, to never see the light of day.
It didn't take long for him to put two and two together. Something stood a few meters behind him. He could feel its gaze piercing the back of his head, waiting for him to look back. And so he did, and he saw something he couldn't understand.
The thing did not resemble the shadow he had just been chasing after. It lurched over him, several feet taller than him, monolithic in stature. It was a statue, resembling something between a beast and a man, and somehow it seemed... alive. Its eyes shone a scarlet hue that nearly drove George to madness looking back at it. When it started to move towards him, instinct finally kicked in.
He dashed back down the hall he came from, but felt like the mist was warping his mind. New corridors that weren't there before, new sculptures and paintings that stared back at him as he sprinted with all his strength. This time, the creature was pursuing him, thundering footsteps following close by. Glowing eyes burned through the mist, fully focused on George.
He felt more and more afraid as he stumbled through long forgotten halls. He couldn't find where he came from, he could barely even remember where he came from, how he got here, all he felt was a primal fear toward whatever was right behind him. As the stomping grew louder and his stamina began to falter, the mist around him darkened into a thick, black fog.
If you actually read all this, I appreciate it lol. I wouldn't normally make something like this but after coming up with the idea of a "survivor style killer" I thought it was insanely fun and wanted to flesh it out more. Might add more to this later.
submitted by okok8080 to deadbydaylight [link] [comments]
Its personal perks, Stone Cold, Tricky Tactics, and Ancient Anger allow it to confuse and surprise survivors to gain the upper hand.
MAP: Mistwater Temple
REALM: Forsaken Boneyard
For the sake of this post, I will post the power before the lore description, since the idea originally stemmed from the power in the first place. While this power concept is obviously flawed, I think it could have the potential to be really fun if it was actually implemented in game. I would describe this killer as "a favorite for survivor mains."
POWER: MIST OF MALICE
At the start of the trial, all survivors are inflicted with Mistification, which slowly accumulates over the course of 100 seconds. Certain actions will slightly speed up the Mist Meter, such as healing, repairing generators, cleansing or blessing totems, opening chests, and powering exit gates. These actions are also slightly dampened and slow down the higher the Mist Meter's progression is (This sounds sketchy, but the Effigy needs slowdown because of how its power works, it will make sense if you read down below).
POWER: IMP FORM
In this form, the Effigy moves at only 4.2 m/s. Downed survivors can be taken to hooks at an increased speed of 4.8 m/s, but the Effigy cannot injure survivors. Also, generators can only be damaged for 1% regression, and the action takes twice as long.
However, in Imp Form, the Effigy has other abilities to compensate. In addition to an initial 5% haste boost when detected by a survivor, vaulting actions are 100% faster while in Imp form. The Effigy can also drop a unique object called Shadow Pallets, which only appear while Imp Form is active. These pallets can stun survivors and be broken by them, and will not respawn until the Mist resets.
SPECIAL INTERACTION: CAPTURE
The Effigy will always begin the trial in Imp Form until at least one survivor reaches full Mistification. In order to defend against the buildup of Mist of Malice, survivors must engage in a chase with the Effigy while this is in effect. When the chase begins, the Effigy will gain temporary haste for a few seconds to get a head start.
During this time, only the survivor chasing the Effigy can catch them, and collisions with other survivors is disabled. The chaser is also exhausted until the chase ends, such that exhaustion perks cannot be abused to perform a catch action quicker. However, their Mist Meter pauses as long as the chase persists, and all other Mistified survivors progress at half the normal rate. The chase can only be won by reaching the Effigy and performing the Capture action.
If the Effigy is successfully captured, it will teleport away from the chase. The chaser is rewarded with a full depletion of their Mist Meter, and 33% is deducted from all other survivors as well.
However, if the survivor fails to capture the Effigy for 60 seconds, if no other survivors have full Mistification, the chaser will rapidly become Mistified and fill their meter completely in a matter of seconds.
POWER: DEMON FORM
Once a survivor reaches full Mistification, all Mist Meters begin to regress over a span of 100 seconds. This time is reduced to 60 seconds if the Effigy was caught before the last Mistification was completed. Survivors who were not fully Mistified regress at a much slower rate.
The Effigy will enter Demon Form as soon as the Mistification occurs. In this form, movement speed is boosted to 4.6 m/s, but vault speeds are reduced by 80%. However, The Effigy can now more easily perform killer actions like damaging generators, pallets, and breakable walls, and all of these actions are sped up 60% (compared to normal killer speeds). Most importantly though, they can injure and down survivors. The person who causes the form switch will become exposed until they are downed or the Demon Form wears off.
When a survivor is hooked while Demon Form is active, it pauses the regression of the Mist Meter, prolonging the Demon Form's activation. This effect is nullified if the Effigy lingers in a 24m radius. A similar effect occurs while a survivor is being carried, slowing the regression significantly.
Killer instinct is active for all survivors during this time. The more buildup on the Mist Meter, the further the killer can detect them from. When outside of chase, the survivor who caused the phase change will be constantly revealed by a blue killer instinct marker. When hooking a survivor, killer instinct will trigger for 10 seconds for all survivors and then deactivate until the survivor is unhooked.
PERK LOADOUT:
STONE COLD:
You feel no remorse for those who commit sacrilege.
When a survivor performs an unhook, an illusionary terror radius begins to intensify for all survivors in a 32 meter range of the hook. You are also granted Undetectable for 30 seconds.
This perk then goes on cooldown for 80/70/60 seconds.
TRICKY TACTICS:
You have an aptitude for outwitting your victims.
After hooking a survivor, gain a token, up to a maximum of 10. Hold down the interaction button on a pallet to use 2 tokens and trap it, causing the next survivor who fast vaults it to break it and become Hindered for 3/4/5 seconds. (Basically chemical trap for killers)
ANCIENT ANGER:
You don't let misdeeds go unpunished.
After a survivor stuns you by any means, reveal the survivor's aura for 8/10/12 seconds.
LORE:
The ruins of ancient Mesoamerican civilizations are home to a stunning collection of historical treasures. One such site was excavated near a coastline in northern Mexico in the early 20th century. The region had dried up significantly over the past few decades, and in an area that was previously inaccessible due high tides, archaeologists uncovered an entrance to a massive stone temple buried beneath the earth, speculated to be the tomb for a deceased royal figure.
Unlike other findings of its kind, this temple did not bear resemblance to most of the digs associated with recorded civilizations situated in historical Mexico. For one thing, this structure in its entirety was projected to stretch down nearly a quarter of a mile underground beneath dense, sandy terrain that was previously submerged underwater. Scholars from around the time of the initial excavation believed that this temple could only have existed thousands upon thousands of years ago, when the terrain was far different than it is today.
The site is still shrouded in mystery ever since its discovery. No one really knows who constructed it or what its purpose was, and it was never even given a proper name. Most simply refer to it as the "Mistwater Temple," because many locals reported a strange mist that blanketed the region surrounding the dig site. Some would report strange sightings of old stone artifacts seemingly misplaced along the coast, but these were never explained. These rumors led people to believe the land was cursed, and steered clear of the dig site.
George Maxwell Remington, the third in his family to bear that name, prided himself in his commitment to studying the secrets of the past. Ever since visiting Pompeii as a child, he was deeply fascinated by the lives of generations that came before him. The thrill of adventure he felt whenever he tread upon these places of such historical significance filled him with energy and enthusiasm. He knew from the time he entered high school he wanted to dedicate his life to exploring the many lost wonders of the world, and while his father was a stern professor, he never tried to dampen his son's ambition.
It was around the 1990's when he embarked on his latest expedition. He was fairly old at this point, mid-forties, still not quite accepting that his youth was behind him, but his wanderlust had not yet faded. After having seen so many of the historical landmarks on his typically open to tourism, he yearned for something greater, and sought to pursue the rumors of a forbidden ruin located somewhere along the beaches of Mexico.
George roamed the long sandy stretches of arid Mexican country for weeks. For a while, none of the locals pointed him in the right direction, but eventually he encountered an elderly woman who actually did recognize the name of Mistwater Temple. His spanish was pretty terrible, but the tone of her words came across pretty plainly... she gave him a grave warning, and insisted he turn back home. But he had already been wandering for nearly a month, and it was pretty hard to deter George from doing anything once he was set in his ways.
Eventually, George stumbled across a strange sight on one of the northern Mexican beaches. His vision seemed to fog up suddenly, and he noticed something unusual. A long line of stones surrounded a small depression in the sand, and a single wooden post marked the spot. Some kind of hazard warning, he figured. He ignored it and looked into the depression, and realized his journey was finally at an end. He had found the stairs to the elusive Mistwater Temple at last. His father would be proud.
He immediately pulled out his notes of the location. While written records of the ruin were rare and mostly unheard of, he had gotten his hands on a crude charcoal drawing providing a simple layout of the ruins. Many passages abruptly cut off, presumably because they were collapsed or sealed off, but he knew there was a series of connected chambers full of various relics, most likely a treasure hoard of sorts.
Considering how the stairwell was completely exposed to the elements, he figured looters probably raided the place frequently. Step after step after step... he was excited, but the descent dragged on for ages. He continued down the steps for what felt like ages before the ground beneath him seemed to give way.
He tumbled violently, unable to steady himself during the fall as he helplessly plummeted into the dark. He came down with a resounding thud on the stone floor, fairly certain he had crushed his nose flat. But when he raised his head, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he immediately found himself entranced.
The expanse was massive, with various stone statues and overgrown vegetation all around him. Massive columns comprised of cubed stones with strange symbols rose to the ceiling. Light barely penetrated the room through small cracks, though George had no idea how light made it down here at all. He couldn't believe his eyes at how alien it looked, it was like nothing he had ever seen before in all his years. His nose was still bleeding from the fall, but he hardly noticed.
Eyes darting between the ruins surrounding him and the map in his hand, he walked up a set of stairs that ramped up to a major set piece, a massive mural that stretched all the way to the top of the room. The symbols looked like nothing he had ever studied before, certainly not Spanish.
They looked more like hieroglyphics, telling a story or lesson of some sort. He struggled to comprehend what he was looking at, but two symbols stood out above the rest. A demon like figure towered above all else, its eyes burning with anger. Next to it, an image of what looked like a small woodland creature with pointed horns grinned maliciously. He realized what the symbols below the two figures resembled now... they were people, cowering on the ground in fear.
It was only now that he noticed the strange phenomenon taking place around him. A thick mist was beginning to creep its way into the chamber with him, and it began to obscure his vision. He started to panic, feeling like he was quickly losing his grip of reality. The artifacts in the room started to look animated, like they were shifting around randomly and without reason.
Then he saw it. A slight shadow skipped along the floor on the other side of the room, reaching no more than two feet off the ground. This couldn't be a hallucination, he could clearly see it dancing across the floor in front of him. But what could possibly be living down here?
He stumbled after it, following it into a side entrance leading out of the central chamber. The little shadow outpaced him, and he swore he could hear it chuckling as though it was mocking him. His legs were already so tired, but he was determined to chase this thing to the end. He had to know what this place was hiding.
He lost sight of the shadow, and turned a corner into a new chamber. This place felt more ominous than the last. His vision was still obscured by the mist, but he could see the floor was riddled with some kind of pale white rubble, and in the far corner of the room, there was this huge rectangular shape resembling a container of some sort. It had symbols like the ones from the mural, but it was heavily damaged. A large cavity was bored out of the stone, as though it was destroyed from the inside. Shreds of torn rope were scattered inside the cavity.
He strained his eyes to examine the scrap of paper in his hand again. If this room was the one on the map, the words scrawled on the drawing could only mean...
He was in a prison. And something was locked away here, to never see the light of day.
It didn't take long for him to put two and two together. Something stood a few meters behind him. He could feel its gaze piercing the back of his head, waiting for him to look back. And so he did, and he saw something he couldn't understand.
The thing did not resemble the shadow he had just been chasing after. It lurched over him, several feet taller than him, monolithic in stature. It was a statue, resembling something between a beast and a man, and somehow it seemed... alive. Its eyes shone a scarlet hue that nearly drove George to madness looking back at it. When it started to move towards him, instinct finally kicked in.
He dashed back down the hall he came from, but felt like the mist was warping his mind. New corridors that weren't there before, new sculptures and paintings that stared back at him as he sprinted with all his strength. This time, the creature was pursuing him, thundering footsteps following close by. Glowing eyes burned through the mist, fully focused on George.
He felt more and more afraid as he stumbled through long forgotten halls. He couldn't find where he came from, he could barely even remember where he came from, how he got here, all he felt was a primal fear toward whatever was right behind him. As the stomping grew louder and his stamina began to falter, the mist around him darkened into a thick, black fog.
If you actually read all this, I appreciate it lol. I wouldn't normally make something like this but after coming up with the idea of a "survivor style killer" I thought it was insanely fun and wanted to flesh it out more. Might add more to this later.
2024.05.27 23:23 Melodyexenotfound Did he just-
 | submitted by Melodyexenotfound to CharacterAI [link] [comments] |
2024.05.27 23:15 Mr_MooseDerelict Combating night sweats.
Hi. I’m just wondering those of you who got night sweats with this med, have you found a successful way to combat or stop them? I get them every night at the moment and it really plays havoc on my sleep. It’s currently winter where I am so it’s already quite cold overnight. I’m about 4 weeks into taking these meds and they’re amazing with helping but yeah the sweats are ruining my ability to get some rest.
submitted by Mr_MooseDerelict to Pristiq [link] [comments]
2024.05.27 23:06 DifferentMagazine4 Feeling let down by rheumatologist
Hi all, I hope it's okay to post here ! You guys have been absolutely lovely and so helpful in the past. I (20F, UK) finally saw a rheumatologist last week after waiting for six months, and it definitely .. left a lot to be desired. My GP suspects hEDS, and referred me for that & my severe levels of pain
She asked me a few basic questions, had me perform the Beighton criteria (I'm 7 out of 9), and checked my scars / stretch marks. She then looked at me and said "you're just hypermobile - you can go now). I was in the room maybe ten minutes, and my appointment was supposed to be 30-40. I tried to ask about pain relief, and she said "I recommend cycling", directly after I said exercise, especially cycling, had worsened my pain. For a little context, I have severe pain and cannot walk more than a few feet without a cane / some kind of support. She asked me nothing about my pain, nor did she try to offer suggestions to help with management. I also wasn't asked about other parts of my body, despite trying to bring up my stomach issues & general immune system dysfunction
The rheum then told me that my teeth were normal (my dentist specifically told me I have a lot of crowding and a narrow palate ..). She also said that my scars and skin are not indicative of hEDS, despite my skin extending around 1.5cm off of my hand, for example. My scars are also hypertrophic in place, and classic cigarette paper kind in others. I have many other physical features of hEDS, as well, none of which she checked for. She also made no attempt to assess me for any other conditions, such as Fibromyalgia, Lupus, forms of arthritis, etc.
For further context, here's a quick list of my main symptoms:
submitted by DifferentMagazine4 to ChronicIllness [link] [comments]
She asked me a few basic questions, had me perform the Beighton criteria (I'm 7 out of 9), and checked my scars / stretch marks. She then looked at me and said "you're just hypermobile - you can go now). I was in the room maybe ten minutes, and my appointment was supposed to be 30-40. I tried to ask about pain relief, and she said "I recommend cycling", directly after I said exercise, especially cycling, had worsened my pain. For a little context, I have severe pain and cannot walk more than a few feet without a cane / some kind of support. She asked me nothing about my pain, nor did she try to offer suggestions to help with management. I also wasn't asked about other parts of my body, despite trying to bring up my stomach issues & general immune system dysfunction
The rheum then told me that my teeth were normal (my dentist specifically told me I have a lot of crowding and a narrow palate ..). She also said that my scars and skin are not indicative of hEDS, despite my skin extending around 1.5cm off of my hand, for example. My scars are also hypertrophic in place, and classic cigarette paper kind in others. I have many other physical features of hEDS, as well, none of which she checked for. She also made no attempt to assess me for any other conditions, such as Fibromyalgia, Lupus, forms of arthritis, etc.
For further context, here's a quick list of my main symptoms:
- Widespread joint pain across all joints. Most affected: left knee, hips, lower back, wrists
- Hypermobility (Beighton score: 7)
- General feeling of joints slipping, moving incorrectly, locking and popping, joints giving out
- Stiffness that begins when waking up & lasts until late afternoon. Returns if stay in one position for too long
- Flashes of pain throughout limbs that often come on quickly and end quickly, but can be immobilising & have brought me to tears
- Constant fatigue, no matter how much sleep I get. My body feels incredibly heavy, like I am dragging weights behind me, or wading through water
- Daily stomach issues: cyclic diarrhoea and constipation, flatulence, reflux, discomfort, cramping, bloating, etc. Multiple food intolerances. This began in 2017, but worsened rapidly in the last two years
- Potential Raynaud's Phenomenon: mottled / purple, cold, tingly hands and feet, poor circulation, blood pooling
- Incredibly poor quality teeth: two extractions, upwards of 8-10 dental infections, 6-8 fillings, constant cracking / chipping, etc. I am prescribed extra strong toothpaste for this, dentist-confirmed crowding and narrow palate
- Frequent shortness of breath / dizziness, palpitations, general weakness, inexplicable itchy rashes several times a week
2024.05.27 23:05 Pure-Shine6001 They Hit Without Warning Part 3
Aviation Lieutenant Jeremiah Williams jinked his two-seat F/A 24 Sparrowhawk strike craft hard, and the crackling blue ball of energy fired from the point defense turret shot past the tip of his port wing. He grinned, enjoying the exhilaration of this cat and mouse game as he realigned the holographic targeting reticle onto the ball-shaped point defense turret. As soon as the reticle was lined up, his gunner, Aviation Ensign Jacob Thompson, depressed the thumb stud on his firing yoke and the dual-linked 25 mm cannons mounted along the Sparrowhawk’s fuselage poured a steady stream of rounds at the target. The rounds sparkled as they ricocheted off the domed surface of the point defense turret. Williams watched the turret carefully as it began to glow a bright blue. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that the alien weapon glowed brighter and brighter as it built up an energy charge; and that he needed to dodge just as the weapon fired to avoid its crackling projectiles, while giving Thompson the maximum amount of time on target. He jinked down hard just as the ball of crackling energy was released from the alien turret; and the combined protection of the inertial dampeners and his flight suit’s compressive qualities dampened the g-forces to the point it only felt like his stomach had hit the roof of his mouth. He was glad he hadn’t had anything other than coffee before launching. A groan from Thompson told him his gunner was not so lucky.
“What’s the matter, old man?” Williams teased. “Don’t like roller coasters?”
Thompson, ten years older than his pilot, growled back, “You do that again and I’m gonna puke all over your flight suit.”
Williams laughed as he brought the targeting reticle back onto the point defense turret. “If you think you can get your helmet off fast enough. Anyways, the faster we pop this thing the faster you can get off the ride.”
Thompson mashed down on the thumb studs for the cannons, and a stream of tracers headed for the target. “I’m trying,” he grumbled. “But I don’t think we’re doing anything.”
Williams watched for the telltale blue glow, then jinked hard to port. The ball of energy surged past the starboard wing, and as soon as it was past he raced forward towards the point defense turret. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Thompson as they closed the distance with the turret. Williams took them close enough to see the smooth, undamaged surface of the turret dome. “Looks like you’re right, old man,” he said, looping the Sparrowhawk up and back to a safer distance, keeping the turret in the corner of his vision to monitor its firing status. He had watched a dozen Sparrowhawks from First Strike Wing explode as the fuel tanks combusted after being hit by the point defense projectiles; and he had no desire to test his flight suit’s ability to survive an explosion.
“Permission to use something bigger,” Thompson groaned through the g-forces and his unhappy stomach. Technically, the pilot outranked him and therefore had to make the call; although most of the time the two-man teams made decisions together.
"Standing orders are to use the least amount of ordnance possible," Williams replied. "But since the guns aren't doing the job, I think we can bump up to the Phantoms."
"We aren't dealing with pirates in modified cargo freighters," Thompson muttered.
"You got that right," Williams agreed. "We probably should have been given the green light on all ordnance before launching; but I didn't hear anything about it."
"They probably don't want us killing any poor murderers unnecessarily," Thompson grumbled under his breath, voicing the discontent many of the flight crews had with the Rules of Engagement set out by the UEA Senate.
"Nah," Williams said cheerfully. "They have to keep the jarheads happy. If the bang-bangs don't get to shoot their rifles they get restless; and then they start pranking the CO." Anyways, he thought. These aren't human smugglers trying to get around customs, or thieves trying to make a quick buck by snatching the cargo from an intersystem freighter.
“Roger that,” Thompson answered through gritted teeth, as he tried to keep his breakfast from coating the inside of his helmet.
Williams weaved back and forth in the Sparrowhawk until the point defense turret fired again. Then he ducked in behind the crackling blue energy projectile and brought the reticle back on the weapon's domed surface. He held it there, watching as the turret began building up another charge.
"Acquiring visual lock," Thompson reported, beginning the visual locking sequence for the Phantom Missile system.
Hold still for five seconds, Williams thought, watching the turret begin to glow blue. He wished they could use the radar guidance; but against a target this large the Phantom could impact anywhere. They had to use the visual tracking mode for precision targeting, which required keeping the reticle on the desired impact point for five seconds.
Five seconds seemed like an eternity, but Thompson reported, "Firing," just as the enemy turret fired. Williams jumped the Sparrowhawk straight up, and watched the edges of his navigation screens sparkle with static from the effects of the energy bleeding off the enemy projectile. Thankfully, once the lock was obtained, the Phantoms were a 'fire and forget' weapon; but Williams and Thompson didn't forget about the missiles. They maneuvered to watch as the missiles shot towards the alien point defense turret. The flight time was only a few seconds, and they watched the double explosion with satisfaction. Even more satisfying was the secondary explosion of crackling blue energy that ripped the dome of the point defense turret out of the alien hull, leaving a blackened crater where it had been.
"Yahoo!" Shouted Williams. "One down!"
"Lots more to go," grumbled Thompson, but there was a hint of satisfaction with the kill behind the cranky words.
"Let's go find us another one," Williams said cheerfully, drifting their Sparrowhawk along the irregular shape of the alien's hull.
"What are we going to do to it?" Asked Thompson. "We fired both of our Phantoms, and our cannons don't do squat."
"We've got the Crusader," Williams answered.
"Do we have clearance to use that?" Thompson asked dubiously. "Commander Sewell is gonna ground you if we start burning through his Crusader rounds."
Williams knew that, under normal circumstances, using the Crusader rail gun mounted along the bottom frame of his strike craft needed special approval. It gave the Sparrowhawk a weapon to really hurt small enemy warships, making the small strike craft more than just a fighter. The meter long ferrous slug could punch through a frigate's semi-armoured hull; but it was a one shot weapon, as there was no way to fit a reloading system on the Sparrowhawk.
"I think the good commander will see the use as justified," Williams answered.
"If you get grounded, guess who gets stuck pulling KP duty," Thompson growled.
"Well, the dishes won't clean themselves," Williams teased, dodging another point defense round and lining up on the turret that had fired it.
Once the round was behind them, he lined up the targeting reticle. This time, there was a holographic percentage readout under the reticle showing him the charge status of the rail gun. It seemed to take forever to charge; and Williams had to dodge another round from the point defense turret before it showed the Crusader charge at one hundred percent. He brought the reticle back onto the domed face of the turret, and Thompson fired the Crusader almost immediately. They were rewarded by an almost instantaneous show of rapidly expanding crackling blue energy from the destroyed turret that dissipated into thin tendrils forking out into space.
"Two down!" Crowed Williams triumphantly. Then he keyed his mike, calling in on the Hermes's air control frequency. "Big Bird, this is Delta three-five requesting clearance to rearm," he asked.
"Delta three-five, what is your armament status?" The Air Control Officer replied dryly.
"Big Bird, we are black on everything but the bbs," Williams answered.
There was a short pause, then the Air Control officer replied, "Roger that, Delta Three-five. Landing approved on Gold Deck."
"Copy that," Williams answered, turning to dart back to Hermes. If they were lucky, they could get rearmed and back in the fight before the much larger Marine's Bison boarding shuttles came within range of the alien point defense turrets. He punched the throttle, and the agile strike craft raced away from their enormous alien opponent. They came in hot, and Williams saw three other strike craft being rearmed before he rotated one hundred eighty degrees just outside Gold Bay and backed into an open spot with his nose pointed towards the fracas.
Deck crew in vac suits hurried out on specially designed vehicles, carrying ammo boxes of twenty-five mm cannon rounds, a rack of Phantom Missiles, and reloads for the Crusader rail gun. Another vehicle with fuel pulled up, and more deck crew in vac suits jumped out to begin topping off the Sparrowhawk's fuel.
"Now's your chance to go relieve yourself, old man," teased Williams. His only response was a muttered expletive from his gunner and the click of a pencil bouncing off the back of his helmet, making Williams grin wider.
The crew chief banged on the cockpit and gave him a thumbs up as the deck crew and vehicles pulled away. Williams returned the thumbs up, then waited until the crew chief had made it to the bay airlock before lifting off the deck and surging back into space. The rearming and refueling process had taken less time than it had taken him to get from the alien vessel back to Hermes; and Williams knew he owed Gold Bay's deck crew a round of drinks, provided he survived the engagement. It was the deck crew’s job to rearm and refuel the strike craft as quickly as possible; but the flight teams knew that they needed to show the deck crew their appreciation somehow. It became a tradition for the pilots and gunners to buy a round of drinks for the deck crew that kept them operational. There would be a lot of drinks bought after this engagement.
Williams rocketed back towards the alien vessel, swerving around the Bison shuttles carrying the Marine boarding parties and began searching for an active point defense turret. He didn't have to search long, as the telltale blue glow of building energy was easy to spot on the hull of the alien vessel when it was in shadow. Williams lined up the targeting reticle and bored in closer, only to be surprised by a round from one of the battlecruisers flashing past him and destroying the turret effortlessly.
Williams swore under his breath, pulling up and out of the line of fire for the battlecruiser behind him.
"What are you doing?" Thompson shouted in his surprise. "We have enough problems with these aliens trying to kill us without you playing 'chicken' with the battlecruisers."
"Eh," Williams answered as nonchalantly as his racing heart would allow. "I wanted to see what it was like to play in the deep end."
"You could always ask for a transfer," suggested Thompson sourly.
"I'm sure Commander Sewell would love that," Williams replied, closing on another point defense turret.
"He'd probably be glad he doesn't have to replace your landing gear every third mission," remarked Thompson, his voice trailing off as he focused on charging the Crusader.
Williams recognized the note of concentration, and waited to reply until the Crusader fired, obliterating the hapless point defense turret. "I'm not that hard on landing gear," he protested, looking around for another point defense turret.
“Uh huh,” Thompson replied. “That’s why our last performance review was so negative. I remember something about ‘hot landings’, and ‘excessive maneuvers’. You don’t remember what that was referring to, do you?”
Williams grimaced, remembering that review; and the accompanying week’s pay he had lost as punishment. “Commander Sewell just needed to make it look good,” he replied, scanning the alien hull. “That review was right before the Senate budget talks.”
“Maybe,” Thompson conceded. “But that doesn’t explain why we had to treat the mechanics of Blue Bay to a night of drinks, after you plowed through a parked Sparrowhawk.”
“The crew chief said the other bird was parked wrong,” protested Williams as he angled towards a blue glow on the alien vessel’s hull, making sure he stayed out of the firing arc of the battlecruisers.
“Hmm, then why didn’t he just say that to Commander Sewell?” Retorted Thompson.
Williams jinked around a crackling blue ball of energy and lined up the targeting reticle on the point defense turret before answering, “Beats me.”
“Acquiring lock,” Thompson said, then added, “He probably didn’t lie for you because he knew that Commander Sewell would see right through it. The commander isn’t dumb.”
Williams held the Sparrowhawk steady, watching the energy build up in the alien turret. I shouldn't have been distracting Thompson, he thought as the turret reached it's maximum glow.
"Firing," called out Thompson, as the Phantoms streaked away from the Sparrowhawk’s stubby wings.
Williams threw the Sparrowhawk sideways, the blue sphere of crackling energy already whizzing towards them. "Hang on!" He yelled.
But the turret hadn't fired at them. Williams watched in disbelief as the projectile soared past the port side several meters away. If they aren't shooting at us… He spun the Sparrowhawk just in time to see the crackling blue sphere hit a Bison square in the nose. His stomach tightened as he watched the Bison glow blue for an instant, then pop as her internal fuel tanks exploded. He dodged the flying debris, his heart stopping for an instant as he saw a Marine in their vac-rated armor spin past his cockpit.
"Poor devil," Thompson muttered. "At least the suit is intact."
"Yeah," replied Williams, his exuberance dampened. "Maybe they'll be able to recover them." Rescue ops won't be launched in active combat, he thought. The chances that any of those Marines will be recovered alive is slim.
Williams spun the Sparrowhawk around, checking to make sure the turret that had killed the Bison was dead. It was, their Phantoms had done the job; just too late to prevent the loss of a platoon of Marines and their two pilots. He saw other Bison boarding shuttles latching onto the hull of the alien vessel, and called into Air Control for clearance to rearm again.
On board Hermes, Colonel Collette Dubuois also watched the explosion of the Bison. She was standing in the Marines' Combat Control Center, watching the feed from the helmet cams of a dozen Platoon Leaders as they approached the hull of the alien vessel. She didn't see the point defense turret fire. From her perspective, one of the screens showing the packed interior of a Bison boarding shuttle suddenly filled with static, then a bright orange/white flash before the view transitioned to rapidly spinning stars. She gritted her teeth as she watched the green status lights from the armor systems of a dozen Marines of the thirty riding the Bison go from green to red. The armor was either no longer transmitting; or the armor could no longer detect a heartbeat from the wearer. It was a primitive system; but in the chaos of combat, too much information could lead to micromanagement from the Combat Control Center. Col Dubuois checked the other screens, and was gratified to see the rest of the first wave had made it to the alien hull. Unfortunately, it seemed they were having as hard a time as the Navy penetrating the alien vessel's skin. One Bison pilot had apparently decided to lock onto a destroyed point defense emplacement, and that platoon jumped from the Bison into the blackened crater.
The speakers crackled slightly as the Platoon leader reported, "We've found an opening. We are going in."
Col Dubuois watched as one by one the Platoon filed into a hole slightly larger than the Marines. Once inside, the platoon leader switched his visor to the low-light setting, and the camera switched to infrared. The gray-green view showed an interior passage which looked rounded, almost oval; and the Marines pulled themselves along the walls with one hand, gripping their bullpup-style carbines in the other hand. The going was slow, but a quick glance at the other screens told Col Dubuois none of the other platoons had breached the alien's hull.
"Tell everyone to find a destroyed turret and enter the hull through those," she ordered.
"Aye, Ma'am," the communications officer responded, then began relaying the orders to the Platoon Leaders.
Switching her gaze back to the Platoon already inside the alien vessel, she noted the claustrophobic appearance of the passage. It looks more like a burrow than a passageway, she thought. Over the speaker she heard a Marine on the platoon freq say, "There's some kind of film here." Col Dubuois leaned closer to the screen; but whatever it was, it wasn't showing up on the Platoon Leader's helmet cam.
"What kind of film?" Asked the Platoon Leader.
"I dunno, sir. Looks almost like plastic wrap, only without edges. It goes right into the walls," the Marine answered.
"Push through," ordered the Platoon Leader.
The lead Marine poked his carbine forward, then took a hesitant step forward. He took another step, more confidently before reporting, "I can walk right through it."
"Move up," ordered the Platoon leader, and the file of Marines began moving forward again. As each Marine passed through the film, or where Col Dubuois had to assume where the film was, they seemed to settle to the floor of the passage. The phenomenon was confirmed as the Platoon leader passed the spot and reported back to the control room, "Artificial gravity on the other side of this film. Sensors are picking up an oxygen, nitrogen atmosphere as well."
"Roger that," responded the communications officer before relaying the information to the other Platoon Leaders.
The other Bison shuttles were still redeploying to destroyed point defense turret emplacements, so Col Dubuois focused on the Platoon making their way deeper into the alien vessel. So far, they hadn't encountered any signs of life; the sides of the corridor were curved with small crenelations, but no indication of electrical systems or anything similar. How do they power those turrets? Col Dubuois wondered. The thought only lasted for a moment, as a strange humming sound started coming through the speakers.
"Can you clean that up," Col Dubuois asked.
The communications officer tried adjusting several settings; but nothing he did made any difference. "I'm sorry, ma'am. That's not interference."
"What-," began Col Dubuois, before a shout came from the Marine Platoon inside the alien vessel.
"Contact front!" The screen flashed as the Marines opened fire with their carbines, and it was difficult to tell what they were shooting at first. The humming increased in volume, and an insectoid creature similar to a wasp appeared from the dark of the passageway. It had a large head with two multi-faceted eyes on the sides of its head, above a double set of long mandibles. The insectoid alien nearly filled the passageway, and just visible on its back were a pair of wings that were vibrating against each other.
That must be what's making the humming, Col Dubuois thought. She watched the screen intently, seeing the impacts of the Marines' bullets hitting the alien's head; but it didn't seem to care. It moved forward, aggressively snapping its outer mandibles until it reached the first Marine. It chittered madly, then snapped its mandibles on the chest of the Marine. Col Dubuois's hand flew to her mouth involuntarily as the Marine was cut completely in half just below the ribcage. The other Marines edged backwards, firing frantically as the pointman's remains fell to the passage floor and twitched once before settling in a growing pool of blood and gore. The alien moved forward towards the second Marine and snapped at him. The Marine jumped back, jostling into the man behind him. He just barely avoided being snapped in half. The alien attacked again, catching him this time and snapping the second Marine in half at the waist. The Marine screamed as he fell.
The Platoon leader shouted, "S.A.W. gunner! To the front!" The Platoon leader was only ten men from the front of the line, and his voice had an edge of fear. The rest of the Marines were pumping rounds into the alien's head, the bullets impacting its chitinous head and leaving small pockmarks. Col Dubuois watched in frustration and horror as the alien snapped another Marine in half. The view on the screen shook, and a second later a Marine with a belt-fed machine gun entered the screen shoving his way forward. He stopped just behind the fourth Marine in the file and leveled his machine gun over the Marine's shoulder as the alien advanced. A moment later the roar of the machine gun drowned out all other sounds from the Platoon Leader's helmet cam. The insectoid alien stopped advancing and beat at the air with its forelegs, and over the roar of the machine gun Col Dubuois heard a high-pitched shrieking. The S.A.W. gunner held the trigger down, pouring the whole two hundred round belt of 7.62 semi-armor piercing rounds into the face of the alien. When the machine gun finally fell silent, the screech of the wounded alien could be clearly heard over the Platoon Leader's helmet cam. It continued to beat the air in front of it with its forelegs, and Col Dubuois saw on the view screen that the alien's head was a pulpy mass of shattered chitin and chartreuse body fluids. Amazingly, the insectoid alien did not collapse; but instead backed down the passageway, shrieking and beating the air in front of it with its forelegs. The S.A.W. gunner retreated behind the Platoon leader to reload his weapon, while another S.A.W. gunner moved up to take the third place in the file. He did not fire on the alien, and the Marines moved slowly forward. The lead Marine continued to fire deliberately into the injured portion of the alien's head, and with every bullet strike the alien jerked slightly. After several feet of slowly advancing on the injured alien, the passageway split into several corridors. At this point, the alien seemed to lose focus as it stopped and swayed back and forth as if lost or confused.
"Frag it!" Shouted the Platoon leader, and a moment later the small black sphere of a fragmentation grenade materialized from one of the leading Marines to sail across the screen and land under the alien. It detonated as it bounced off the passage floor up underneath the alien's abdomen. There was a horrific shrieking; and the alien collapsed in a shuddering mass, its abdomen torn open by the shrapnel.
"Serves you right, freakin' bug!" Screamed a Marine, and several carbines fired into the downed alien carcass.
"Hold your fire!" Commanded the Platoon leader. Then to the communications officer he continued, "We need backup. We don't have enough men to split up and follow all three of these passageways."
"Roger that," replied the communication's officer. He turned to Col Dubuois and asked, "Ma'am, should I divert one of the Bison; or should I send backup with the next wave?"
"Send two Bison from the next wave," Col Dubuois ordered. With a vessel this size, we may need another Marine Division to clear the entire thing, she thought. She walked over to the wall phone and picked it up, punching the button for the Flagship C.I.C. "I need the admiral," she said, once someone picked up on the other end. As soon as she heard Admiral Vong's rough voice she continued. "Admiral Vong, we are going to need more Marines to clear this thing," she said.
"How many more?" The admiral asked.
"At least another division, maybe two," she answered. "We have encountered an alien that is impervious to our carbines. We had to take it down with the S.A.W. and a grenade. The Platoon is waiting for reinforcements because passageways branch out in multiple directions within a hundred meters of the outer hull. To prevent our forces being cut off, we are going to need extra Marines to guard each junction."
"Very well," the admiral answered. "I'll whistle up some backup from Alvarado Naval Base. It'll be a while before they get here though. Do what you can with what you have."
"Yes sir," replied Col Dubuois, then replaced the phone on its receiver as the line went dead. She turned her attention back to the view screens, noting that over half of the Bisons had landed their boarding parties. At least three platoons were in contact with the wasp-like aliens; and she could see multiple dismembered Marines in the passageways. "Have the next wave switch to AP ammo," she told the communications officer. "And pass on the information on how to deal with these bugs to the platoons that have landed."
"Yes ma'am," replied the communications officer.
"Contact!" The first platoon that had boarded the alien vessel started firing; and Col Dubuois saw multiple aliens approaching the junction of passageways. The platoon leader had set up his S.A.W. gunners to cover each of the three passageways, and they began firing at the approaching bugs. Two of the three bugs were stopped by the sustained fire of the machine gunners; but the third gunner had a malfunction, and the alien bug charged forward. The other Marines poured carbine rounds into the charging alien, and one of them tossed a frag grenade. The alien bug screeched as the grenade exploded just behind it; but even though it was wounded, it continued to move forward with one of its legs injured. The Marines' sustained fire finally began to tell, with some rounds hitting the compound eyes and penetrating the alien's chitinous carapace. The alien finally slowed down, feeling around with its forelegs and antennae; and another grenade was rolled forward under the apparently blinded alien. The blast tore into the alien, and it collapsed with a final death screech. Col Dubuois watched the view change as the Platoon Leader scanned the rest of his men. She saw that while he had been concentrating on the alien not being held up by machine gun fire, the other two aliens had been stopped and then killed by grenades as well. However, as the gunfire subsided, the humming of vibrating wings could be heard growing louder.
"Get more Marines in there, now!" Demanded Col Dubuois. "I don't care if you have to use the admiral's shuttle!"
"Yes ma'am!" Replied the communications officer, fear for the Marines aboard the alien vessel making his voice crack.
Col Dubuois looked back to the screen, seeing aliens beginning to appear in the dark passageways. "They need to pull back into the passage and bottleneck those cussed bugs," she growled.
The communications officer spoke into the mic. "Capt Gregory, I suggest pulling your men back into the passage to bottleneck those hostiles."
Col Dubuois watched the screen bob up and down as Capt Gregory unconsciously nodded his head in agreement with the suggestion. "Marines! Pack it up! We are moving back where we came from, on the double! S.A.W. gunners at the rear," he ordered. The view shifted rapidly as the Marines grabbed their gear and moved into the passage leading to the outer hull. After a few seconds of rapid movement Capt Gregory ordered, "S.A.W.s, deploy here. Everyone else, stack up behind them. Frags at the ready."
Col Dubuois watched the Marines deploy, even as the first alien entered the passage. One S.A.W. gunner opened up, and at about ten meters he could hardly miss. The alien shrieked and beat the air for a second, before it was shoved out of the way by a second alien. The S.A.W. gunner switched targets, but ran out of ammo in the belt. Another gunner opened up, and the second alien was beaten back only to be replaced by a third. Col Dubuois couldn't help admiring the fire discipline of her Marines; but as a fourth and then fifth alien took the place of their injured companions, she couldn't help wondering how long the gunners' ammunition would hold out. Thankfully, the rest of the platoon was thinking along these lines. As the fifth attacker was shoved aside, a trio of frag grenades sailed down the passage and bounced into the cluster of aliens. A moment later, the triple explosion ripped the alien bugs apart. The gunners stopped firing, and for a moment all that could be heard was the weakening screeches of the dying aliens. Then the humming started again.
Part 1
Part 2
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“What’s the matter, old man?” Williams teased. “Don’t like roller coasters?”
Thompson, ten years older than his pilot, growled back, “You do that again and I’m gonna puke all over your flight suit.”
Williams laughed as he brought the targeting reticle back onto the point defense turret. “If you think you can get your helmet off fast enough. Anyways, the faster we pop this thing the faster you can get off the ride.”
Thompson mashed down on the thumb studs for the cannons, and a stream of tracers headed for the target. “I’m trying,” he grumbled. “But I don’t think we’re doing anything.”
Williams watched for the telltale blue glow, then jinked hard to port. The ball of energy surged past the starboard wing, and as soon as it was past he raced forward towards the point defense turret. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Thompson as they closed the distance with the turret. Williams took them close enough to see the smooth, undamaged surface of the turret dome. “Looks like you’re right, old man,” he said, looping the Sparrowhawk up and back to a safer distance, keeping the turret in the corner of his vision to monitor its firing status. He had watched a dozen Sparrowhawks from First Strike Wing explode as the fuel tanks combusted after being hit by the point defense projectiles; and he had no desire to test his flight suit’s ability to survive an explosion.
“Permission to use something bigger,” Thompson groaned through the g-forces and his unhappy stomach. Technically, the pilot outranked him and therefore had to make the call; although most of the time the two-man teams made decisions together.
"Standing orders are to use the least amount of ordnance possible," Williams replied. "But since the guns aren't doing the job, I think we can bump up to the Phantoms."
"We aren't dealing with pirates in modified cargo freighters," Thompson muttered.
"You got that right," Williams agreed. "We probably should have been given the green light on all ordnance before launching; but I didn't hear anything about it."
"They probably don't want us killing any poor murderers unnecessarily," Thompson grumbled under his breath, voicing the discontent many of the flight crews had with the Rules of Engagement set out by the UEA Senate.
"Nah," Williams said cheerfully. "They have to keep the jarheads happy. If the bang-bangs don't get to shoot their rifles they get restless; and then they start pranking the CO." Anyways, he thought. These aren't human smugglers trying to get around customs, or thieves trying to make a quick buck by snatching the cargo from an intersystem freighter.
“Roger that,” Thompson answered through gritted teeth, as he tried to keep his breakfast from coating the inside of his helmet.
Williams weaved back and forth in the Sparrowhawk until the point defense turret fired again. Then he ducked in behind the crackling blue energy projectile and brought the reticle back on the weapon's domed surface. He held it there, watching as the turret began building up another charge.
"Acquiring visual lock," Thompson reported, beginning the visual locking sequence for the Phantom Missile system.
Hold still for five seconds, Williams thought, watching the turret begin to glow blue. He wished they could use the radar guidance; but against a target this large the Phantom could impact anywhere. They had to use the visual tracking mode for precision targeting, which required keeping the reticle on the desired impact point for five seconds.
Five seconds seemed like an eternity, but Thompson reported, "Firing," just as the enemy turret fired. Williams jumped the Sparrowhawk straight up, and watched the edges of his navigation screens sparkle with static from the effects of the energy bleeding off the enemy projectile. Thankfully, once the lock was obtained, the Phantoms were a 'fire and forget' weapon; but Williams and Thompson didn't forget about the missiles. They maneuvered to watch as the missiles shot towards the alien point defense turret. The flight time was only a few seconds, and they watched the double explosion with satisfaction. Even more satisfying was the secondary explosion of crackling blue energy that ripped the dome of the point defense turret out of the alien hull, leaving a blackened crater where it had been.
"Yahoo!" Shouted Williams. "One down!"
"Lots more to go," grumbled Thompson, but there was a hint of satisfaction with the kill behind the cranky words.
"Let's go find us another one," Williams said cheerfully, drifting their Sparrowhawk along the irregular shape of the alien's hull.
"What are we going to do to it?" Asked Thompson. "We fired both of our Phantoms, and our cannons don't do squat."
"We've got the Crusader," Williams answered.
"Do we have clearance to use that?" Thompson asked dubiously. "Commander Sewell is gonna ground you if we start burning through his Crusader rounds."
Williams knew that, under normal circumstances, using the Crusader rail gun mounted along the bottom frame of his strike craft needed special approval. It gave the Sparrowhawk a weapon to really hurt small enemy warships, making the small strike craft more than just a fighter. The meter long ferrous slug could punch through a frigate's semi-armoured hull; but it was a one shot weapon, as there was no way to fit a reloading system on the Sparrowhawk.
"I think the good commander will see the use as justified," Williams answered.
"If you get grounded, guess who gets stuck pulling KP duty," Thompson growled.
"Well, the dishes won't clean themselves," Williams teased, dodging another point defense round and lining up on the turret that had fired it.
Once the round was behind them, he lined up the targeting reticle. This time, there was a holographic percentage readout under the reticle showing him the charge status of the rail gun. It seemed to take forever to charge; and Williams had to dodge another round from the point defense turret before it showed the Crusader charge at one hundred percent. He brought the reticle back onto the domed face of the turret, and Thompson fired the Crusader almost immediately. They were rewarded by an almost instantaneous show of rapidly expanding crackling blue energy from the destroyed turret that dissipated into thin tendrils forking out into space.
"Two down!" Crowed Williams triumphantly. Then he keyed his mike, calling in on the Hermes's air control frequency. "Big Bird, this is Delta three-five requesting clearance to rearm," he asked.
"Delta three-five, what is your armament status?" The Air Control Officer replied dryly.
"Big Bird, we are black on everything but the bbs," Williams answered.
There was a short pause, then the Air Control officer replied, "Roger that, Delta Three-five. Landing approved on Gold Deck."
"Copy that," Williams answered, turning to dart back to Hermes. If they were lucky, they could get rearmed and back in the fight before the much larger Marine's Bison boarding shuttles came within range of the alien point defense turrets. He punched the throttle, and the agile strike craft raced away from their enormous alien opponent. They came in hot, and Williams saw three other strike craft being rearmed before he rotated one hundred eighty degrees just outside Gold Bay and backed into an open spot with his nose pointed towards the fracas.
Deck crew in vac suits hurried out on specially designed vehicles, carrying ammo boxes of twenty-five mm cannon rounds, a rack of Phantom Missiles, and reloads for the Crusader rail gun. Another vehicle with fuel pulled up, and more deck crew in vac suits jumped out to begin topping off the Sparrowhawk's fuel.
"Now's your chance to go relieve yourself, old man," teased Williams. His only response was a muttered expletive from his gunner and the click of a pencil bouncing off the back of his helmet, making Williams grin wider.
The crew chief banged on the cockpit and gave him a thumbs up as the deck crew and vehicles pulled away. Williams returned the thumbs up, then waited until the crew chief had made it to the bay airlock before lifting off the deck and surging back into space. The rearming and refueling process had taken less time than it had taken him to get from the alien vessel back to Hermes; and Williams knew he owed Gold Bay's deck crew a round of drinks, provided he survived the engagement. It was the deck crew’s job to rearm and refuel the strike craft as quickly as possible; but the flight teams knew that they needed to show the deck crew their appreciation somehow. It became a tradition for the pilots and gunners to buy a round of drinks for the deck crew that kept them operational. There would be a lot of drinks bought after this engagement.
Williams rocketed back towards the alien vessel, swerving around the Bison shuttles carrying the Marine boarding parties and began searching for an active point defense turret. He didn't have to search long, as the telltale blue glow of building energy was easy to spot on the hull of the alien vessel when it was in shadow. Williams lined up the targeting reticle and bored in closer, only to be surprised by a round from one of the battlecruisers flashing past him and destroying the turret effortlessly.
Williams swore under his breath, pulling up and out of the line of fire for the battlecruiser behind him.
"What are you doing?" Thompson shouted in his surprise. "We have enough problems with these aliens trying to kill us without you playing 'chicken' with the battlecruisers."
"Eh," Williams answered as nonchalantly as his racing heart would allow. "I wanted to see what it was like to play in the deep end."
"You could always ask for a transfer," suggested Thompson sourly.
"I'm sure Commander Sewell would love that," Williams replied, closing on another point defense turret.
"He'd probably be glad he doesn't have to replace your landing gear every third mission," remarked Thompson, his voice trailing off as he focused on charging the Crusader.
Williams recognized the note of concentration, and waited to reply until the Crusader fired, obliterating the hapless point defense turret. "I'm not that hard on landing gear," he protested, looking around for another point defense turret.
“Uh huh,” Thompson replied. “That’s why our last performance review was so negative. I remember something about ‘hot landings’, and ‘excessive maneuvers’. You don’t remember what that was referring to, do you?”
Williams grimaced, remembering that review; and the accompanying week’s pay he had lost as punishment. “Commander Sewell just needed to make it look good,” he replied, scanning the alien hull. “That review was right before the Senate budget talks.”
“Maybe,” Thompson conceded. “But that doesn’t explain why we had to treat the mechanics of Blue Bay to a night of drinks, after you plowed through a parked Sparrowhawk.”
“The crew chief said the other bird was parked wrong,” protested Williams as he angled towards a blue glow on the alien vessel’s hull, making sure he stayed out of the firing arc of the battlecruisers.
“Hmm, then why didn’t he just say that to Commander Sewell?” Retorted Thompson.
Williams jinked around a crackling blue ball of energy and lined up the targeting reticle on the point defense turret before answering, “Beats me.”
“Acquiring lock,” Thompson said, then added, “He probably didn’t lie for you because he knew that Commander Sewell would see right through it. The commander isn’t dumb.”
Williams held the Sparrowhawk steady, watching the energy build up in the alien turret. I shouldn't have been distracting Thompson, he thought as the turret reached it's maximum glow.
"Firing," called out Thompson, as the Phantoms streaked away from the Sparrowhawk’s stubby wings.
Williams threw the Sparrowhawk sideways, the blue sphere of crackling energy already whizzing towards them. "Hang on!" He yelled.
But the turret hadn't fired at them. Williams watched in disbelief as the projectile soared past the port side several meters away. If they aren't shooting at us… He spun the Sparrowhawk just in time to see the crackling blue sphere hit a Bison square in the nose. His stomach tightened as he watched the Bison glow blue for an instant, then pop as her internal fuel tanks exploded. He dodged the flying debris, his heart stopping for an instant as he saw a Marine in their vac-rated armor spin past his cockpit.
"Poor devil," Thompson muttered. "At least the suit is intact."
"Yeah," replied Williams, his exuberance dampened. "Maybe they'll be able to recover them." Rescue ops won't be launched in active combat, he thought. The chances that any of those Marines will be recovered alive is slim.
Williams spun the Sparrowhawk around, checking to make sure the turret that had killed the Bison was dead. It was, their Phantoms had done the job; just too late to prevent the loss of a platoon of Marines and their two pilots. He saw other Bison boarding shuttles latching onto the hull of the alien vessel, and called into Air Control for clearance to rearm again.
On board Hermes, Colonel Collette Dubuois also watched the explosion of the Bison. She was standing in the Marines' Combat Control Center, watching the feed from the helmet cams of a dozen Platoon Leaders as they approached the hull of the alien vessel. She didn't see the point defense turret fire. From her perspective, one of the screens showing the packed interior of a Bison boarding shuttle suddenly filled with static, then a bright orange/white flash before the view transitioned to rapidly spinning stars. She gritted her teeth as she watched the green status lights from the armor systems of a dozen Marines of the thirty riding the Bison go from green to red. The armor was either no longer transmitting; or the armor could no longer detect a heartbeat from the wearer. It was a primitive system; but in the chaos of combat, too much information could lead to micromanagement from the Combat Control Center. Col Dubuois checked the other screens, and was gratified to see the rest of the first wave had made it to the alien hull. Unfortunately, it seemed they were having as hard a time as the Navy penetrating the alien vessel's skin. One Bison pilot had apparently decided to lock onto a destroyed point defense emplacement, and that platoon jumped from the Bison into the blackened crater.
The speakers crackled slightly as the Platoon leader reported, "We've found an opening. We are going in."
Col Dubuois watched as one by one the Platoon filed into a hole slightly larger than the Marines. Once inside, the platoon leader switched his visor to the low-light setting, and the camera switched to infrared. The gray-green view showed an interior passage which looked rounded, almost oval; and the Marines pulled themselves along the walls with one hand, gripping their bullpup-style carbines in the other hand. The going was slow, but a quick glance at the other screens told Col Dubuois none of the other platoons had breached the alien's hull.
"Tell everyone to find a destroyed turret and enter the hull through those," she ordered.
"Aye, Ma'am," the communications officer responded, then began relaying the orders to the Platoon Leaders.
Switching her gaze back to the Platoon already inside the alien vessel, she noted the claustrophobic appearance of the passage. It looks more like a burrow than a passageway, she thought. Over the speaker she heard a Marine on the platoon freq say, "There's some kind of film here." Col Dubuois leaned closer to the screen; but whatever it was, it wasn't showing up on the Platoon Leader's helmet cam.
"What kind of film?" Asked the Platoon Leader.
"I dunno, sir. Looks almost like plastic wrap, only without edges. It goes right into the walls," the Marine answered.
"Push through," ordered the Platoon Leader.
The lead Marine poked his carbine forward, then took a hesitant step forward. He took another step, more confidently before reporting, "I can walk right through it."
"Move up," ordered the Platoon leader, and the file of Marines began moving forward again. As each Marine passed through the film, or where Col Dubuois had to assume where the film was, they seemed to settle to the floor of the passage. The phenomenon was confirmed as the Platoon leader passed the spot and reported back to the control room, "Artificial gravity on the other side of this film. Sensors are picking up an oxygen, nitrogen atmosphere as well."
"Roger that," responded the communications officer before relaying the information to the other Platoon Leaders.
The other Bison shuttles were still redeploying to destroyed point defense turret emplacements, so Col Dubuois focused on the Platoon making their way deeper into the alien vessel. So far, they hadn't encountered any signs of life; the sides of the corridor were curved with small crenelations, but no indication of electrical systems or anything similar. How do they power those turrets? Col Dubuois wondered. The thought only lasted for a moment, as a strange humming sound started coming through the speakers.
"Can you clean that up," Col Dubuois asked.
The communications officer tried adjusting several settings; but nothing he did made any difference. "I'm sorry, ma'am. That's not interference."
"What-," began Col Dubuois, before a shout came from the Marine Platoon inside the alien vessel.
"Contact front!" The screen flashed as the Marines opened fire with their carbines, and it was difficult to tell what they were shooting at first. The humming increased in volume, and an insectoid creature similar to a wasp appeared from the dark of the passageway. It had a large head with two multi-faceted eyes on the sides of its head, above a double set of long mandibles. The insectoid alien nearly filled the passageway, and just visible on its back were a pair of wings that were vibrating against each other.
That must be what's making the humming, Col Dubuois thought. She watched the screen intently, seeing the impacts of the Marines' bullets hitting the alien's head; but it didn't seem to care. It moved forward, aggressively snapping its outer mandibles until it reached the first Marine. It chittered madly, then snapped its mandibles on the chest of the Marine. Col Dubuois's hand flew to her mouth involuntarily as the Marine was cut completely in half just below the ribcage. The other Marines edged backwards, firing frantically as the pointman's remains fell to the passage floor and twitched once before settling in a growing pool of blood and gore. The alien moved forward towards the second Marine and snapped at him. The Marine jumped back, jostling into the man behind him. He just barely avoided being snapped in half. The alien attacked again, catching him this time and snapping the second Marine in half at the waist. The Marine screamed as he fell.
The Platoon leader shouted, "S.A.W. gunner! To the front!" The Platoon leader was only ten men from the front of the line, and his voice had an edge of fear. The rest of the Marines were pumping rounds into the alien's head, the bullets impacting its chitinous head and leaving small pockmarks. Col Dubuois watched in frustration and horror as the alien snapped another Marine in half. The view on the screen shook, and a second later a Marine with a belt-fed machine gun entered the screen shoving his way forward. He stopped just behind the fourth Marine in the file and leveled his machine gun over the Marine's shoulder as the alien advanced. A moment later the roar of the machine gun drowned out all other sounds from the Platoon Leader's helmet cam. The insectoid alien stopped advancing and beat at the air with its forelegs, and over the roar of the machine gun Col Dubuois heard a high-pitched shrieking. The S.A.W. gunner held the trigger down, pouring the whole two hundred round belt of 7.62 semi-armor piercing rounds into the face of the alien. When the machine gun finally fell silent, the screech of the wounded alien could be clearly heard over the Platoon Leader's helmet cam. It continued to beat the air in front of it with its forelegs, and Col Dubuois saw on the view screen that the alien's head was a pulpy mass of shattered chitin and chartreuse body fluids. Amazingly, the insectoid alien did not collapse; but instead backed down the passageway, shrieking and beating the air in front of it with its forelegs. The S.A.W. gunner retreated behind the Platoon leader to reload his weapon, while another S.A.W. gunner moved up to take the third place in the file. He did not fire on the alien, and the Marines moved slowly forward. The lead Marine continued to fire deliberately into the injured portion of the alien's head, and with every bullet strike the alien jerked slightly. After several feet of slowly advancing on the injured alien, the passageway split into several corridors. At this point, the alien seemed to lose focus as it stopped and swayed back and forth as if lost or confused.
"Frag it!" Shouted the Platoon leader, and a moment later the small black sphere of a fragmentation grenade materialized from one of the leading Marines to sail across the screen and land under the alien. It detonated as it bounced off the passage floor up underneath the alien's abdomen. There was a horrific shrieking; and the alien collapsed in a shuddering mass, its abdomen torn open by the shrapnel.
"Serves you right, freakin' bug!" Screamed a Marine, and several carbines fired into the downed alien carcass.
"Hold your fire!" Commanded the Platoon leader. Then to the communications officer he continued, "We need backup. We don't have enough men to split up and follow all three of these passageways."
"Roger that," replied the communication's officer. He turned to Col Dubuois and asked, "Ma'am, should I divert one of the Bison; or should I send backup with the next wave?"
"Send two Bison from the next wave," Col Dubuois ordered. With a vessel this size, we may need another Marine Division to clear the entire thing, she thought. She walked over to the wall phone and picked it up, punching the button for the Flagship C.I.C. "I need the admiral," she said, once someone picked up on the other end. As soon as she heard Admiral Vong's rough voice she continued. "Admiral Vong, we are going to need more Marines to clear this thing," she said.
"How many more?" The admiral asked.
"At least another division, maybe two," she answered. "We have encountered an alien that is impervious to our carbines. We had to take it down with the S.A.W. and a grenade. The Platoon is waiting for reinforcements because passageways branch out in multiple directions within a hundred meters of the outer hull. To prevent our forces being cut off, we are going to need extra Marines to guard each junction."
"Very well," the admiral answered. "I'll whistle up some backup from Alvarado Naval Base. It'll be a while before they get here though. Do what you can with what you have."
"Yes sir," replied Col Dubuois, then replaced the phone on its receiver as the line went dead. She turned her attention back to the view screens, noting that over half of the Bisons had landed their boarding parties. At least three platoons were in contact with the wasp-like aliens; and she could see multiple dismembered Marines in the passageways. "Have the next wave switch to AP ammo," she told the communications officer. "And pass on the information on how to deal with these bugs to the platoons that have landed."
"Yes ma'am," replied the communications officer.
"Contact!" The first platoon that had boarded the alien vessel started firing; and Col Dubuois saw multiple aliens approaching the junction of passageways. The platoon leader had set up his S.A.W. gunners to cover each of the three passageways, and they began firing at the approaching bugs. Two of the three bugs were stopped by the sustained fire of the machine gunners; but the third gunner had a malfunction, and the alien bug charged forward. The other Marines poured carbine rounds into the charging alien, and one of them tossed a frag grenade. The alien bug screeched as the grenade exploded just behind it; but even though it was wounded, it continued to move forward with one of its legs injured. The Marines' sustained fire finally began to tell, with some rounds hitting the compound eyes and penetrating the alien's chitinous carapace. The alien finally slowed down, feeling around with its forelegs and antennae; and another grenade was rolled forward under the apparently blinded alien. The blast tore into the alien, and it collapsed with a final death screech. Col Dubuois watched the view change as the Platoon Leader scanned the rest of his men. She saw that while he had been concentrating on the alien not being held up by machine gun fire, the other two aliens had been stopped and then killed by grenades as well. However, as the gunfire subsided, the humming of vibrating wings could be heard growing louder.
"Get more Marines in there, now!" Demanded Col Dubuois. "I don't care if you have to use the admiral's shuttle!"
"Yes ma'am!" Replied the communications officer, fear for the Marines aboard the alien vessel making his voice crack.
Col Dubuois looked back to the screen, seeing aliens beginning to appear in the dark passageways. "They need to pull back into the passage and bottleneck those cussed bugs," she growled.
The communications officer spoke into the mic. "Capt Gregory, I suggest pulling your men back into the passage to bottleneck those hostiles."
Col Dubuois watched the screen bob up and down as Capt Gregory unconsciously nodded his head in agreement with the suggestion. "Marines! Pack it up! We are moving back where we came from, on the double! S.A.W. gunners at the rear," he ordered. The view shifted rapidly as the Marines grabbed their gear and moved into the passage leading to the outer hull. After a few seconds of rapid movement Capt Gregory ordered, "S.A.W.s, deploy here. Everyone else, stack up behind them. Frags at the ready."
Col Dubuois watched the Marines deploy, even as the first alien entered the passage. One S.A.W. gunner opened up, and at about ten meters he could hardly miss. The alien shrieked and beat the air for a second, before it was shoved out of the way by a second alien. The S.A.W. gunner switched targets, but ran out of ammo in the belt. Another gunner opened up, and the second alien was beaten back only to be replaced by a third. Col Dubuois couldn't help admiring the fire discipline of her Marines; but as a fourth and then fifth alien took the place of their injured companions, she couldn't help wondering how long the gunners' ammunition would hold out. Thankfully, the rest of the platoon was thinking along these lines. As the fifth attacker was shoved aside, a trio of frag grenades sailed down the passage and bounced into the cluster of aliens. A moment later, the triple explosion ripped the alien bugs apart. The gunners stopped firing, and for a moment all that could be heard was the weakening screeches of the dying aliens. Then the humming started again.
Part 1
Part 2
2024.05.27 23:04 deblforduk Austin and Riley Part 20
As usual the pictures can be found on my website and my Reddit site.
Thank you for your upvotes and your kind, supportive comments. x
20
“Sissy cuck,” Corbin had finished his resting following his arduous screwing of Austen’s wife, Riley, and had sat up in bed, “Go and face the wall.”
Face the wall? Austin hated how passive he had become since his wife had brought home her Bull, only days before.
In his corset, stockings and heels, he rose from the bed, where he had been resting after his ordeal on the dildo, and stepped up to the wall, not daring to look away from the sky-blue paint.
He heard Riley giggle.
“You’re going?”
Austin heard the Bull yawn. “Yeh. Early start. And hey, bitch,” there was a pause, as Austin fixed his gaze on a section of the wall with small paint bubbles. “You’re doing well with the Mistress stuff.”
His wife laughed again, “Thank you kind Sir. Only due to your guidance.”
Austin could hear the Bull dressing, talking at the same time, as if delivering a lecture.
“Just keep an eye on your dumb tramp of a maid. Don’t let her get away with anything. Got it? Fuck all!”
His wife replied with a smile in her tone, “I won’t Sir. I promise.”
“I know these maids. You give them an inch, and then you’re gonna have to spend a whole ocean of time putting them back in their place.”
The clothes continued to be pulled on, “And keep her nose out of my sports bag.”
Another kiss, more slobbery this time. “Yes Sir.”
The bedroom door opened, “Bitch, stay facing the wall until your Mistress gets back.”
Austin rolled his eyes, thankfully hidden from the view of the Bull or his Mistress because his back was to them. “Yes Sir.”
He heard more giggling and snogging as the couple made their clumsy way downstairs.
The cucked maid, obviously remained perfectly in place, fearful of being discovered to have moved even an inch from position.
He felt the sticky sweat from his exertions on the dildo and his bottom was sore and bizarrely vacant following his own exertions on the dildo. It was such an indignity to be standing here facing the wall, like a naughty child, while his wife and her lover chatted downstairs. He could hear their voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Mostly Sir spoke, with just the occasional giggle and whispering from Riley.
How he wished he was permitted to just hear what they were saying. In a previous life he’d have been with them, making his own points clear.
He shuffled in his heels, which were making his ankles sore. He had been wearing them for hours, the longest he had ever worn shoes like this.
To the maid it was a lifetime, but in fact the couple only spent ten minutes chatting out of the earshot of the maid.
Eventually, the front door closed, and his Mistress clip clopped up leisurely the stairs in her heels, which matched those of Austin’s.
Once in the main bedroom, she paused. Her entire body was exhausted from the pounding Sir had given her. Her legs still felt shaky, but how rewarding it was to see her sexily clad maid standing obediently in position facing the wall.
God, she wanted her friends to see this. To witness how powerful she was. They wouldn’t be able to believe it. She was certain she could garner new respect from her demonstration of dominance.
An awfully perverted thought wandered into the dark side of her mind like smoke in a tunnel. It was so sick that she wanted to quickly dispel the notion but couldn’t.
As she took in her maid’s stockings, sagging a little at the back, but still sufficiently smart on her husband’s legs beneath his corset before closing her eyes. She knew she was smiling but it was such a dreadful idea.
The dark thoughts blossomed into getting all Austin’s friends and work colleagues to their home … oh my, her breath grew shallow … and have her maid serve everyone in his new hotel pink maid tunic. It looked so good on him and left no one in any doubt as to the wearer’s status.
Of course, she knew that her husband would never recover from such a profound debasement. That everyone would snigger when they saw him or even, and this next thought made her even hotter, even order him to do something. Maybe fetch them a coffee to their desk in work.
Jesus. How powerful and commanding she would then appear in their eyes.
But it could never happen. No. What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. Their private lives are exactly that. Yet, her pussy still dampened from the thought.
The maid’s head gave a slight, nervous turn to see if his Mistress was in the room. She had been quietly lost in her erotic thoughts, and unmoving for a while.
“Oh maid. You are so fucking hot!”
Should he step away from the wall now?
He decided to remain in position, “Thank you Mistress. And so do you.”
She laughed. “Oh my God, between you and Sir I feel truly alive and so turned on.”
Crawling up onto the disorderly bedsheets, she felt her aching muscles remonstrate with her.
“Fetch me a glass of water, maid. Two ice cubes and a slice of lemon.
Turning on his heels, he said, “Yes Mistress,” and set off on his task.
When he returned carrying the water glass on the same tray with which he had waited for Sir by the front door, only hours previously, he offered the drink to his sleepy Mistress.
“Good girl,” she sipped the refreshing cold water, imagining it to energise her body. “Put my glass on the cupboard next to the bed and get in.”
She raised the quilt.
“Yes mistress,” Austin complied, feeling the suspenders stretched around his thighs and the corset tighten around his body as he complied.
She snuggled up her maid, relishing his sticky flesh against her own. It felt lewd and illicit. Excitingly so.
With knowing amusement in her voice, she asked, “How did it feel, fucking yourself on Sir’s dildo?”
Where had all this swearing come from? Riley never used to swear until she had become so dominant. As if her new position gave her fresh entitlements.
Using her arm to squeeze her maid’s bare shoulders, she kissed her maid’s hot forehead.
“Go on maid. Girls talk about everything. No need to hold back.”
“Yes, Mistress.” How could he put it? “To be honest it was humiliating having to sit on Sir’s dildo, under his direction. And having to obey him.”
As convincingly as possible, she said, “Aww,” but thought, ‘good’.
“And it was so big. I was scared at first.”
Abruptly, it was as if his wife had woken up, she quickly pulled herself onto her side, staring down at her cute maid. “I know. Isn’t it? I feel exactly that when guys are about to screw me. They look so big. It is scary. Not you obviously.” She smiled and winked. “But I mean real guys. Their cocks are so damned big.”
His jaw dropped in shock. Real men? Not him? He mustn’t cry. One day they would both be beyond this cuckold game, and they could go back to their man and wife love making. Riley wouldn’t complain about his size and performance again.
The nightmare of when Sir had forced Austin to try to make love to Riley flooded back with all the emotions of humiliation and despair he felt at the time.
He winced, recalling how Sir had fucked her quickly to orgasm but he, her own husband, couldn’t get any reaction. How Riley had chatted absent mindedly with the Bull about doorknobs while he was doing his best to make her cum.
But his wife seemed to be oblivious to his torments. Rather, her eyes were wide with excitement.
“Wow. You and I have so much in common. Come on. Come on. What else did you feel?”
“Well, I guess, you know, it was arousing. Like Sir said, when the dildo rubbed against my G Spot.”
Her eyes sparkled in the dimly lit bedroom, “Exactly. Then, with him inside me, fucking me hard, all the fear goes, and you can’t help yourself. You just cum.”
Austin felt his cheeks burn, and wished he could deny his wife’s painful words. But he had cum like a slut while riding the dildo under Sir’s instructions.
She pressed on, with ever greater excitement, “And Sir says, that with your little thingee locked up in chastity you can keep on cumming. Just like a girl.”
He couldn’t look her in the eyes as he compliantly nodded.
My God, watching her husband’s submission through shame was wholly thrilling. The most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.
“Come on. We’re besties. We share stuff. Sir doesn’t have to know. It’s between you and me. What else?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he thought back, “When it came out, when I stood up, it felt odd. Difficult to put into … I guess, you know. I felt empty.”
She laughed. “I know! It’s like you want it back in there as soon as possible!” She shook her head. “Oh, you and I are so like. Two total cock sluts!”
He wanted to stand up for himself, but how could he? Yes, he did want the dildo back inside him. Surely that didn’t make him a cock slut!
She kissed his nose, “Wait until you are standing in a room with dominant males. You won’t believe how you feel. You’ll know that if they fuck you, then you’d become theirs. Like your body just gives into them. Your legs will be shaky. They have so much power over we cock sluts!” She laughed louder. “And most of them don’t know it. But we girls know it. And we know there’s nothing we can do about it. And even that makes us hotter and wetter.”
He had to put a stop to this. No way was he going to respond to a man in the room sexually, simply because he now knew that a thick cock could make him cum so easily.
Yet even now, he felt that vacant throbbing in his bottom.
He dipped his head down to avoid her eyes.
“Mistress, please may I play with the dildo again?”
She snuggled him up, squeezing him tight. “No, sexy maid. Sir says I must ensure you have been well behaved if you are to get treats. And I don’t mean just obedient. Sir says you must be specially submissive and maid like to deserve rewards.”
“But Mistress …”
Her expression grew instantly dark. The eyes and mouth narrowing in that by now familiar way when she was cross with him.
He instantly knew to shut up and avoid eye contact.
“Do you really think that a maid who argues gets treats?”
Feeling totally ashamed, he spoke with barely moving his lips, “No Mistress.”
“No! No indeed. I may have to whip that out of you. I’d hate it, if you started questioning me when given an instruction in front of our acquaintances.”
His eyes blinked huge. “Acquaintances?”
She hadn’t meant to say that. “No, sorry. Well, say, in front of Sir.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, unconvinced, fear making lines appear on his forehead. “Because obviously we cannot involve others in this game.”
She stared at him, that coldness in her features growing harsher.
Why was she staring at him with such anger?
She despised him for thinking it is a game. Her power was as real and solid as any marriage vow, and she was not about to give it up. And how dare he say their friends shouldn’t be involved. It wasn’t for him to make decisions. Just to accept her instructions.
At last, she said, with her face barely moving, and her teeth close together. “Don’t you ever speak to me with out addressing me in an appropriate manner, maid.”
“Sorry Mistress. I forgot. It won’t happen again.”
Releasing him she sat up in bed, her eyes still narrow but remaining disturbingly silent.
Finally, she looked down at his frightened maid and brushed her fingers down his hot cheek.
“Maid. It must not happen again. So here’s what we are going to do to ensure you don’t forget. I will whip your bottom enough times to make you cry. Then I’ll video you telling Sir what has happened and why it has happened. You will then thank Sir, for putting you in your place and thank him for ensuring you get your bum caned when you are naughty.”
He leaned up on his elbows. “But Mistress. No. Please ….”
Raising her eyebrows was all she had to do to quell his protests. He fell back onto the bed. “Mistress, you said this was between you and me. Sir shouldn’t see everything.”
She pushed away his fringe from his sweet pixie hair style. “Silly maid. This is isn’t for Sir. It is for me. And for you. It will be painful for you saying those things for Sir. Having it recorded.” Again, she kissed his cute nose. “But it will ensure that you learn not to answer back.”
With eyes closed, he groaned.
“Silly maid. You’ll thank me for it. Now you need to repair your make up and brush your hair before your punishment and video. And we need to straighten up your corset and stockings. I don’t want Sir thinking I have an unkempt maid.”
How could he argue with his Mistress, when even if it appeared he was protesting could result in further punishment?
submitted by deblforduk to cuck_femdom_tales [link] [comments]
Thank you for your upvotes and your kind, supportive comments. x
20
“Sissy cuck,” Corbin had finished his resting following his arduous screwing of Austen’s wife, Riley, and had sat up in bed, “Go and face the wall.”
Face the wall? Austin hated how passive he had become since his wife had brought home her Bull, only days before.
In his corset, stockings and heels, he rose from the bed, where he had been resting after his ordeal on the dildo, and stepped up to the wall, not daring to look away from the sky-blue paint.
He heard Riley giggle.
“You’re going?”
Austin heard the Bull yawn. “Yeh. Early start. And hey, bitch,” there was a pause, as Austin fixed his gaze on a section of the wall with small paint bubbles. “You’re doing well with the Mistress stuff.”
His wife laughed again, “Thank you kind Sir. Only due to your guidance.”
Austin could hear the Bull dressing, talking at the same time, as if delivering a lecture.
“Just keep an eye on your dumb tramp of a maid. Don’t let her get away with anything. Got it? Fuck all!”
His wife replied with a smile in her tone, “I won’t Sir. I promise.”
“I know these maids. You give them an inch, and then you’re gonna have to spend a whole ocean of time putting them back in their place.”
The clothes continued to be pulled on, “And keep her nose out of my sports bag.”
Another kiss, more slobbery this time. “Yes Sir.”
The bedroom door opened, “Bitch, stay facing the wall until your Mistress gets back.”
Austin rolled his eyes, thankfully hidden from the view of the Bull or his Mistress because his back was to them. “Yes Sir.”
He heard more giggling and snogging as the couple made their clumsy way downstairs.
The cucked maid, obviously remained perfectly in place, fearful of being discovered to have moved even an inch from position.
He felt the sticky sweat from his exertions on the dildo and his bottom was sore and bizarrely vacant following his own exertions on the dildo. It was such an indignity to be standing here facing the wall, like a naughty child, while his wife and her lover chatted downstairs. He could hear their voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Mostly Sir spoke, with just the occasional giggle and whispering from Riley.
How he wished he was permitted to just hear what they were saying. In a previous life he’d have been with them, making his own points clear.
He shuffled in his heels, which were making his ankles sore. He had been wearing them for hours, the longest he had ever worn shoes like this.
To the maid it was a lifetime, but in fact the couple only spent ten minutes chatting out of the earshot of the maid.
Eventually, the front door closed, and his Mistress clip clopped up leisurely the stairs in her heels, which matched those of Austin’s.
Once in the main bedroom, she paused. Her entire body was exhausted from the pounding Sir had given her. Her legs still felt shaky, but how rewarding it was to see her sexily clad maid standing obediently in position facing the wall.
God, she wanted her friends to see this. To witness how powerful she was. They wouldn’t be able to believe it. She was certain she could garner new respect from her demonstration of dominance.
An awfully perverted thought wandered into the dark side of her mind like smoke in a tunnel. It was so sick that she wanted to quickly dispel the notion but couldn’t.
As she took in her maid’s stockings, sagging a little at the back, but still sufficiently smart on her husband’s legs beneath his corset before closing her eyes. She knew she was smiling but it was such a dreadful idea.
The dark thoughts blossomed into getting all Austin’s friends and work colleagues to their home … oh my, her breath grew shallow … and have her maid serve everyone in his new hotel pink maid tunic. It looked so good on him and left no one in any doubt as to the wearer’s status.
Of course, she knew that her husband would never recover from such a profound debasement. That everyone would snigger when they saw him or even, and this next thought made her even hotter, even order him to do something. Maybe fetch them a coffee to their desk in work.
Jesus. How powerful and commanding she would then appear in their eyes.
But it could never happen. No. What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. Their private lives are exactly that. Yet, her pussy still dampened from the thought.
The maid’s head gave a slight, nervous turn to see if his Mistress was in the room. She had been quietly lost in her erotic thoughts, and unmoving for a while.
“Oh maid. You are so fucking hot!”
Should he step away from the wall now?
He decided to remain in position, “Thank you Mistress. And so do you.”
She laughed. “Oh my God, between you and Sir I feel truly alive and so turned on.”
Crawling up onto the disorderly bedsheets, she felt her aching muscles remonstrate with her.
“Fetch me a glass of water, maid. Two ice cubes and a slice of lemon.
Turning on his heels, he said, “Yes Mistress,” and set off on his task.
When he returned carrying the water glass on the same tray with which he had waited for Sir by the front door, only hours previously, he offered the drink to his sleepy Mistress.
“Good girl,” she sipped the refreshing cold water, imagining it to energise her body. “Put my glass on the cupboard next to the bed and get in.”
She raised the quilt.
“Yes mistress,” Austin complied, feeling the suspenders stretched around his thighs and the corset tighten around his body as he complied.
She snuggled up her maid, relishing his sticky flesh against her own. It felt lewd and illicit. Excitingly so.
With knowing amusement in her voice, she asked, “How did it feel, fucking yourself on Sir’s dildo?”
Where had all this swearing come from? Riley never used to swear until she had become so dominant. As if her new position gave her fresh entitlements.
Using her arm to squeeze her maid’s bare shoulders, she kissed her maid’s hot forehead.
“Go on maid. Girls talk about everything. No need to hold back.”
“Yes, Mistress.” How could he put it? “To be honest it was humiliating having to sit on Sir’s dildo, under his direction. And having to obey him.”
As convincingly as possible, she said, “Aww,” but thought, ‘good’.
“And it was so big. I was scared at first.”
Abruptly, it was as if his wife had woken up, she quickly pulled herself onto her side, staring down at her cute maid. “I know. Isn’t it? I feel exactly that when guys are about to screw me. They look so big. It is scary. Not you obviously.” She smiled and winked. “But I mean real guys. Their cocks are so damned big.”
His jaw dropped in shock. Real men? Not him? He mustn’t cry. One day they would both be beyond this cuckold game, and they could go back to their man and wife love making. Riley wouldn’t complain about his size and performance again.
The nightmare of when Sir had forced Austin to try to make love to Riley flooded back with all the emotions of humiliation and despair he felt at the time.
He winced, recalling how Sir had fucked her quickly to orgasm but he, her own husband, couldn’t get any reaction. How Riley had chatted absent mindedly with the Bull about doorknobs while he was doing his best to make her cum.
But his wife seemed to be oblivious to his torments. Rather, her eyes were wide with excitement.
“Wow. You and I have so much in common. Come on. Come on. What else did you feel?”
“Well, I guess, you know, it was arousing. Like Sir said, when the dildo rubbed against my G Spot.”
Her eyes sparkled in the dimly lit bedroom, “Exactly. Then, with him inside me, fucking me hard, all the fear goes, and you can’t help yourself. You just cum.”
Austin felt his cheeks burn, and wished he could deny his wife’s painful words. But he had cum like a slut while riding the dildo under Sir’s instructions.
She pressed on, with ever greater excitement, “And Sir says, that with your little thingee locked up in chastity you can keep on cumming. Just like a girl.”
He couldn’t look her in the eyes as he compliantly nodded.
My God, watching her husband’s submission through shame was wholly thrilling. The most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.
“Come on. We’re besties. We share stuff. Sir doesn’t have to know. It’s between you and me. What else?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he thought back, “When it came out, when I stood up, it felt odd. Difficult to put into … I guess, you know. I felt empty.”
She laughed. “I know! It’s like you want it back in there as soon as possible!” She shook her head. “Oh, you and I are so like. Two total cock sluts!”
He wanted to stand up for himself, but how could he? Yes, he did want the dildo back inside him. Surely that didn’t make him a cock slut!
She kissed his nose, “Wait until you are standing in a room with dominant males. You won’t believe how you feel. You’ll know that if they fuck you, then you’d become theirs. Like your body just gives into them. Your legs will be shaky. They have so much power over we cock sluts!” She laughed louder. “And most of them don’t know it. But we girls know it. And we know there’s nothing we can do about it. And even that makes us hotter and wetter.”
He had to put a stop to this. No way was he going to respond to a man in the room sexually, simply because he now knew that a thick cock could make him cum so easily.
Yet even now, he felt that vacant throbbing in his bottom.
He dipped his head down to avoid her eyes.
“Mistress, please may I play with the dildo again?”
She snuggled him up, squeezing him tight. “No, sexy maid. Sir says I must ensure you have been well behaved if you are to get treats. And I don’t mean just obedient. Sir says you must be specially submissive and maid like to deserve rewards.”
“But Mistress …”
Her expression grew instantly dark. The eyes and mouth narrowing in that by now familiar way when she was cross with him.
He instantly knew to shut up and avoid eye contact.
“Do you really think that a maid who argues gets treats?”
Feeling totally ashamed, he spoke with barely moving his lips, “No Mistress.”
“No! No indeed. I may have to whip that out of you. I’d hate it, if you started questioning me when given an instruction in front of our acquaintances.”
His eyes blinked huge. “Acquaintances?”
She hadn’t meant to say that. “No, sorry. Well, say, in front of Sir.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, unconvinced, fear making lines appear on his forehead. “Because obviously we cannot involve others in this game.”
She stared at him, that coldness in her features growing harsher.
Why was she staring at him with such anger?
She despised him for thinking it is a game. Her power was as real and solid as any marriage vow, and she was not about to give it up. And how dare he say their friends shouldn’t be involved. It wasn’t for him to make decisions. Just to accept her instructions.
At last, she said, with her face barely moving, and her teeth close together. “Don’t you ever speak to me with out addressing me in an appropriate manner, maid.”
“Sorry Mistress. I forgot. It won’t happen again.”
Releasing him she sat up in bed, her eyes still narrow but remaining disturbingly silent.
Finally, she looked down at his frightened maid and brushed her fingers down his hot cheek.
“Maid. It must not happen again. So here’s what we are going to do to ensure you don’t forget. I will whip your bottom enough times to make you cry. Then I’ll video you telling Sir what has happened and why it has happened. You will then thank Sir, for putting you in your place and thank him for ensuring you get your bum caned when you are naughty.”
He leaned up on his elbows. “But Mistress. No. Please ….”
Raising her eyebrows was all she had to do to quell his protests. He fell back onto the bed. “Mistress, you said this was between you and me. Sir shouldn’t see everything.”
She pushed away his fringe from his sweet pixie hair style. “Silly maid. This is isn’t for Sir. It is for me. And for you. It will be painful for you saying those things for Sir. Having it recorded.” Again, she kissed his cute nose. “But it will ensure that you learn not to answer back.”
With eyes closed, he groaned.
“Silly maid. You’ll thank me for it. Now you need to repair your make up and brush your hair before your punishment and video. And we need to straighten up your corset and stockings. I don’t want Sir thinking I have an unkempt maid.”
How could he argue with his Mistress, when even if it appeared he was protesting could result in further punishment?
2024.05.27 22:59 Truman-Burbankrupt Ah yes, the 103929102 movie 🥰
 | submitted by Truman-Burbankrupt to CharacterAI [link] [comments] |
2024.05.27 22:57 xoxefo3952 FATED TO THE WOLF GOD by Thattrekonsi to Read for Free - Werewolf Stories
His eyes were cold and lifeless as he stared at her searching for any hint of deception. You have no idea who I am, do you? No. … Astraea is the second princess of the werewolf kingdom but her life comes tumbling down when her father messes with the wrong people and she is forced to marry Alan Treynor, Alpha of the Blue Dawn pack, a ruthless and wicked Alpha. On the day of the wedding, she was saved by Orion, one of the gods of the moon. A lonely god who killed his siblings for power. Only to find out that they are fated mates. But gods cannot mate with ordinary werewolves. What happens when she finds herself entangled in a forbidden love that defies the boundaries between mortals and gods? With each heartbeat, the stakes rise, and Astraea must decide whether to embrace the intoxicating allure of forbidden love or succumb to the merciless forces that threaten to tear her world apart. What happens when she finds out she is a reincarnated immortal? In this gripping tale of love, sacrifice, and destiny, Astraea's choices will shape the destiny of werewolves and gods alike. FATED TO THE WOLF GOD. Read more
submitted by xoxefo3952 to Novelideas [link] [comments]
2024.05.27 22:45 LongFold4047 How serious are my side effects? Opinions plz!
I started taking Saxenda (only 0.3 dose) and absolutely loved it. I finally felt free for the first time in 20 years. I took my second dose (0.3) and woke suddenly in the night feeling like I was going to throw up. When I stood up I realised I was going to faint, I made it to the bathroom and lay on the floor rolling around in agonising pain. My insides felt twisted and sore and I had cold sweats and very very bad trapped wind. I managed to deep breath my way through it and went back to bed. I woke up again and hour later to the same feeling and this time I was sick. And the acid reflux burnt my throat. I went back to bed and felt terrible. Sweating but freezing and a lot of pain in my stomach.
I have Crohn's disease but it is in remission. This feeling reminded me of a flare.
The question is - do it take it one more time to see if my body can get used to it? Or do I not risk it?
Has anyone had this and come out the other side feeling fine?
submitted by LongFold4047 to liraglutide [link] [comments]
I have Crohn's disease but it is in remission. This feeling reminded me of a flare.
The question is - do it take it one more time to see if my body can get used to it? Or do I not risk it?
Has anyone had this and come out the other side feeling fine?
2024.05.27 22:36 handsy_pilot Trip Report - SCUBA edition
Hopefully this trip report will help folks who are planning a trip to Roatan. Everything was what we experienced and described truthfully. I find it's important to name both good and bad experiences, and to mention names of businesses as well.
First, this was not a "sit on the beach" type of trip. My friend and I went for the single reason of SCUBA diving. Both of us are fresh divers, with me having logged my 20th dive on this trip. Please consider that as I describe the dive shop operations. I'll have a section for the diving ops.
Getting There (Day 0)
My flight to Houston was diverted and I ended up missing my flight to Roatan. United put me up in a hotel and provided meal vouchers, even though it was due to weather. Met a friend and caught an Astros game.
Got on my new flight the next day and took off on time. We had to circle a bit before landing because the airport in Roatan was closed because of the smoke. Fortunately it cleared before we had to divert for more fuel.
This was my second time to Roatan, and on that first trip, I learned that some Caribbean destinations have you deplane from both the front and rear of the airplane via airstairs because there are no jet bridges. I purposely sat about 6 rows from the back knowing this. The quicker you can get into the very slow immigration line, the better.
Entry
Straightforward. I was about number 12 in line. Be sure to fill out the entry form electronically prior to arrival so you can just present the QR code. Yes, Americans have to do this, too. There's wifi in the entry hall so you can do this while you're waiting, but you can also have it filled out up to 5 days prior to your entry to Honduras. The immigration officer verified where I was staying and when I was leaving (no proof necessary) and stamped my passport.
Luggage will be waiting for you. Proceed to the customs agent. There is one scanner and all of your bags go through it. There will be a line. If there are questions, your items will be looked at. I had a suitcase full of medical supplies destined for Clinica Esperanza (shoutout to Not Just Tourists, great organization that gets medical supplies to places where they're needed). They wanted to know where the supplies were going but it was very painless.
The driver from our accommodations was waiting for me. They are easily identifiable and there are many with large signs waiting for you once you exit the controlled area. There was one more person to wait for so I got the first Salva Vida of the trip at the bar there at the airport. Ride was $30, plus $5 tip.
Days (1-2) [remember, this should have been three days, but I missed a day]
My friend and I booked our first part of the stay at Bananarama in West Bay. Bananarama is located right on the beach. It has its own cafe, bar, and pizza oven. You can walk up and down the beach to visit other restaurants, there's also a small grocery/sundry store up the beach a little bit.
We also dove with them. I missed my first day of diving because of the overnight in Houston I had to do. But I didn't pay or put a deposit down on the dives, so I did not owe anything for missed dives.
One reason we picked Bananarama was the free breakfast. It was very simple, you're presented a menu with a handful of options. It was served quickly so you could get yourself ready for the morning dive outing. First boats left by 8:15-8:30. All dives had divemasters for each group. I never felt uncomfortable on any dives either with staff or equipment. I did not have to lift a thing until it was time to backroll into the ocean. At the end of the day, you are to carry your BCD, wetsuit, etc, to the dive shop for rinsing.
One day we were at Bananarama they had halfprice pizzas. We had enough leftover for breakfast the next day.
We picked up beers from the grocery store up the beach and the bar was fine with us sitting in a corner drinking them. Their drinks were delicious, too, but we saved a bit of money buying our own beer. Our room had a fridge.
Another meal, we went up the beach to Beachers and had their lobster tail special. Lots of places had lobster tail on special.
For the best snorkeling off the West Bay beach, head down toward the dock in front of Infinity Bay. Snorkel out toward the rocks and toward the rocks toward the tip of the island. Another person at Bananarama did a night snorkel tour and saw half a dozen octopus down that way. You can snorkel anytime you'd like for free and lots of places will rent mask/snorkel/fins.
Water jugs were provided in rooms.
The shower at Bananarama had low pressure, but that was about the only negative thing. 10/10, would stay again.
Days 3-5
We knew we wanted to check out Utila, so we left the fine operation at Bananarama. The driver for Bananarama took us to the ferry dock ($30 + $5 tip). We prebooked these roundtrip tickets. Heard the ferry can be very bumpy, so we pre-medicated. The ride was fine and not rolly at all (on this day).
We should have just taken a tuk tuk from the ferry dock, but we walked to Alton's Dive Center. The tuk tuk would have been very inexpensive, maybe $2, and would've been worth it.
Alton's has varying degrees of accommodation, from dorms with bunkbeds and no AC up to private AC rooms. No frills, but you don't need much if all you're doing is eating, diving, and drinking. Very affordable.
For breakfast and lunch, they have a couple Honduran ladies cooking up balleadas and other breakfast-y items. Affordable. Lunch was a rotating menu, burgers one day and quesadillas the next. When you have 45 minutes between dives to reload, it was a good option to have.
Supper one night we went across the street to RJ's BBQ. It was very, very good and also affordable. The expat couple next to us offered bites of their pork chops, which were also very good. I peeped on the pitmaster's grill and he showed me around, he was very proud with good reason. Then we went up the way to the Utila Brewing Co and enjoyed a couple beers out on the dock. Decent beers when you're in the island mindset.
The next night, we walked to the other end of the busy strip to Mango Tango. They were out of each initial item we ordered, but what we did get was also good.
You had to provide your own water here unless you were on a dive boat.
10/10, would stay at Alton's again.
Days 6-7
We took a tuk tuk back to the ferry for the morning departure back to Roatan. This ferry ride was a lot rockier and if I hadn't medicated I'd have probably lost my balleada. Just keep your eye on the horizon, and maybe wear headphones so you can drown out any vomiting noises.
When the Bananarama driver dropped us off at the ferry, I'd asked how much a taxi should cost to West End. We ended up arranging for him to pick us back up and take us to our next accommodation ($25 + $5 tip). He also took us to the airport for the same cost on our departure day.
We stayed at Coconut Tree Cabins the night before we left. Aside from the location, this place was absolutely terrible. Ants. So many ants. There were piles of dead ants in the shower that looked like dirt, until you washed them down the drain. The guy at reception just shrugged. We didn't find bedbugs or any creatures that made us want to go through finding a different place to sleep for a night, so we made do and wore sandals into the bathroom. 0/10, would not stay here again.
Coconut Tree was located on the main drag in West End. We shopped for souvenirs, and had dinner and drinks. I got lionfish spine earrings for my wife from Rusty Fish. I got a Salva Vida rashguard (initial price of $20, countered $10, settled on $15) from a guy peddling them while we ate supper.
The region has been very smoky because of sugar cane burning and wildfires on the mainland. I mentioned that my flight in had to circle a bit before landing. On our departure day, all the planes had to divert to Belize or Cancun to refuel before they could make it in to Roatan. My friend and I both missed our flights to our final destinations and had to spend one more night in a hotel away from home. This meant the under-equipped terminal was full of people. It was warm unless you were under one of the meager AC units. Water was sparse. I didn't stop sweating until we were airborne.
Diving
First and foremost, the diving on both islands was amazing and we would return to both places in a heartbeat. We did enjoy the diving off Roatan more, it just felt like we saw more sea life. One reason we liked Roatan diving better was the boat rides were very short, it seemed like we were at our dive site within 5-10 minutes, and the most, 15 minutes. On Utila, the morning boat ride was sometimes 45-60 minutes (Alton's does do two-tank dives in the morning to account for the longer boat rides, so you'll get daily dive #2 on the way back to the dock).
Both Bananarama and Alton's are very well run. We were taken care of in both places. After your initial fitting, they take care of your gear, switch it to new tanks, all that stuff.
What did we see? So much stuff! Turtles, different eels, sea slugs, eagle rays, barracuda, lionfish...the list keeps going.
All the divemasters were great and spotted lots of wildlife. We tipped $10/tank.
My friend and I each sat out a dive, him for an ear issue and me for leg cramp coming up from the previous dive. At Bananarama, you could get a max of three daily dives. Alton's, max of 4. Each offered night dives if there was interest.
All that said, we'd be ready to book the entire week at Bananarama. The less time on a boat, whether it's the dive boat or ferry, wins it out. You absolutely should visit Utila and experience that diving (you'll have a better chance at a whale shark sighting) if you want to. After experiencing both places, that's what my friend and I settled on. Everyone is different and has their own preferences. Something we might do on a return trip is to book half the week at Bananarama and the other half at a dive resort elsewhere on the island.
Other odds and ends
I brought $20s and $10s. I'd add a number of $5s to that for the next trip, it's an easier currency to tip with. Make sure they aren't torn or ripped, of course, or they will not be accepted.
Beach peddlers were there, but not overly annoying. A firm "No, thank you" was usually enough for them to keep walking.
I love posting trip reports, because sometimes a sub is just inundated with people asking questions for their trips, but no one posts anything but pictures when they get back.
submitted by handsy_pilot to roatan [link] [comments]
First, this was not a "sit on the beach" type of trip. My friend and I went for the single reason of SCUBA diving. Both of us are fresh divers, with me having logged my 20th dive on this trip. Please consider that as I describe the dive shop operations. I'll have a section for the diving ops.
Getting There (Day 0)
My flight to Houston was diverted and I ended up missing my flight to Roatan. United put me up in a hotel and provided meal vouchers, even though it was due to weather. Met a friend and caught an Astros game.
Got on my new flight the next day and took off on time. We had to circle a bit before landing because the airport in Roatan was closed because of the smoke. Fortunately it cleared before we had to divert for more fuel.
This was my second time to Roatan, and on that first trip, I learned that some Caribbean destinations have you deplane from both the front and rear of the airplane via airstairs because there are no jet bridges. I purposely sat about 6 rows from the back knowing this. The quicker you can get into the very slow immigration line, the better.
Entry
Straightforward. I was about number 12 in line. Be sure to fill out the entry form electronically prior to arrival so you can just present the QR code. Yes, Americans have to do this, too. There's wifi in the entry hall so you can do this while you're waiting, but you can also have it filled out up to 5 days prior to your entry to Honduras. The immigration officer verified where I was staying and when I was leaving (no proof necessary) and stamped my passport.
Luggage will be waiting for you. Proceed to the customs agent. There is one scanner and all of your bags go through it. There will be a line. If there are questions, your items will be looked at. I had a suitcase full of medical supplies destined for Clinica Esperanza (shoutout to Not Just Tourists, great organization that gets medical supplies to places where they're needed). They wanted to know where the supplies were going but it was very painless.
The driver from our accommodations was waiting for me. They are easily identifiable and there are many with large signs waiting for you once you exit the controlled area. There was one more person to wait for so I got the first Salva Vida of the trip at the bar there at the airport. Ride was $30, plus $5 tip.
Days (1-2) [remember, this should have been three days, but I missed a day]
My friend and I booked our first part of the stay at Bananarama in West Bay. Bananarama is located right on the beach. It has its own cafe, bar, and pizza oven. You can walk up and down the beach to visit other restaurants, there's also a small grocery/sundry store up the beach a little bit.
We also dove with them. I missed my first day of diving because of the overnight in Houston I had to do. But I didn't pay or put a deposit down on the dives, so I did not owe anything for missed dives.
One reason we picked Bananarama was the free breakfast. It was very simple, you're presented a menu with a handful of options. It was served quickly so you could get yourself ready for the morning dive outing. First boats left by 8:15-8:30. All dives had divemasters for each group. I never felt uncomfortable on any dives either with staff or equipment. I did not have to lift a thing until it was time to backroll into the ocean. At the end of the day, you are to carry your BCD, wetsuit, etc, to the dive shop for rinsing.
One day we were at Bananarama they had halfprice pizzas. We had enough leftover for breakfast the next day.
We picked up beers from the grocery store up the beach and the bar was fine with us sitting in a corner drinking them. Their drinks were delicious, too, but we saved a bit of money buying our own beer. Our room had a fridge.
Another meal, we went up the beach to Beachers and had their lobster tail special. Lots of places had lobster tail on special.
For the best snorkeling off the West Bay beach, head down toward the dock in front of Infinity Bay. Snorkel out toward the rocks and toward the rocks toward the tip of the island. Another person at Bananarama did a night snorkel tour and saw half a dozen octopus down that way. You can snorkel anytime you'd like for free and lots of places will rent mask/snorkel/fins.
Water jugs were provided in rooms.
The shower at Bananarama had low pressure, but that was about the only negative thing. 10/10, would stay again.
Days 3-5
We knew we wanted to check out Utila, so we left the fine operation at Bananarama. The driver for Bananarama took us to the ferry dock ($30 + $5 tip). We prebooked these roundtrip tickets. Heard the ferry can be very bumpy, so we pre-medicated. The ride was fine and not rolly at all (on this day).
We should have just taken a tuk tuk from the ferry dock, but we walked to Alton's Dive Center. The tuk tuk would have been very inexpensive, maybe $2, and would've been worth it.
Alton's has varying degrees of accommodation, from dorms with bunkbeds and no AC up to private AC rooms. No frills, but you don't need much if all you're doing is eating, diving, and drinking. Very affordable.
For breakfast and lunch, they have a couple Honduran ladies cooking up balleadas and other breakfast-y items. Affordable. Lunch was a rotating menu, burgers one day and quesadillas the next. When you have 45 minutes between dives to reload, it was a good option to have.
Supper one night we went across the street to RJ's BBQ. It was very, very good and also affordable. The expat couple next to us offered bites of their pork chops, which were also very good. I peeped on the pitmaster's grill and he showed me around, he was very proud with good reason. Then we went up the way to the Utila Brewing Co and enjoyed a couple beers out on the dock. Decent beers when you're in the island mindset.
The next night, we walked to the other end of the busy strip to Mango Tango. They were out of each initial item we ordered, but what we did get was also good.
You had to provide your own water here unless you were on a dive boat.
10/10, would stay at Alton's again.
Days 6-7
We took a tuk tuk back to the ferry for the morning departure back to Roatan. This ferry ride was a lot rockier and if I hadn't medicated I'd have probably lost my balleada. Just keep your eye on the horizon, and maybe wear headphones so you can drown out any vomiting noises.
When the Bananarama driver dropped us off at the ferry, I'd asked how much a taxi should cost to West End. We ended up arranging for him to pick us back up and take us to our next accommodation ($25 + $5 tip). He also took us to the airport for the same cost on our departure day.
We stayed at Coconut Tree Cabins the night before we left. Aside from the location, this place was absolutely terrible. Ants. So many ants. There were piles of dead ants in the shower that looked like dirt, until you washed them down the drain. The guy at reception just shrugged. We didn't find bedbugs or any creatures that made us want to go through finding a different place to sleep for a night, so we made do and wore sandals into the bathroom. 0/10, would not stay here again.
Coconut Tree was located on the main drag in West End. We shopped for souvenirs, and had dinner and drinks. I got lionfish spine earrings for my wife from Rusty Fish. I got a Salva Vida rashguard (initial price of $20, countered $10, settled on $15) from a guy peddling them while we ate supper.
The region has been very smoky because of sugar cane burning and wildfires on the mainland. I mentioned that my flight in had to circle a bit before landing. On our departure day, all the planes had to divert to Belize or Cancun to refuel before they could make it in to Roatan. My friend and I both missed our flights to our final destinations and had to spend one more night in a hotel away from home. This meant the under-equipped terminal was full of people. It was warm unless you were under one of the meager AC units. Water was sparse. I didn't stop sweating until we were airborne.
Diving
First and foremost, the diving on both islands was amazing and we would return to both places in a heartbeat. We did enjoy the diving off Roatan more, it just felt like we saw more sea life. One reason we liked Roatan diving better was the boat rides were very short, it seemed like we were at our dive site within 5-10 minutes, and the most, 15 minutes. On Utila, the morning boat ride was sometimes 45-60 minutes (Alton's does do two-tank dives in the morning to account for the longer boat rides, so you'll get daily dive #2 on the way back to the dock).
Both Bananarama and Alton's are very well run. We were taken care of in both places. After your initial fitting, they take care of your gear, switch it to new tanks, all that stuff.
What did we see? So much stuff! Turtles, different eels, sea slugs, eagle rays, barracuda, lionfish...the list keeps going.
All the divemasters were great and spotted lots of wildlife. We tipped $10/tank.
My friend and I each sat out a dive, him for an ear issue and me for leg cramp coming up from the previous dive. At Bananarama, you could get a max of three daily dives. Alton's, max of 4. Each offered night dives if there was interest.
All that said, we'd be ready to book the entire week at Bananarama. The less time on a boat, whether it's the dive boat or ferry, wins it out. You absolutely should visit Utila and experience that diving (you'll have a better chance at a whale shark sighting) if you want to. After experiencing both places, that's what my friend and I settled on. Everyone is different and has their own preferences. Something we might do on a return trip is to book half the week at Bananarama and the other half at a dive resort elsewhere on the island.
Other odds and ends
I brought $20s and $10s. I'd add a number of $5s to that for the next trip, it's an easier currency to tip with. Make sure they aren't torn or ripped, of course, or they will not be accepted.
Beach peddlers were there, but not overly annoying. A firm "No, thank you" was usually enough for them to keep walking.
I love posting trip reports, because sometimes a sub is just inundated with people asking questions for their trips, but no one posts anything but pictures when they get back.
2024.05.27 22:31 Mista9000 Perfectly Safe Demons -Ch 40- Unappreciated Gems
Chapter One
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Prev
-Sometime the following morning-
Taritha awoke to the unsettling sound of silence. She stared up at the heavy beams and planks of her new ceiling, feeling a wave of vertigo as she tried to recall where she was. For the first time in her life, she had woken up in an unfamiliar place. As she shifted, the magical mattress adjusted beneath her, and the memories flooded back. She was in the mage’s extraordinary factory-fortress-palace. She lived here now. A smile spread across her lips at the thought. Understanding the bed’s quirks now, it no longer bothered her. She got up confidently to start her day, instinctively ducking her head as she had in her old hovel. Straightening up, she noted that even if she jumped, her fingertips wouldn’t reach the beams above.
Taking in her sparse surroundings, her problems presented themselves. She couldn’t wash without warm water. She had no fire to heat the water. She also didn’t have any water.
There’s warm water in the dining hall, down on the first floor on the opposite corner of the huge building.
She sighed with resignation. So far away.
The young herbalist put on her official White Flame industries skirt and blouse, shaking out the wrinkles. As she slipped it on, a thought crept into her mind. It seemed like she’d overlooked the whole reason for the factory.
What if she didn’t have to go herself? Do the imps have a maximum range?
She invoked her imps, directed them to don their dresses and hats, then commanded, “Lady Bluebird, go to the kitchen and fetch me a large mug of hot water!” Her voice trembled a bit, unsure if she was doing it right, or inviting fresh disaster.
“Merp!” the tiny imp in a blue dress confirmed. It tugged the heavy bedroom door, to no avail.
Taritha pulled it open a crack, and the hellspawn squeezed out to bound down the hallway and out of sight.
While she waited for it to return, she emptied out her family’s ancient iron cook pot to use as a wash basin. It was mostly clean, even if it smelled of a thousand meals and was a bit sooty. She scarcely had it empty when her imp returned, a gorgeous iridescent mug of water held high over its sun-hatted head, trailing steam behind it. The little monster placed it on the floor in front of her, and stood with its ‘sisters’ in a row.
Truly a magical place, the water runs!
She dabbed one of her old raggy washcloths into the hot water to wash her face, neck and arms. Seeing the used water in the wash basin, another problem occurred to her. She couldn’t just fling it into the woods, not without a long walk. But this problem was just the mirror image of her first problem.
“Lady Crossbill and Miss Goldfinch, dump this water down the latrines, and then clean the pot, and return it to the room.” The red and yellow dressed imps merped in unison, and sprinted away with the wide iron pot, not spilling anything despite their speed. “Come Lady Bluebird, it’s time for breakfast!”
She walked the halls with a new perspective. It might be just that she was better rested, it might be that her first two real imp tasks worked perfectly but she could feel her misgivings fade already. It was exactly like she imagined nobles lived. One just says one’s wants out loud, and it becomes someone else’s problem. She used to think it was unfair, but now that she saw the other side of it, there was definitely some merit to the system. Besides, based on what Mage Thippily said, it wasn’t like the imps were even aware that they were serving, so it was no hardship to them.
She could smell breakfast as she came down the stairs. More accurately, a lord’s breakfast. Instead of porridge, she could smell bacon and eggs and fresh buns. As she came around the corner she stopped in involuntary panic, seeing that the counter crawled with tiny imps, darting about and wielding knives and spatulas as big as they were.
Of course, who else would make the meals here?
Some imps stood on the cooktop, entirely unaffected by the sizzling eggs on either side of their hooves, while others sliced fruit and veggies with phenomenal precision.
"Morning, Taritha! Hungry? How about a bit of everything?” Klive grinned. He wore an apron while ordering imps about the kitchen. He held a wooden spoon like a marshal's baton. There were far more imps than his three, but he commanded them all.
“Uh, sure?” She was badly overwhelmed, but hungry.
There were a few of the guards at a table, but none of the directors were to be seen. She overcame her shyness to sit with them, beside Jourgun.
“Good mornin’ Miss, how was your sleep?” he asked cheerfully.
“Took me a few tries to figure out the magic bed, but once I got that sorted, I don’t think there is even a comparison! I slept so well, and I feel great today!”
“Good! I’m glad you got it, Theros slept on the floor last night! Superstitious ninny!”
Theros rolled his eyes and raised his hands in frustration. “Dammit, you don’t have to tell everyone about that! Also I’m not superstitious, it’s just that the thing moved! I had no way of knowing it was safe! There’s demons here you know!” He hissed the last bit, as if he was worried that the demons were listening.
“Hah! Sure, not everyone has the courage of a peasant girl!” Jourgun asserted as he ate a thick slice of bacon. “No offence, miss.”
“I bet I face more scary things in a week than you lot do in a month! You should aspire to be as brave as a peasant girl!” she retorted with a smile. She wasn’t actually offended but it was important not to let things slide. She leaned over to whisper to her imp what kind of tea she’d like, and smiled even wider as it darted into the chaotic kitchen.
“Aye, my blood would run cold if I had to deal with sick wee ones, and dying old ones! I see you’re already getting the hang of these imps! I think Lord Thippily was too modest, they are way better than he let on,” the burly guard said.
“Mage Thipilly,” Taritha corrected.
“Might be Mage-Lord now, he owns productive lands now don’t he?” Rikad asked between bites of eggs covered with creamy dill sauce.
“Might be Archmage-Lord, I bet he’s better at magic than any of ‘em back at the mainland!” Theros speculated.
“Those terms have definitions he doesn’t meet, and that’s a poor way to speak of your betters.” Somehow Aethlina was standing behind them. Her tone was icy, which wasn't unusual for her. “I have business at the sawmill, two of you will accompany me.”
“At once, mi’lady.” Jourgun said, bowing deeply while wiping his face on his napkin. He smacked Theros on the shoulder as he rose, ”Just a moment for us to get our armour on!” The two men jogged out of the dining hall to the armoury.
The elv perched beside Taritha, her feet on the seat with her hands behind her back. It looked natural enough when she did it, but Taritha couldn't even imagine sitting in that posture.. The mysterious elv was wearing a stately flowing robe with the hood down, her plumage and narrow neck marking her inhuman heritage. The lighting was good enough for Taritha to see she was entirely covered in a nearly invisible fine downy fur. The conversation was entirely stopped, as all the humans became intensely interested in their plates, avoiding eye contact. The silence stretched and grew.
“So what are the requirements of those titles, Aethlina?” Taritha finally asked. In a society where forms of address and titles were the entire basis of one’s identity it was an important question. Calling Aethlina by name was a daring move to assert equality. Taritha blushed immediately, wondering if demons were already corrupting her manners.
Aethlina regarded her for long moments. “A Lord is nobility, a privilege granted by one’s liege. In this case, the Duke of Wavegate, which hasn’t been granted. The archmage title is awarded by the College of Magic upon completing ritualised tests, which he hasn’t done.” She kept her intense gaze on Taritha. “In the future, address me as Director of Operations, or Director Aethlina.”
“Yes, Director Aethlina. Thank you,” Taritha said with a gulp. The silence hung heavy, but the young herbalist was grateful for two imps when they delivered a plate heaped with breakfast. The imps exuded an air of comical authority. They both wore finely tailored miniature coats, complete with brass buttons and tiny cravats. Miniature satchels hung over their shoulders, and wide-brimmed hats, slightly askew, completed their meticulous ensembles, making them look like a caricature of a pair of merchants ready to strike a bargain.
The breakfast tasted even better than it smelled, and was her sole focus, anything to distract herself from the elv sitting beside her. Thankfully her relief came soon, as Aethlina rose.
“Strive to have a productive day,” Aethlina said, her voice cool and distant. She glided out the door to the central yard, her preternatural hearing picking up the faint sounds of Jourgun and Theros jogging back from the armoury. Clad in full mail and armed, they rushed across the dining hall to catch up to the Director.
“Addressing her by name?! I DO aspire to your courage! Maybe not your recklessness!” Rikad whispered once the heavy oak door to the yard shut behind the armoured men.
“What was I thinking? Light purify me! At least I lived to tell the tale!” She sighed with a bit of a tremble. She finished the rest of her meal and started to clear her dishes.
“Leave 'em, that's not people-work any more!” Klive called from the kitchen. She stopped, leaving a mess felt wrong, but she understood the reasoning. With a hurried thanks and a wave she darted out to the factory floor, where she hoped to find Mage Thippily. She’d assumed her normal lessons were on hold while he ramped up the factory, but knew she ought to double check.
The mage was exactly where she expected to find him, in the centre of his great production floor, surrounded by countless imps. It took her a second to remember that he was in no way limited to three like the rest of them were. It looked like an entire society of imps were darting around him. She stood in awed silence, just watching the spectacle of production. Raw materials eroded before her eyes as they took one plank, one bolt of cloth or cask of linseed oil at a time, as quick as a hen might peck for seeds. The imps themselves were perfectly silent, other than the odd ‘Merp’ as new commands were issued, but their tools made a jarring racket. There was sawing, planing, hammering, and other actions she couldn’t even describe.
“Oh, good morning, Miss Witflores! I’ll be with you in just a moment!” he said distractedly, before giving yet another series of commands to the imps.
“That’s fine, I just wanted to confirm that–” she started.
“I think they’ve got it now. Let’s watch them complete their orders, and we can start today’s lessons,” the demonologist said, taking off his wireframe glasses to clean the lenses on his shirtsleeve. Taritha noticed sawdust in his hair and beard.
The tiny imps began taking raw materials less frequently, while finished goods piled up at the far end of the line. The demonologist was fully focused on their work, so she remained silent, observing him. His lips twitched as if he was about to give new orders, but then relaxed. This happened almost constantly, his eyes darting from one end of the chaos to the other, as alert as a cat watching a squirrel.
Once the last dresser was built and stacked with the other furniture, they doubled back. The tiny, and to her eye naked, imps cleaned the entire area, replacing their tools and sitting cross-legged in a neat grid, covering a fair portion of the work area.
“Perfect! Just as I’d hoped!” The mage turned to leave the factory floor, and gestured for her to follow. “We’ll do your lessons in my chambers today. I’ll inspect their work later.”
“Oh, alright. We don’t–” She hustled to catch up with him.
“Actually today’s lesson will be a short one, I’ve some field work I’d like you to perform!” Demonologist Thippily was more energetic than she’d ever seen him. Gone was the normal weight of introspection and worry, in its place was a tornado of activity. If it wasn’t in bad taste, given his profession, she’d have even called him a man possessed.
“So as you are doubtlessly aware from our earlier discussions on mana field density coefficients, there is usually a slight natural variation?” he said as they ascended the steps to the third floor.
“I, uh, probably?” she said. The words were familiar, but didn’t connect to any concept in her mind.
“Anyways, there is a field of mana everywhere, like oxygen in air. And sometimes that mana is slightly more concentrated, and slightly less, again not that dissimilar to oxygen.” he continued as they walked quickly down the third floor hallway to his chambers.
“Yes! We breathe that!” she agreed confidently.
“I noticed that my imps were moving a bit slower today, which suggests they might be over-consuming local energies. Though powered by hellplane energy, the conduits rely on normal ambient mana.” He pushed his door open, revealing his chambers, more than twice the size of Taritha's.
The room was divided into distinct areas: a sleeping area, a library with a massive desk, and a cosy section with comfortable chairs for entertaining. These spaces were thoughtfully partitioned by plants, bookshelves, and painted room dividers. The room was well-lit by a series of narrow windows on the external wall, allowing beams of bright morning light to stream in. It looked centuries old but smelled of fresh sawdust and linseed oil.
“This is so nice! It’s huge!” she exclaimed, taking a seat in an ornate armchair. She ran a finger over the perfect woodwork, wondering if it had been crafted that morning or the night before. “And I felt guilty about how unreasonably big my room was!”
“Thank you! Don’t ever feel bad about that. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I made this—a manometer to measure ambient mana.” He held up a short piece of wood with glowing lights on it. “The levels are noticeably lower on the factory floor than here. I’d like you to take some readings around town, and perhaps into the woods. The more data points, the better. Feel free to assign a guardsman to watch your back if you like.” He rummaged through his desk drawers, searching for something. Taritha’s ears perked up. This sounded a lot like having authority over the young men she worked with. She’d assumed she was organizationally far junior to them but had never asked for clarification.
“Here!” He handed her a small blank notebook, a graphite stylus, and the rough-cut piece of wood. Her gaze was drawn to the glowing parts that resembled gems. Its crude appearance stood in stark contrast to everything else she’d come to expect from him. The center-most gem was labelled with an ‘N,’ a plus sign above, and a minus sign below. The rest were unlabeled, as was the back.
“It’s just a prototype, but I’d like you to note your location and the readings. For instance, if you’re at the docks and these all light up, write ‘docks N+6’. If two gems below light up, you’d note ‘N-2’. Got it?”
“Seems simple enough.”
“I haven’t calibrated it properly, so any results are valuable, even if they seem useless,” the mage explained distractedly.
“Will do!” she said resolutely. “What are the little magic gems made of?” They were quite shiny and a soothing green.
“Just ordinary emeralds; the enchantment is all in the plank.” The world spun for a moment as she grasped the staggering value of a dozen cut emeralds of that size. She had no context, but she was sure lords had smaller stones in their swords or sceptres. She would definitely be getting an armed escort for this errand.
“Um, I’ll report back when I’m done,” she said bravely.
“Excellent! Carry on!” He grabbed a handful of books and papers and sat himself at his desk.
Taritha went a few doors down to her room to get a sturdy over-the-shoulder bag for her outing. She sat on her bed, marvelling at the treasure in her hands. It was clear that the mage had crafted it himself, and quickly. There was no consideration beyond function; the top of the wood wasn’t even square. Most baffling of all was the incredible wealth of gems casually attached. Each one was nearly the size of a pea. People died for things a sliver of the value of even one of those.
This is by far the most valuable thing these hands have ever held.
And he just handed it to me, like it was leftover toast!
And he made it sound like the emeralds weren’t the valuable part of the device!
And this bed and the imps would be vastly more valuable yet!
She closed her eyes and swallowed slowly. The true nature of the mage’s gifts hadn’t registered before. Where did she even fit in society anymore? She still felt like a hungry peasant girl from a drafty hovel, but that was at odds with what she held and what she sat on. Most curiously of all, the idea of stealing it didn’t even occur to her. The mage’s trust had somehow become more valuable than gemstones.
Don’t just sit there, be the person he thinks you are!
After a slight detour to get her imps to create a simple leather case for the garish instrument, she found Rikad in the armoury, unpacking crates of gear from the move.
“Where is everyone? Is it just you here?” she asked.
“Nah, a normal busy day, Klive’s on sentry and Kedril’s on gate. The Chief and the rest are about town. What’s up?” he said without stopping his work. He was putting gambesons on armour stands that mimicked a man's shoulders, then putting the heavy mail hauberks on top. The effect on the few he’d already finished were a lot like a headless armoured torso. There were several bare stands still waiting.
“Great news! Laundry day will have to wait. The mage asked me to take a survey around town and suggested I bring an armed protector!” she teased, her voice beaming with over the top enthusiasm.
“Well if the Lord Archmage said I shouldn't do my chores that’s good enough for me,Taritha.” He said with a smile. He stopped unpacking and started donning armour, making a point of getting his employer’s title wrong while addressing her by her first name.
Unsure how much privacy he needed she turned her back while he changed. “In the future you will address me as Medic Taritha,” she said with as much faux icy indifference as she could muster.
“Your ladyship shall have all the respect she deserves!” in far less time than she expected he touched her elbow, “Ready to proceed!” He was in full armour, including a closed helm and the white and purple company tabard. He had a longsword on his hip and a wide shield on his back. It looked like he strode off the cover of a fairy tale book, his mail even sparkled in the flickering lamplight.
“I feel safer already!” she started down the hallway and out of the building. “I’m just taking some readings from this new artefact that he made, and writing it in the book.” They waved to Kedril in the gatehouse as they left.
“So why did you want me around? This is your town, and folk here normally seem nice enough?” Rikad asked, his voice slightly tinny through his helm.
“You’ll see! Actually, this is probably a fine first reading.” They stopped just a few paces beyond the gate. She pulled out the manometer, and saw it was one over normal. “Here, hold this,” She passed him the gem encrusted object while she wrote the results in the notebook.
“Holy balls, are these…?” he stammered.
“Oh my no! Nothing special, just ordinary emeralds,” she said in her best professorial tones.
“Wow! That makes sense. I see why he’d worry about some new hire running off with this to start her own queendom, far over the horizon.”
“Strangely, it felt like an afterthought.” She put the manometer back in her bag along with her notebook. “He’s weird with money, isn’t he? If someone overcharged him five times the fair price, I bet he’d apologise and pay it!” she whispered.
“Not even kidding, that’s basically how my salary was agreed upon. And it's not normal even for other fancy folk. Some of my family worked for nobles back in Jagged, and they were the stingiest, most demanding jerks you’d ever meet!” They continued through the forest toward town. “I meant the nobles,” he clarified.
Taritha hadn’t spent much time with Rikad before but it was impossible not to smile around him. Part of her worried she couldn’t keep up with him, since he always was cracking on about something, but thankfully he didn’t seem to expect her to.
“Yeah, Mage Thippily isn’t what I expected. Not that I really knew what to expect. Do you think the town will go along with his Big Plan?” she said, intoning the last two words with gravitas.
The road passed near some outlying cottages, and Taritha stopped, quickly taking a reading and jotting down the results. She was getting better at being quicker and more subtle with the artefact.
“This town? No question. Have you not been to the pub lately? They toast to him more than they do to the Light, their count or their own wives! Don’t underestimate just how much the town has changed.”
“I grew up here! They hate things that don’t match their beliefs. If they knew the truth? You guys are gonna earn every glindi of your salary the day that gets out,” Taritha said. “Me too, for that matter.”
His helm scraped his shoulder pauldrons as he shook his head. “Nah, he’s done the hard work, won their trust, everything else is easy.”
She shook her head but didn’t reply. He didn’t know these people. Obviously no one would talk about their true reactions to some out-of-towner, in front of another out-of-towner.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said as they reached the trade district. She took another reading, smooth and quick; she didn’t even think Rikad saw the emeralds that time.
“I get why you think what you do,” she said diplomatically.
There was an old woman in her garden, just on the other side of the low fence they were walking by. She was mostly skin and bones and old enough to be either of their grandmothers. She knelt in her garden, pulling weeds in the midday sun, wearing an old patched dress with a wide straw hat.
“Excuse me, gran, do you mind if I ask you something?” Rikad asked politely, taking off his helm to make eye contact.
“Huh! Sure, anything for you!” Her voice was gravelly but clear. She stopped what she was doing and sat back on her bum. Her face was weathered and flushed from exertion.
“Would you consider the mage that moved here this spring a good thing for the town?” He spoke evenly, trying not to bias her answer.
“Mage Thippily is his name! You ought to know that, wearin’ his tabard and all! Best thing that’s happened to this town in my life! Ever! I spent six years in bed, couldn’t walk, just waitin’ to go into the Light! Now I feel like a teenager again! He fixed my back, he fixed my skin, fixed it all! I’m eighty-eight years old, and I’ve been gardening all day!”
“I’m glad to hear it! He’s a great man, and we are both honoured to work for him!” He nodded and started putting his helm back on. The floodgates were open, and she wasn’t done.
“Don’t think I don’t see you there, Taritha! I got good eyes again! Yer creams were a godsend! But now I’m gonna live until I’m two hundred! That mage couldn’t do anything wrong, not if he tried!”
“That’s incredible, ma’am, thank–” Rikad started.
“If he needs to eat babies, I’ll round up some for him! I ain't got a shortage of useless great-grandbabies! Shadows below, if he wants to pump a few babies into me, he’s welcome to ’em!”
“That’s very much not the–” Rikad said, slowly backing away, grateful for the low fence between them.
“Or did he send me his strapping young man to do the job?” By now she was standing with a mostly toothless grin, leaning over her fence. Rikad backpedalled more quickly. “Fine, be like that, but tell him that Abby Greyn is here for him!”
“Will do, gran! Have a good day now.” They walked quickly down the road to put some distance between them and the amorous oldster.
“I see, I may have misjudged the effect of helping people,” Taritha said, stifling a giggle.
Rikad chuckled, adjusting the chin strap on his helm. “I told you! He won more than just their trust!”
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-Sometime the following morning-
Taritha awoke to the unsettling sound of silence. She stared up at the heavy beams and planks of her new ceiling, feeling a wave of vertigo as she tried to recall where she was. For the first time in her life, she had woken up in an unfamiliar place. As she shifted, the magical mattress adjusted beneath her, and the memories flooded back. She was in the mage’s extraordinary factory-fortress-palace. She lived here now. A smile spread across her lips at the thought. Understanding the bed’s quirks now, it no longer bothered her. She got up confidently to start her day, instinctively ducking her head as she had in her old hovel. Straightening up, she noted that even if she jumped, her fingertips wouldn’t reach the beams above.
Taking in her sparse surroundings, her problems presented themselves. She couldn’t wash without warm water. She had no fire to heat the water. She also didn’t have any water.
There’s warm water in the dining hall, down on the first floor on the opposite corner of the huge building.
She sighed with resignation. So far away.
The young herbalist put on her official White Flame industries skirt and blouse, shaking out the wrinkles. As she slipped it on, a thought crept into her mind. It seemed like she’d overlooked the whole reason for the factory.
What if she didn’t have to go herself? Do the imps have a maximum range?
She invoked her imps, directed them to don their dresses and hats, then commanded, “Lady Bluebird, go to the kitchen and fetch me a large mug of hot water!” Her voice trembled a bit, unsure if she was doing it right, or inviting fresh disaster.
“Merp!” the tiny imp in a blue dress confirmed. It tugged the heavy bedroom door, to no avail.
Taritha pulled it open a crack, and the hellspawn squeezed out to bound down the hallway and out of sight.
While she waited for it to return, she emptied out her family’s ancient iron cook pot to use as a wash basin. It was mostly clean, even if it smelled of a thousand meals and was a bit sooty. She scarcely had it empty when her imp returned, a gorgeous iridescent mug of water held high over its sun-hatted head, trailing steam behind it. The little monster placed it on the floor in front of her, and stood with its ‘sisters’ in a row.
Truly a magical place, the water runs!
She dabbed one of her old raggy washcloths into the hot water to wash her face, neck and arms. Seeing the used water in the wash basin, another problem occurred to her. She couldn’t just fling it into the woods, not without a long walk. But this problem was just the mirror image of her first problem.
“Lady Crossbill and Miss Goldfinch, dump this water down the latrines, and then clean the pot, and return it to the room.” The red and yellow dressed imps merped in unison, and sprinted away with the wide iron pot, not spilling anything despite their speed. “Come Lady Bluebird, it’s time for breakfast!”
She walked the halls with a new perspective. It might be just that she was better rested, it might be that her first two real imp tasks worked perfectly but she could feel her misgivings fade already. It was exactly like she imagined nobles lived. One just says one’s wants out loud, and it becomes someone else’s problem. She used to think it was unfair, but now that she saw the other side of it, there was definitely some merit to the system. Besides, based on what Mage Thippily said, it wasn’t like the imps were even aware that they were serving, so it was no hardship to them.
She could smell breakfast as she came down the stairs. More accurately, a lord’s breakfast. Instead of porridge, she could smell bacon and eggs and fresh buns. As she came around the corner she stopped in involuntary panic, seeing that the counter crawled with tiny imps, darting about and wielding knives and spatulas as big as they were.
Of course, who else would make the meals here?
Some imps stood on the cooktop, entirely unaffected by the sizzling eggs on either side of their hooves, while others sliced fruit and veggies with phenomenal precision.
"Morning, Taritha! Hungry? How about a bit of everything?” Klive grinned. He wore an apron while ordering imps about the kitchen. He held a wooden spoon like a marshal's baton. There were far more imps than his three, but he commanded them all.
“Uh, sure?” She was badly overwhelmed, but hungry.
There were a few of the guards at a table, but none of the directors were to be seen. She overcame her shyness to sit with them, beside Jourgun.
“Good mornin’ Miss, how was your sleep?” he asked cheerfully.
“Took me a few tries to figure out the magic bed, but once I got that sorted, I don’t think there is even a comparison! I slept so well, and I feel great today!”
“Good! I’m glad you got it, Theros slept on the floor last night! Superstitious ninny!”
Theros rolled his eyes and raised his hands in frustration. “Dammit, you don’t have to tell everyone about that! Also I’m not superstitious, it’s just that the thing moved! I had no way of knowing it was safe! There’s demons here you know!” He hissed the last bit, as if he was worried that the demons were listening.
“Hah! Sure, not everyone has the courage of a peasant girl!” Jourgun asserted as he ate a thick slice of bacon. “No offence, miss.”
“I bet I face more scary things in a week than you lot do in a month! You should aspire to be as brave as a peasant girl!” she retorted with a smile. She wasn’t actually offended but it was important not to let things slide. She leaned over to whisper to her imp what kind of tea she’d like, and smiled even wider as it darted into the chaotic kitchen.
“Aye, my blood would run cold if I had to deal with sick wee ones, and dying old ones! I see you’re already getting the hang of these imps! I think Lord Thippily was too modest, they are way better than he let on,” the burly guard said.
“Mage Thipilly,” Taritha corrected.
“Might be Mage-Lord now, he owns productive lands now don’t he?” Rikad asked between bites of eggs covered with creamy dill sauce.
“Might be Archmage-Lord, I bet he’s better at magic than any of ‘em back at the mainland!” Theros speculated.
“Those terms have definitions he doesn’t meet, and that’s a poor way to speak of your betters.” Somehow Aethlina was standing behind them. Her tone was icy, which wasn't unusual for her. “I have business at the sawmill, two of you will accompany me.”
“At once, mi’lady.” Jourgun said, bowing deeply while wiping his face on his napkin. He smacked Theros on the shoulder as he rose, ”Just a moment for us to get our armour on!” The two men jogged out of the dining hall to the armoury.
The elv perched beside Taritha, her feet on the seat with her hands behind her back. It looked natural enough when she did it, but Taritha couldn't even imagine sitting in that posture.. The mysterious elv was wearing a stately flowing robe with the hood down, her plumage and narrow neck marking her inhuman heritage. The lighting was good enough for Taritha to see she was entirely covered in a nearly invisible fine downy fur. The conversation was entirely stopped, as all the humans became intensely interested in their plates, avoiding eye contact. The silence stretched and grew.
“So what are the requirements of those titles, Aethlina?” Taritha finally asked. In a society where forms of address and titles were the entire basis of one’s identity it was an important question. Calling Aethlina by name was a daring move to assert equality. Taritha blushed immediately, wondering if demons were already corrupting her manners.
Aethlina regarded her for long moments. “A Lord is nobility, a privilege granted by one’s liege. In this case, the Duke of Wavegate, which hasn’t been granted. The archmage title is awarded by the College of Magic upon completing ritualised tests, which he hasn’t done.” She kept her intense gaze on Taritha. “In the future, address me as Director of Operations, or Director Aethlina.”
“Yes, Director Aethlina. Thank you,” Taritha said with a gulp. The silence hung heavy, but the young herbalist was grateful for two imps when they delivered a plate heaped with breakfast. The imps exuded an air of comical authority. They both wore finely tailored miniature coats, complete with brass buttons and tiny cravats. Miniature satchels hung over their shoulders, and wide-brimmed hats, slightly askew, completed their meticulous ensembles, making them look like a caricature of a pair of merchants ready to strike a bargain.
The breakfast tasted even better than it smelled, and was her sole focus, anything to distract herself from the elv sitting beside her. Thankfully her relief came soon, as Aethlina rose.
“Strive to have a productive day,” Aethlina said, her voice cool and distant. She glided out the door to the central yard, her preternatural hearing picking up the faint sounds of Jourgun and Theros jogging back from the armoury. Clad in full mail and armed, they rushed across the dining hall to catch up to the Director.
“Addressing her by name?! I DO aspire to your courage! Maybe not your recklessness!” Rikad whispered once the heavy oak door to the yard shut behind the armoured men.
“What was I thinking? Light purify me! At least I lived to tell the tale!” She sighed with a bit of a tremble. She finished the rest of her meal and started to clear her dishes.
“Leave 'em, that's not people-work any more!” Klive called from the kitchen. She stopped, leaving a mess felt wrong, but she understood the reasoning. With a hurried thanks and a wave she darted out to the factory floor, where she hoped to find Mage Thippily. She’d assumed her normal lessons were on hold while he ramped up the factory, but knew she ought to double check.
The mage was exactly where she expected to find him, in the centre of his great production floor, surrounded by countless imps. It took her a second to remember that he was in no way limited to three like the rest of them were. It looked like an entire society of imps were darting around him. She stood in awed silence, just watching the spectacle of production. Raw materials eroded before her eyes as they took one plank, one bolt of cloth or cask of linseed oil at a time, as quick as a hen might peck for seeds. The imps themselves were perfectly silent, other than the odd ‘Merp’ as new commands were issued, but their tools made a jarring racket. There was sawing, planing, hammering, and other actions she couldn’t even describe.
“Oh, good morning, Miss Witflores! I’ll be with you in just a moment!” he said distractedly, before giving yet another series of commands to the imps.
“That’s fine, I just wanted to confirm that–” she started.
“I think they’ve got it now. Let’s watch them complete their orders, and we can start today’s lessons,” the demonologist said, taking off his wireframe glasses to clean the lenses on his shirtsleeve. Taritha noticed sawdust in his hair and beard.
The tiny imps began taking raw materials less frequently, while finished goods piled up at the far end of the line. The demonologist was fully focused on their work, so she remained silent, observing him. His lips twitched as if he was about to give new orders, but then relaxed. This happened almost constantly, his eyes darting from one end of the chaos to the other, as alert as a cat watching a squirrel.
Once the last dresser was built and stacked with the other furniture, they doubled back. The tiny, and to her eye naked, imps cleaned the entire area, replacing their tools and sitting cross-legged in a neat grid, covering a fair portion of the work area.
“Perfect! Just as I’d hoped!” The mage turned to leave the factory floor, and gestured for her to follow. “We’ll do your lessons in my chambers today. I’ll inspect their work later.”
“Oh, alright. We don’t–” She hustled to catch up with him.
“Actually today’s lesson will be a short one, I’ve some field work I’d like you to perform!” Demonologist Thippily was more energetic than she’d ever seen him. Gone was the normal weight of introspection and worry, in its place was a tornado of activity. If it wasn’t in bad taste, given his profession, she’d have even called him a man possessed.
“So as you are doubtlessly aware from our earlier discussions on mana field density coefficients, there is usually a slight natural variation?” he said as they ascended the steps to the third floor.
“I, uh, probably?” she said. The words were familiar, but didn’t connect to any concept in her mind.
“Anyways, there is a field of mana everywhere, like oxygen in air. And sometimes that mana is slightly more concentrated, and slightly less, again not that dissimilar to oxygen.” he continued as they walked quickly down the third floor hallway to his chambers.
“Yes! We breathe that!” she agreed confidently.
“I noticed that my imps were moving a bit slower today, which suggests they might be over-consuming local energies. Though powered by hellplane energy, the conduits rely on normal ambient mana.” He pushed his door open, revealing his chambers, more than twice the size of Taritha's.
The room was divided into distinct areas: a sleeping area, a library with a massive desk, and a cosy section with comfortable chairs for entertaining. These spaces were thoughtfully partitioned by plants, bookshelves, and painted room dividers. The room was well-lit by a series of narrow windows on the external wall, allowing beams of bright morning light to stream in. It looked centuries old but smelled of fresh sawdust and linseed oil.
“This is so nice! It’s huge!” she exclaimed, taking a seat in an ornate armchair. She ran a finger over the perfect woodwork, wondering if it had been crafted that morning or the night before. “And I felt guilty about how unreasonably big my room was!”
“Thank you! Don’t ever feel bad about that. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I made this—a manometer to measure ambient mana.” He held up a short piece of wood with glowing lights on it. “The levels are noticeably lower on the factory floor than here. I’d like you to take some readings around town, and perhaps into the woods. The more data points, the better. Feel free to assign a guardsman to watch your back if you like.” He rummaged through his desk drawers, searching for something. Taritha’s ears perked up. This sounded a lot like having authority over the young men she worked with. She’d assumed she was organizationally far junior to them but had never asked for clarification.
“Here!” He handed her a small blank notebook, a graphite stylus, and the rough-cut piece of wood. Her gaze was drawn to the glowing parts that resembled gems. Its crude appearance stood in stark contrast to everything else she’d come to expect from him. The center-most gem was labelled with an ‘N,’ a plus sign above, and a minus sign below. The rest were unlabeled, as was the back.
“It’s just a prototype, but I’d like you to note your location and the readings. For instance, if you’re at the docks and these all light up, write ‘docks N+6’. If two gems below light up, you’d note ‘N-2’. Got it?”
“Seems simple enough.”
“I haven’t calibrated it properly, so any results are valuable, even if they seem useless,” the mage explained distractedly.
“Will do!” she said resolutely. “What are the little magic gems made of?” They were quite shiny and a soothing green.
“Just ordinary emeralds; the enchantment is all in the plank.” The world spun for a moment as she grasped the staggering value of a dozen cut emeralds of that size. She had no context, but she was sure lords had smaller stones in their swords or sceptres. She would definitely be getting an armed escort for this errand.
“Um, I’ll report back when I’m done,” she said bravely.
“Excellent! Carry on!” He grabbed a handful of books and papers and sat himself at his desk.
Taritha went a few doors down to her room to get a sturdy over-the-shoulder bag for her outing. She sat on her bed, marvelling at the treasure in her hands. It was clear that the mage had crafted it himself, and quickly. There was no consideration beyond function; the top of the wood wasn’t even square. Most baffling of all was the incredible wealth of gems casually attached. Each one was nearly the size of a pea. People died for things a sliver of the value of even one of those.
This is by far the most valuable thing these hands have ever held.
And he just handed it to me, like it was leftover toast!
And he made it sound like the emeralds weren’t the valuable part of the device!
And this bed and the imps would be vastly more valuable yet!
She closed her eyes and swallowed slowly. The true nature of the mage’s gifts hadn’t registered before. Where did she even fit in society anymore? She still felt like a hungry peasant girl from a drafty hovel, but that was at odds with what she held and what she sat on. Most curiously of all, the idea of stealing it didn’t even occur to her. The mage’s trust had somehow become more valuable than gemstones.
Don’t just sit there, be the person he thinks you are!
After a slight detour to get her imps to create a simple leather case for the garish instrument, she found Rikad in the armoury, unpacking crates of gear from the move.
“Where is everyone? Is it just you here?” she asked.
“Nah, a normal busy day, Klive’s on sentry and Kedril’s on gate. The Chief and the rest are about town. What’s up?” he said without stopping his work. He was putting gambesons on armour stands that mimicked a man's shoulders, then putting the heavy mail hauberks on top. The effect on the few he’d already finished were a lot like a headless armoured torso. There were several bare stands still waiting.
“Great news! Laundry day will have to wait. The mage asked me to take a survey around town and suggested I bring an armed protector!” she teased, her voice beaming with over the top enthusiasm.
“Well if the Lord Archmage said I shouldn't do my chores that’s good enough for me,Taritha.” He said with a smile. He stopped unpacking and started donning armour, making a point of getting his employer’s title wrong while addressing her by her first name.
Unsure how much privacy he needed she turned her back while he changed. “In the future you will address me as Medic Taritha,” she said with as much faux icy indifference as she could muster.
“Your ladyship shall have all the respect she deserves!” in far less time than she expected he touched her elbow, “Ready to proceed!” He was in full armour, including a closed helm and the white and purple company tabard. He had a longsword on his hip and a wide shield on his back. It looked like he strode off the cover of a fairy tale book, his mail even sparkled in the flickering lamplight.
“I feel safer already!” she started down the hallway and out of the building. “I’m just taking some readings from this new artefact that he made, and writing it in the book.” They waved to Kedril in the gatehouse as they left.
“So why did you want me around? This is your town, and folk here normally seem nice enough?” Rikad asked, his voice slightly tinny through his helm.
“You’ll see! Actually, this is probably a fine first reading.” They stopped just a few paces beyond the gate. She pulled out the manometer, and saw it was one over normal. “Here, hold this,” She passed him the gem encrusted object while she wrote the results in the notebook.
“Holy balls, are these…?” he stammered.
“Oh my no! Nothing special, just ordinary emeralds,” she said in her best professorial tones.
“Wow! That makes sense. I see why he’d worry about some new hire running off with this to start her own queendom, far over the horizon.”
“Strangely, it felt like an afterthought.” She put the manometer back in her bag along with her notebook. “He’s weird with money, isn’t he? If someone overcharged him five times the fair price, I bet he’d apologise and pay it!” she whispered.
“Not even kidding, that’s basically how my salary was agreed upon. And it's not normal even for other fancy folk. Some of my family worked for nobles back in Jagged, and they were the stingiest, most demanding jerks you’d ever meet!” They continued through the forest toward town. “I meant the nobles,” he clarified.
Taritha hadn’t spent much time with Rikad before but it was impossible not to smile around him. Part of her worried she couldn’t keep up with him, since he always was cracking on about something, but thankfully he didn’t seem to expect her to.
“Yeah, Mage Thippily isn’t what I expected. Not that I really knew what to expect. Do you think the town will go along with his Big Plan?” she said, intoning the last two words with gravitas.
The road passed near some outlying cottages, and Taritha stopped, quickly taking a reading and jotting down the results. She was getting better at being quicker and more subtle with the artefact.
“This town? No question. Have you not been to the pub lately? They toast to him more than they do to the Light, their count or their own wives! Don’t underestimate just how much the town has changed.”
“I grew up here! They hate things that don’t match their beliefs. If they knew the truth? You guys are gonna earn every glindi of your salary the day that gets out,” Taritha said. “Me too, for that matter.”
His helm scraped his shoulder pauldrons as he shook his head. “Nah, he’s done the hard work, won their trust, everything else is easy.”
She shook her head but didn’t reply. He didn’t know these people. Obviously no one would talk about their true reactions to some out-of-towner, in front of another out-of-towner.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said as they reached the trade district. She took another reading, smooth and quick; she didn’t even think Rikad saw the emeralds that time.
“I get why you think what you do,” she said diplomatically.
There was an old woman in her garden, just on the other side of the low fence they were walking by. She was mostly skin and bones and old enough to be either of their grandmothers. She knelt in her garden, pulling weeds in the midday sun, wearing an old patched dress with a wide straw hat.
“Excuse me, gran, do you mind if I ask you something?” Rikad asked politely, taking off his helm to make eye contact.
“Huh! Sure, anything for you!” Her voice was gravelly but clear. She stopped what she was doing and sat back on her bum. Her face was weathered and flushed from exertion.
“Would you consider the mage that moved here this spring a good thing for the town?” He spoke evenly, trying not to bias her answer.
“Mage Thippily is his name! You ought to know that, wearin’ his tabard and all! Best thing that’s happened to this town in my life! Ever! I spent six years in bed, couldn’t walk, just waitin’ to go into the Light! Now I feel like a teenager again! He fixed my back, he fixed my skin, fixed it all! I’m eighty-eight years old, and I’ve been gardening all day!”
“I’m glad to hear it! He’s a great man, and we are both honoured to work for him!” He nodded and started putting his helm back on. The floodgates were open, and she wasn’t done.
“Don’t think I don’t see you there, Taritha! I got good eyes again! Yer creams were a godsend! But now I’m gonna live until I’m two hundred! That mage couldn’t do anything wrong, not if he tried!”
“That’s incredible, ma’am, thank–” Rikad started.
“If he needs to eat babies, I’ll round up some for him! I ain't got a shortage of useless great-grandbabies! Shadows below, if he wants to pump a few babies into me, he’s welcome to ’em!”
“That’s very much not the–” Rikad said, slowly backing away, grateful for the low fence between them.
“Or did he send me his strapping young man to do the job?” By now she was standing with a mostly toothless grin, leaning over her fence. Rikad backpedalled more quickly. “Fine, be like that, but tell him that Abby Greyn is here for him!”
“Will do, gran! Have a good day now.” They walked quickly down the road to put some distance between them and the amorous oldster.
“I see, I may have misjudged the effect of helping people,” Taritha said, stifling a giggle.
Rikad chuckled, adjusting the chin strap on his helm. “I told you! He won more than just their trust!”
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2024.05.27 22:30 Create_Delete Fibro and feeling faint
I used to have really good constitution against feeling faint but in the last year I've felt like everything and anything makes me feel like I'm about to pass out, it started with prolonged standing or with a really bad Ibs turn but now it's all the time I get up too fast, I've stood too long, walk more then ten mins, food shopping, siting at my desk, when I get exhausted.
I don't know how to combat it either and although I haven't passed out ever I do get scared that it's going to happen, I get really week my knees start shaking, get the sudden sweating and clammy feeling, my vision starts to go. Is there a specific thing that causes this and any ways to stop it or build up my tolerance again?
submitted by Create_Delete to fibro [link] [comments]
I don't know how to combat it either and although I haven't passed out ever I do get scared that it's going to happen, I get really week my knees start shaking, get the sudden sweating and clammy feeling, my vision starts to go. Is there a specific thing that causes this and any ways to stop it or build up my tolerance again?
2024.05.27 22:21 CornusControversa Are MACD's a possiblity without cutaneous (skin) issues?
Since my Covid vaccination, approximately three years ago, I have been experience unusual symptoms. They are mostly digestive and I was told I likely have IBS. However, I am not entirely convinced and I suspect my issues are possibly more systematic in nature. For example my issues flare up at the same time, and include diarrhoea or constipation, non acidic reflux, extreme anxiety, rhinitis, cold hands and a rapid heartbeat. Food and anxiety seem to be my major triggers. But I do not have any cutaneous (skin) issues. But as a child I had asthma and also lots of rashes which perplexed doctors, but they did not particularly look like a typical Mastocytosis rash and I grew out of them. My assumption is the vaccine triggered a latent issue within my body, but I wonder could that issue be Mastocytosis, presenting without any cutaneous symptoms.
The main reason I am suspicious is because a doctor recently let me trial Sodium Cromolyn, which has basically entirely resolved my digestive issues, enabling me to eat much more foods without experiencing any symptoms. It seems to prove a mast cell issue was taking place in my intestines.
submitted by CornusControversa to MastCellDiseases [link] [comments]
The main reason I am suspicious is because a doctor recently let me trial Sodium Cromolyn, which has basically entirely resolved my digestive issues, enabling me to eat much more foods without experiencing any symptoms. It seems to prove a mast cell issue was taking place in my intestines.
2024.05.27 22:14 AnonymousElephant86 First time experiencing couplets, is this some type of tachycardia?
 | submitted by AnonymousElephant86 to ReadMyECG [link] [comments] |