Alexander dreymon in american horror story

I've never narrated a horror story before and I don't know much about Lovecraftian lore, how can I learn more about it? Any tips for creating the story?
I already have some story ideas, I'm Latin American, and I know that lovecraft is xenophobic, so I wanted to subvert that, making racist people try to invoke some great old one, or something like the group going through a place that smells like the death of a genocide of native people.

Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
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Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
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CONNECTED SERIES/STORIES
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Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
MORE PARTS
CONNECTED SERIES/STORIES
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Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
MORE PARTS
CONNECTED SERIES/STORIES
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I am sharing this due to the many times I have seen well meaning individuals suggest couples counseling when approached by a loved one in an abusive situation, usually when they are asked for alternative solutions to leaving. It is also very common for the abusers themselves to beg, cry, plead and tug at the heart strings while asking their victim to do couples counseling, giving them false sense of hope and promise of the future.
As tempting as this idea may seem, it really is a horrible idea, and albeit well meaning, bad advice. Couples counseling is geared for two people with a marital problem that requires both people to work together to fix. Domestic violence is not a mutual problem, it is solely an abuser problem. Most often, counselors are not specialized at spotting and recognizing abuse in marriages and may neglect the issue at hand. Also, abusers are excellent at manipulating counselors like this and twisting their words around and exploiting the sessions as additional tools to abuse their wife/girl friend. Too many women have horror stories about the reality of how these sessions went. It is not all that uncommon for a woman to leave the sessions feeling even more confused, vulnerable and isolated. Often they are even made to feel as if they are the problem, or crazy because the abuser manipulates the counselor to their side while the victim is afraid to reveal certain things. Other times the victim feels a false sense of security and outs their abuser to the point of enraging them. Either way, these often result in escalation of abuse. I will provide a link below that shares more in-depth details of why couples counseling is a contraindication for DV.
If you yourself have had a terrible experience from trying couples counseling with an abuser, please feel free to share. It’s the horror stories experienced by others that really hit home.
https://www.washingtoncountyor.gov/documents/12-reasons-why-couples-counseling-not-recommended-when-domestic-violence-present/download?inline

Hey everyone,
This happened somewhat recently but was difficult for me to deal with, so wanted to sit with it before posting about it, even if some of the details are now fuzzy. This is also an active campaign and while the problem player infuriated me to no end I think they had a lot of issues they needed to work through and I bear them no ill will, so please don't call them out or harass them or anything if you know them, I just needed to get this off my chest.
This campaign had a large number of players to start, but the most noteworthy ones in this story are myself, Dave, and the DM.
I've DMed more games than I've played, so when an interesting-looking 5e campaign in a homebrew world came up from a newer DM on Discord, I hopped at the chance to join. We had a good amount of time to socialize and work on our characters before our first game. I really wanted to do something unique and interesting, so I played a delusional kobold that thought they were a dragon. (We did some reflavoring but kept things mechanically the same. So for instance, burning hands came from my mouth) Everyone seemed pretty chill, but there was one person that was far more active on the server than everyone else, Dave. Dave had some kind of job (we never figured out what this was) where they weren't allowed to be on a computer but COULD talk and speak out loud, so would frequently ask people to go on voice chat or do calls with them. I know we were going to be speaking to everyone once the game started, but as all of my prior experience was in person it still made me a bit uncomfortable to do a voice call with someone 1 on 1. So while I didn't mind chatting with them solo, I kept making excuses for doing a call.
Session 1 seemed fine. They did things that kept drawing attention to their character and would push the DM to allow them to do certain things in their background/backstory that didn't make sense in the DM's homebrew setting. Nothing too major, but stuff like "It says I can sleep at the guard post in the city as part of my background. I'm a guard in this city and I can sleep there and bring some other people, right?" "Eh, there's not really any organized military/martial presence in this small town." "But it says right here in my background that I can do it" and that sort of repeated until the DM relented. This was the start of a pattern.
So after the first session, they message me saying "Hey, I have this great magic item I will be giving myself before the next session". I was a little confused that they were messaging me instead of the DM, but I figure they were just trying to brainstorm before approaching them.
Holy cow batman, the description of what this magic item could do was TWO WHOLE PAGES. I crunched some numbers and quickly realized that this magic item was not only capable of keeping the whole party consistently healed, **it could one shot a tarrasque**. I was a bit flabbergasted and pointed out that this was capable of killing *as a bonus action* the highest published CR monster in the game and they responded with "Yeah, I know, that was one of the things I wanted to do when I built it." Some brief background on the DM's world and the campaign, this was a very low magic setting and we all started at level 3. In terms of magic items, we've so far come across cantrip spell scrolls, a coin of delving, and a cloak of billowing. Still, I figured maybe they were just... unfamiliar or awkward and they were so eager, so I tried to help them. I thought about what they wanted to do conceptually with their item and created something that had some level-based scaling and was fairly effective, but far more balanced and in line with what someone might have at level 3 in a campaign and figured with DM approval and maybe some sort of quest it could be acquirable. I told them that their idea was pretty overpowered, especially for level three, and suggested the more balanced item to them (the description only took one paragraph). They responded that the item was totally useless, and I didn't hear about them until the next session.
This is where things went totally off the hook.
Since the DM allowed him to be a guard and bunk with a couple of other party members there, he used this as a quest hook. The head of the guards gave him a quest and he went to wake up the other party members who stayed with him. (Half of us had stayed behind at an inn). The group wanted to do some downtime/shopping/socializing this session, so they were off to the market.
The DM asked them "Are you going straight there or going to the inn first to get the rest of your party?" "No, we're going straight there." "Are you sure? The rest of the party is still there." "Yes, we're going to the market." They bought a gust spell scroll but didn't realize that as a fighter they weren't able to use it. He went to a blacksmith and asked them to make a set of tonfa. It didn't really make sense in the setting for the blacksmith to have any idea what they were referring to. But Dave kept pushing and eventually, the DM decided that if he can draw up the specifications really well, maybe the smith or another party member proficient in smithing could make it, but that it would be a difficult roll and would have to succeed on multiple checks. He eventually goes back to the tavern and draws up multiple specs with a string of 17+ rolls. He then engages in persuasion rolls (another string of 17+ rolls) to convince other party members to buy those specs and his cantrip scroll and changes the prices each time, but nobody wants to metagame so he just... scams the party. This takes hours. Some people got chances to interact and play dnd, but the camera was always following them, so to speak. After a skill challenge and an immense amount of 17+ rolls on Dave's end, they get their tonfa. They proceed to tell everyone all about the qualities and stats of it. It winds up being this wishlist of weapon traits, bonus damage dice, and bonus AC. The DM tries to stop him and tells him that he needs to figure out what its stats and properties are. But Dave insists that he already had this conversation with the DM and that they told him this weapon could have all these properties and that he should stand by his previous conversation.
I made up some reason to head directly to the market. Something I forgot to mention, another player complained that I was talking over them in the previous session. I felt bad about this, as this isn't something I want to do to another player. We figured that it was half that I spoke strongly and confidently (conditioned to as part of my job) and them having a quiet microphone. So I tried to be more careful about using my meeting voice and I turned everyone else's volume down and turned theirs to the max and it seemed resolved. The reason I mention this is because I still felt bad so I wanted to give gifts to all of the other party members. I had spent most of the week planning this out so I needed to get to the market before the end of the session. We essentially just had starting gold and equipment, so I had to get creative to make meaningful gifts for the rest of the party and it took up most of my starting equipment and all of my starting gold.
As Dave heard me doing this, Dave decided to say "Hey everyone, let's plan out how our party will handle finances. Let's leave out [OP] because they're selfish and greedy." They proceed to plan and vote on how to handle finances. Then proceeded with "Also, I have this quest. Let's discuss it and plan out how to proceed with it now before [OP] gets back."
I was pretty livid at this point. I had essentially sat out all session due to his decisions and deliberately excluded from roleplay moments/campaign decisions/etc. I realized that my character also had every reason to be pissed with the information they had available. So as I returned and Dave announced the decisions the party had already made, I challenged them on their behavior over the day. They responded with "Well, you're a greedy dragon so I *know* you're bad with money. I don't even need to guess, I just *know* that you spent all of your money at the market. That proves I'm right. In fact, on our next quest, I can just tell the quest giver that you didn't participate and just keep your reward."
Then things got weird.
I tried to just ignore him and went around to the rest of my party bestowing my gifts to them. They were mostly silly things. A kobold's best attempt to make a scented candle. Some tinkerer's tools for the warforged. A chess set for the scholar. Etc. Dave interrupted pretty frequently for rolls to *determine if I was good or evil*. It didn't make much sense to me at the time, but now I'm fairly certain they were trying to justify attacking me by proving I'm the opposite alignment of whatever they were. They kept persuading the DM until they finally let them do a series of rolls for it and lo and behold, more 17+ rolls culminating in a 19. The DM decided he succeeded and asked me to tell him about my backstory and alignment. Here's the thing... I didn't really flesh out their whole backstory yet. I figured I could develop it as the character develops through play. I tried to share what I had come up with so far, but kept being pressed for more, before I put my foot down and said "Look, I don't care how well you rolled, you can't read my backstory and my character's inner thoughts with a skill check." DM finally agreed with me and we ended the session, they took off but some of us stayed on the call to chat.
Then Dave says "You should never have tried to stand up to my character. Kobolds are cowardly, you're not playing your character correctly." I glanced at my character sheet and pointed out that I had the kobold legacy trait "Defiance" which gave me an advantage against being frightened so I don't think I needed to play them cowardly. Then they dropped their next line, "You know I could kill your character any time I wanted. You wouldn't be able to do anything to stop me." This wasn't one on one or anything either, this was in front of other party members. I laugh it off, but I'm a little uncomfortable. He wasn't very knowledgeable about the game and I was pretty confident in my tactics/character build so I wasn't too worried if they just attacked me out of the blue. But they always rolled exceptionally high and could go for my character in their sleep. I was getting worked up, so made an excuse and logged off.
As the week progressed, it looked more and more likely they were going to get an OP magic item and I kind of lost it. I went on a bit of a rant and told both him and the DM I really think it's bad to give him this item because it's very powerful and he *has already threatened to kill my character*. I realized something at the same time that I suspect is a surprise to zero of you out there, he rolled physical dice. It's not something I had even considered, but suddenly I was incredibly suspicious of him not rolling below a 17 that session. I started mentally planning contingencies of what preparations I'll be making to protect myself and messaging the DM in order for Dave not to metagame around them.
At this point, I had a reality check. What was I even doing? This wasn't fun anymore. I had decided I would probably quit, but also went back and just wrote a heartfelt message about what I felt was antagonistic from him, how it made me feel as a player and potential steps we could take towards a resolution. Then I muted the server for 24 hours and tried to mentally prepare myself for telling them that I was no longer interested in continuing.
I return and I'm shocked and surprised. A lot had transpired in those 24 hours. I had gotten a couple of messages of support from the DM and some other party members. Other party members had started sharing their own grievances regarding Dave and how uncomfortable they were feeling. Dave did not respond at all well to any of this and blamed everyone except for himself. My favorite justification he made (that nobody else seemed to buy) is that he already messaged me and that I was alright with everything (lol no). Things were getting heated and several people were really upset, and the DM decided to just pull the trigger and kick him. His character became an NPC and was later discovered dead in a ditch in a following session.
So that's my horror story! Thanks for reading it through to the end. Some of the problems and issues other party members had with Dave were pretty shocking and warrant a separate story all on their own, but this has gone on long enough and I'll leave it to them to tell their own stories if they choose to.

So I’ve posted on here before about finding Native American ancestors. I did a DNA test and did the hack and got 0.1% Native American. (After being told I have ancestry) I chalked it up to another white family telling stories. My brother also did a DNA test where he got 0.7% DNA ancestry for Native American. Thought it was kind of odd but was not able to find any Native American ancestry in any of my research. My brother got into genealogy and was able to trace us back to a Native American chief. I told him hey it’s easy to get things crossed I wouldn’t count on it. However I went back over his research and looked at it inch by inch and he’s right. I couldn’t find any conflicting records with what he found. Turns out the Native American side was on the opposite side of where i looked. It was on my grandfathers side not my grandmothers. Has this happened to anyone else? Is this common? Or is is possible we both messed up with it? I feel like it’s too interesting to be true. We found Wikipedia pages of this man yet we heard nothing about him and I’m scared we messed up somewhere yet I can’t find where. Should I just accept it?

I got sent a meme titled something like "never buy a dog in Indiana" and the 2 guys were frantically barring a doorway with a dresser and this long stuck figure dog thing starts grabbing past the dresser. This somehow genuinely scared me. Perhaps it's the setting and the idea of this weird creature coming after you and a dresser not blocking it, but somehow I am rattled by the stupid ohio meme, despite it very obviously being felt or fabric they wrapped around sticks or cgi or editing (I'm almost certain it's a set they're fooling around on, because the house doesn't exist really except that doorway and all the floors are cement)
What's the reason for this, and how do I forget about the Ohio dog meme? You'd think I'd be like "haha. That's stupid." But I was like "woah wtf???" And normally I'm not scared. I listen to this horror story channels as background noise when cleaning. Stories of Intruders or stalkers, spooky, but not an immediate "what the fuck?!?!?!" Reaction. This however put me in fight or flight for a sec.
I could link the video if you really must have it, but I don't exactly know how.

Hello there! I’m going to keep it simple. What I’m looking for is a partner to play a morally grey character. A character with status and likes to be in control. And my character will play the opposite of said character. I don’t have a plot in mind but I’m inspired and willing to put a plot together that works for me and my partner. I can always elaborate if you’re interested.
❗️I enjoy a array of genres but. In full honesty, I’m looking for a partner Long term partner where I’m able to change up plots and characters to make new stories! So if you can still offer that with the genres I have listed. Prepare a plot and please send it to me.❗️
Roleplay requirements.
📌 looking for a partner in the CST time zone
📌A partner who can play male or female characters (I only have female)
📌 A partner who have reply in 1-3 paragraphs per reply
📌 Realistic face claims
📌 Is 17+ plus in age, No motives in my inbox please

• Dark romance
• Romance
• enemies to lovers
• Drama
• Mafia
• cue meets
• Supernatural
• Action
• Horror (both non-supernatural and not)
• Medieval fantasy

If you’ve actually read this message me Minet woman so I know you are legit.

Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
MORE PARTS
CONNECTED SERIES/STORIES
THE BOOKS

This post is an overview of the blackmail tactics used to control most of the influential people and governments around the world. Obviously I cannot cover everything in a single post, so as with my previous posts I highly encourage you to research further yourself. All sources and links are at the bottom of the post. An understanding of what trauma-based mind control programming (MKULTRA/MONARCH) is, and how it works, is again necessary to understanding much of this. My other posts here:

• Deep Underground Military Bases
  
• Alice in Wonderland Programming
  
• Overview of the Mind Control Running our World
  

The world is run on blackmail, mind control, and shame.
There exist many collections of videotapes of 'high-up' people engaging in some of the worst, sickest things imaginable. Drugs, torture, pedophilia, and murder are common themes to these videos. These tapes are in the hands of many different people, groups, and especially intelligence agencies. 'Honey-trap' operations are constantly being run to gather compromising and incriminating evidence on people of importance. Child slaves will be used to compromise people on video. Global leaders are often covertly videotaped doing perverted things with sex slaves sent to them by intelligence agencies, the Illuminati, or other groups, and this is then leveraged. Rape and murder of a child (forced or not), one of the most repulsive things possible, is many times filmed to ensure future compliance.
"Back in 1966, Rothstein became the first police detective assigned to investigate the prostitution industry. Almost immediately he discovered an underground sexual blackmail operation that compromised politicians with child prostitutes. ‘Human Compromise’ is what he labelled the honey-trap process. Rothstein and his colleagues found that approximately 70 percent of top US Government leaders were compromised in this way. Rothstein said, the CIA conducted the human compromise operation, while the FBI was tasked with covering up any leaks."

• Fiona Barnett [6]

"One of the things I found out over the last ten years of studying governments and listening to intelligence and counter-intelligence is that those in government are sexually compromised, and their sexual secrets are collected and then they are promoted into governments and into judiciaries and into all the positions of importance. Paedophilia is the preferred dirt as it is easily photographed, easily presented in a range of media, immensely shameful, and the public demands your resignation."

• Greg Hallett [12]

"Paul Bonacci, one of the victim-witnesses in the Franklin affair, also clearly stated Larry King used him in blackmail operations in New York and Washington. The latter was in connection with the activities of a close associate of Larry King, Craig Spence, who was involved in a prostitution ring consisting of underaged boys that were supplied to Washington's upper class, which went right up to the White House."

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"Sexually bent politicians in denial of their sexuality to the public are a threat to their own country and policies. They are easily setup, photographed, politically bribed, toppled, and supported in the destruction of their country. This method of altering a country’s policies is epidemic and now endemic to politics."

• Greg Hallett [12]

"Bob (Hope) was politically connected and knew how to lure people in and insure they would work for him. He invited them to his parties and dangled various kinds of illegal or immoral perversions in their faces. Once their perversions were uncovered, he could blackmail or control them. That is how Bob worked. Bob was very good at this. I watched him do it to people over and over. He lured them in, detected their weaknesses, then used that knowledge in his favor, for his connections, and ultimately for his personal gain."

• Brice Taylor [5]

These blackmail 'practices' are often used in conjunction with trauma-based mind control. This mind control is an integral component of, and is deeply intertwined with child trafficking, sex slavery, Satanic ritual abuse, and many other horrific crimes. Many of the children used for blackmail are programmed, and many of the people being blackmailed (including (sometimes future) politicians, leaders, presidents, etc.) are also programmed themselves.
"My personal belief, based on my experiences, is that over the years, more leaders were under mind control."

• Brice Taylor [5]

"Fritz Springmeier notes that 'It is a standard tactic of the Illuminati, their New World Order and its various branches to use fear and blackmail to bring people into line.' Cheryl Beck had a 'sexy Sadie' program that was used to blackmail government and military people as a child prostitute seductress. Cathy O’Brien’s daughter Kelly was 'being prostituted to the CIA for blackmail purposes.' Svali notes that using child prostitutes to blackmail political leadership outside of the Illuminati was very common."

• Veronica Swift [10]

"Beryl-Green said Epstein knew about MKULTRA. He was into mind-controlling victims and satanic ritual abuse (SRA). Epstein was into DNA mixing, human cloning and he knew about New World Order plans."

• Hope Beryl-Green [17]

"This dirty game has been honed to a fine art, which is a standard feature of the Illuminati/intelligence groups. The CIA term for blackmail is an 'OK FIX.' When they use a person’s past sins to force someone to do something they refer to this as 'biographic leverage.' Any weak point in a person can and will be exploited. Sexual entrapment for blackmail is referred to as a 'HONEY TRAP'. Black widow alters are being trained and sent out for this purpose. In order to blackmail, or threaten, you have to have something to threaten the person with. Men are frequently entrapped by sexual behavior which is criminal. Sometimes they are also entrapped by murder. The Monarch slave will be allowed to have children so that they can be blackmailed into complying to save the children or grandchildren. The Monarch slave in turn may be used to blackmail others. Certain alters are trained in this. A Monarch Beta model is highly trained in seduction. Many politicians and ministers are operating under blackmail today. The extent that blackmail is being used by the NWO would boggle people’s minds. Porn films are taken of the Monarch victims, so that they can be used to blackmail the victim. Monarch victims are forced to commit ritual murders which are photographed and then used to blackmail the mind-controlled victim."

• Fritz Springmeier [15]

Intelligence agencies all over the world utilize blackmail, routinely employing and exploiting it as much as possible. It is an extremely important 'tool' of theirs. Operations are done to gather the incriminating evidence.
"Other 'neutralisations' verge on the bizarre. An individual who must remain nameless for a variety of reasons - but whose name is known to this writer - underwent an experience that is both horrific and chilling. I shall call this individual 'Mr. X' or, simply, 'X'. Mr. X was a leader of one of the largest CIA-backed Contra groups. He recently testified before the US Senate Intelligence Committee. Formerly, X was a senior executive in a South American subsidiary of a leading US soft drinks corporation. During his Senate testimony, he denied any knowledge of CIA involvement in the narcotics trade, adding that condoning such activity would have been foreign to his way of life. Not so, says Tatum. Mr. X had been recruited into the CIA by then-Director William Casey, with the assistance of Oliver North. In 1990, when Nicaraguan leader Daniel Ortega announced there would be 'free elections', X was ecstatic. He began jostling for position and asked President Bush to ensure he be given a prominent position in the new government - in return for his years of toil at the behest of the CIA and the Enterprise. The pressure came in a form that Bush could not ignore. Failure to help his friend would result in X's intimate knowledge of Bush's involvement in the dope trade being made public. His threat left Bush with a sour taste. A Pegasus team was assigned to 'neutralise' him in early 1990. Mr. X, Tatum states, 'fancied himself a lover of women. Tall, large-breasted blondes were his favourite. It was determined that, if effectively neutralised, [X] could be an asset. Therefore, it was decided that intimidation would be used to control [X].' They chose to use the drug Scopolamine, which also went by the nickname 'Burundanga' or 'the Voodoo drug'. The drug is extracted from the pods of a flowering shrub that grows in remote regions of South America. In its processed, powdered form, Scopolamine is 'void of smell, void of taste'. When properly administered 'it causes absolute obedience' without this being 'observable by others'. Importantly, the target will not recall any of the events that occurred during the period they were under the spell of the drug. Tatum states that X was invited to spend a relaxing weekend at a luxury hotel as a guest of his friend George Bush. His host for the weekend was a trusted 18-year veteran field-intelligence officer. The evening started with cocktails and was followed by a fine meal. ''Nothing but the best' were the orders.' Following the meal, he was ushered into the suite of a 'blonde bombshell' supplied by the CIA. Mr. X had already ingested a dose of Burundanga during pre-dinner cocktails. X was gallant with the blonde as they both moved into the bedroom where video cameras were already set up in one corner. In short order, the blonde had X standing naked in front of her and began to indulge his desires. All the while, the video cameras whirred. Slowly stripping off, the 'blonde' revealed his manhood in all its glory. Mr. X was instructed to reciprocate the favour and perform fellatio. He obliged, his intimate activities recorded at 24 frames a second on videotape. Tatum says the male prostitute was hired from a bar in New York and killed that same evening. Two weeks later, X - wholly unaware of the events of that evening - was visited in Nicaragua. He was presented with a copy of the video footage, along with instructions. Tatum says that X can never allow that video to be seen: 'Not only does it reveal his homosexuality, but it also reveals his bestiality and satanic worship rituals.' As frame after frame flicked by, X reportedly wept, forced to watch himself kill his homosexual 'lover' and then engage in the most grisly cannabalistic ritual imaginable. Neutralised, Mr. X became a leading member of the Nicaraguan government a few short weeks later."

• The Pegasus File [13]

"Check out the FBI records on Scarlett: What was his original HOOK that got him so deeply embedded into UK Illuminati culture? He murdered the nanny of Lord Lucan in the 1970's. Lucan wasn't actually involved. Scarlett got it wrong. He was under mind control at the time. How we all laughed on his training sessions when we heard that one. Not funny, really. We were all in the same boat. Each had something terrible attached to us, in our past. That is all part and parcel of the Illuminati contract. Young people forced under mind control to commit murder when young and then later on, picked up by British Intelligence to be used and abused as they wished - as loyal servants of the British Crown. One can only hope that by exposing these HOOKS, that some sort of amnesty can prevail. If these people are freed from the demonic Illuminati contract by exposing their HOOKS - one can only hope that they will come forward as a sizeable and influential body of political and public figures, in order to put an end to it. Here's hoping. Check out Rimington's hook to see what sort of mind ran MI5 for so long. It's a game called 'mafia' and it is ALL about blackmail."

• Ex MI6 [2]

"...He had previously signed off on Epstein’s 'sweetheart deal' because Epstein 'had belonged to intelligence.' Acosta, then serving as US attorney for Southern Florida, had also been told by unspecified figures at the time that he needed to give Epstein a lenient sentence because of his links to 'intelligence.'"

• Whitney Webb [4]

"Detective Rothstein found that the CIA were behind a blackmail operation in which child prostitutes were used to honey-trap and compromise politicians, military brass, top businessmen, and key government officials. Rothstein, who arrested the key Watergate perpetrator, said Watergate solely concerned this human compromise racket, and specifically was an attempt to obtain a list of compromised pedophile VIPs and their proclivities that was held at the Democratic National Headquarters."

• Fiona Barnett [8]

"Michael Aquino was in the military. He had top Pentagon clearances. He was a pedophile. He was a Satanist. He founded the Temple of Set. And he was a close friend of Anton LaVey. The two of them were very active in ritualistic sexual abuse. And they deferred funding from this government program to use in this experimentation on children. Where they deliberately split off the personalities of these children into multiples, so that when they're questioned or put under oath or questioned under lie detector, that unless the operator knows how to question a multiple-personality disorder, they turn up with no evidence. They used these kids to sexually compromise politicians or anyone else they wish to have control of...they were taken to be used by professional pedophiles. People that have the money to buy what they want, take the kids wherever they want...and by splitting the children’s personalities they could then train each one of the personalities to do a different function. And the rest of the personalities within that host personality would not be aware of it or remember it."

• Noreen Gosch, Johnny Gosch's mother (of the 'Franklin Boys') [1]

"Vinson also told Nick Bryant that Spence and Larry King were 'partners' and 'hooked up with the CIA', stating specifically that 'King and Spence were in business together, and their business was pedophilic blackmail.' They were transporting children all over the country. They would arrange for children to be flown into Washington, DC and also arrange for influential people in DC to be flown out to the Midwest and meet these kids. Per Vinson, Larry King had confided in him that he had clients who liked to torture and even kill children: 'King said they had clients who actually liked having sex with kids as they tortured or killed the kid. I found that totally unbelievable.' After Vinson said this to Nick Bryant, he asked Bryant later on in the interview if King’s disclosure had indeed been true. He was unaware at the time that other evidence, including witness testimony, had suggested that it was."

• Whitney Webb [4]

"According to fugitive ex-CIA officer Frank Terpil, CIA-directed sexual blackmailing operations were intensive in Washington at about the time of the Watergate scandal. One of those operations, Terpil claims, was run by his former partner, Ed Wilson. Wilson's base of operations for arranging trysts for the politically powerful was, Terpil says, Korean agent Ton Sun Park’s George Town Club. In a letter to the author, Terpil explained that ‘Historically, one of Wilson’s Agency jobs was to subvert members of both houses [of Congress] by any means necessary. Certain people could be easily coerced by living out their sexual fantasies in the flesh...A remembrance of these occasions was permanently recorded via selected cameras...The technicians in charge of filming were TSD [Technical Services Division of the CIA]...The unwitting porno stars advanced in their political careers, some of whom may still be in office.'"

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"Intelligence and counter intelligence ‘work’, and they ‘work together’ to create scenarios that are so unbelievable that they cannot be published in the mainstream media, and if they are, they will appear like a joke. The information to blackmail a country, to blackmail its politicians, to blackmail its Prime Ministers and Presidents, to blackmail its judges and lawyers is a very serious matter."

• Greg Hallett [12]

The Illuminati and other cults also engage in the same blackmail operations. There is a huge overlap between secret societies/cults and intelligence, with top intelligence usually being run by them. All of them do this.
"I was able to have first hand access to the Jeffrey Epstein case investigation documents. According to the documents, Epstein was the head of a global fraternity related to the Shriners called The Royal Order of Jesters. This order is covered with scandals and lawsuits related to human trafficking, but they are very protected because many members of the order are high-profile political figures and businessmen. It is crazy how these people manage to operate under the radar for so many years, decades...Now you may ask how they do this? Easy...By using blackmail tactics, they manage to have Judges and Law Enforcement licking their feet. That's how Jeffery Epstein got assassinated. After he was out of the game, the whole business is run by other people. Major names are involved and many high-profile people who are all bound to the order by means of blackmail. This is particularly disturbing when you find out that the cases of Catholic priests involved in sex scandals are events organized by The Order of Jesters. They run blackmail operations with the purpose of seducing people in power...With those videos in their power, the careers and the public image of many people are in the Jester's hands. They are free to do anything, they can turn even the President of the United States into a slave."
-- "Jeffrey Epstein Post" [7]
"Illuminati 'FROG ON A LILYPAD' programming: The FROG as a paedophile - with no 'tadpole tail/tale', as in no memory of what he/she has done until they get past 40 years old. It becomes clear that so many people were forced to be paedophiles and to abuse their children - only to wake up to all of this later on - post 40 years old. Then to have Stella Rimington on their doorstep with a videotape - telling them that she will send it to the police if they do not do precisely what she says. The ultimate blackmail weapons combined: A tape of you committing paedophilia - and even worse - incest with your own children. Guaranteed to 'silence' most people for life. The scope of this Illuminati blackmail project has been immense, in British society and it has to be exposed. There is safety in numbers."

• Ex MI6 [2]

"(Sue) Arrigo adds that the kids with the most smarts and/or looks, about 5% are skimmed off the top by the Luciferians in charge like the Bushes and used as either spies or corporate sex slaves or both. They’re typically pimped out on high priced loans to influential politicians as house boy and girls to ensure the puppets in Congress are happy and blackmail-able for control."

• Joachim Hagopian [14]

"The Masonic leadership of Freemasonry in a given area will have thousands of 'blackmail' files on essentially everyone of importance in their area. Upper echelon people such as judges, lawyers, and politicians are generally controlled via IRS infringements, and many of the lower echelon people are controlled through weird sexual items. This is where the Delta and Beta Monarch slaves are so helpful to the Illuminati. (This information comes from several witnesses who are informed about the blackmail files & their methods for blackmailing.)"

• Fritz Springmeier [16]

These people are already in power, and have set their system up so that nobody rises to a prominent, powerful, or influential position without being selected, extensively compromised, controllable, and usually under mind control. They are all 'in it together', and because of this they protect eachother. Most have 'insurance' on one another.
"The most common phrase associated with that one was ‘talk about the pot calling the kettle black’, meaning that each Illuminati slave had been caught on camera and from an early age – doing something terrible – as Rimington was fond of saying ‘we are all as bad as each other and all in it together.’"

• Ex MI6 [2]

"Oftentimes when I and others were prostituted to various government (New World Order) leaders, Dante had hidden cameras filming perverse sexual acts apparently for future blackmail leverage. These videos were scandalous in proportion and were usually ordered by Reagan. Dante turned the videos over to Reagan, and covertly kept copies to protect himself. Dante converted a small room of his Beverly Hills mansion into a security vault, where he kept his personal copies of the international blackmail porn tapes there. Blackmail was openly initiated to ensure that each criminal participant understood that if one fell, they all fell. Maintaining 'dirt' on each other through this Mafia-style method was seemingly the only way these criminals implementing the New World Order kept each other 'honest.'"

• Cathy O'Brien [3]

"The Watergate break-in was strictly based on one thing - the pedophile records that were being kept at the Democratic National Headquarters."

• Detective James Rothstein (NYPD, Retired) [6]

"In 1972, Rothstein arrested one of the five Watergate burglars, CIA operative Frank Sturgis. During a subsequent two-hour interrogation, Rothstein discovered the truth about Watergate (plus Sturgis’ and the CIA’s involvement in the Bay of Pigs incident, and the related assassination of JFK). Sturgis told Rothstein, the Watergate burglars sought something they nicknamed ‘The Book’ which listed the Democratic and Republican politicians who accessed child prostitutes, their sexual proclivities, the amounts they paid to rape kids, etc."

• Fiona Barnett [6]

There are certain places known for this, two famous examples being Little St. James island or Bohemian Grove (there are many, many others).
"For those of you who are interested in Bohemian Grove and the current list upon the Internet of those poor unsuspecting 'invitees' who will be pressganged into going (and subsequently blackmailed out of their minds afterwards, by the Illuminati)...the entrapment going on at Bohemian Grove is of an avaricious and esoteric nature - in relation to all of those unlucky 'invitees' who want to join this 'prestigious club' but then get videoed doing things that they wouldn't want anyone to know about - 'guests' who are then subsequently blackmailed out of their brains...and for the rest of their lives. But then that was what the Illuminati cult and their Sat B'hai contract has always been about...promising that you would get everything for nothing (if you agreed to be unquestioningly obedient to the Crown) and that you would now be part of an 'esoteric' prestigious Satanic club."

• Ex MI6 [2]

"Numerous videos are covertly produced at the supposedly secure political sex playground in northern California, Bohemian Grove. High tech undetectable cameras use fiber optics, and fish-eye lenses were in each of the elite club's numerous sexual perversion theme rooms. I was programmed and equipped to function in all rooms at Bohemian Grove in order to compromise specific government targets according to their personal perversions. 'Anything, anytime, anywhere with anyone' was my mode of operation at the Grove. My perception is that Bohemian Grove serves those ushering in the New World Order through mind control, and consists primarily of the highest Mafia and U.S. Government officials. Project Monarch mind controlled slaves were routinely abused there to fulfill the primary purpose of the club: purveying perversion. Bohemian Grove is reportedly intended to be used recreationally, providing a supposedly secure environment for politically affluent individuals to 'party' without restraint. The only business conducted there pertained to implementing the New World Order, through the proliferation of mind-control atrocities, giving the place an air of 'Masonic Secrecy'. The only room where business discussions were permitted was the small, dark lounge affectionately and appropriately referred to as the Underground. The wooden sign was carved to read: 'U.N.DERGROUND'. My purpose at the Grove was sexual in nature, and therefore my perceptions were limited to a sex slave's viewpoint. As an effective means of control to ensure undetected proliferation of their perverse indulgences, slaves such as myself were subjected to ritualistic trauma. Slaves of advancing age or with failing programming were sacrificially murdered 'at random' in the wooded grounds of Bohemian Grave, and I felt it was 'simply a matter of time until it would be me'. Rituals were held at a giant, concrete owl monument on the banks of the Russian River. These occultish sex rituals stemmed from the scientific belief that mind-controlled slaves required severe trauma to ensure compartmentalization of the memory. I witnessed the sacrificial death of a young, dark-haired victim at which time I was instructed to perform sexually 'as though my life depended upon it'. I was told, 'The next sacrifice victim could be you.' The club offered a 'Necrophilia' themed room to its members. I was so heavily drugged and programmed when used in the 'necrophilia' room, that the threat of actually 'slipping through death's door' and being sacrificed 'before I knew it' did not affect me. Other perversion theme rooms at the Bohemian Club included what I heard Ford refer to as the 'Dark Room'. When he not so cleverly said, 'Let's go to the Dark Room and see what develops,' I understood from experience that he was interested in indulging in his perverse obsession for pornography. In the Dark Room, members had sex with the same mind-controlled slave they were viewing in porn on a big screen television. There was a triangular glass display centered in a main through way where I was locked in with various trained animals, including snakes. Members walking by watched illicit sex acts of bestiality, women with women, mothers with daughters, kids with kids, or any other unlimited perverse visual display. I was once brutally assaulted by Dick Cheney in the Leather Room, which was designed like a dark, black leather-lined train berth. There was a room of shackles and tortures, black lights and strobes, an opium den, ritualistic sex altars, a chapel, group orgy rooms including poster beds, water beds, and 'kitten' houses. I was used as a 'rag doll' in the 'toy store,' and as a urinal in the 'golden arches' room. From the owl's roost to the necrophilia room, no memory of sexual abuse is as horrifying as the conversations overheard in the Underground pertaining to implementing the New World Order. I learned that perpetrators believed that controlling the masses through propaganda mind manipulation did not guarantee there would be a world left to dominate due to environmental and overpopulation problems. The solution being debated was not pollution/population control, but mass genocide of 'selected undesirables'."

• Cathy O'Brien [3]

News 'headlines' with hidden symbolic communication are also used by intelligence and other groups, many times referring to blackmail (among the many other varieties of covert operations).
"'Nuclear' is a comm used all over the world to symbolize extraordinarily explosive information, like blackmail. Which is why if we reconcile blackmail with news about nuclear, a secret truth will become clear. The two most powerful blackmailers ever? That would probably be Jeffrey Epstein and Hugh Hefner. And this is why the deaths of blackmailers like Hugh Hefner and Jeffrey Epstein both coincided with 'Nuclear Accidents':"
08/09/2019 Is Putin covering up a Nuclear disaster?

• 08/09/2019 = Russia Hides a Nuclear accident!
• 08/10/2019 = CIA Blackmailer Epstein Dead
• 09/26/2017 = Russia Hides a Nuclear Accident!
• 09/27/2017 = CIA Blackmailer Hefner Dead

09/26/2017 Nuclear explosion kept secret by Russia
"Why are CIA blackmailers dying the day after Russia declares nuclear accidents? The reason for the -1 day in Epstein’s case is they likely died before the official day, and these comms were to give agents a heads up on the upcoming BOOM before it hits papers. In Hefners case they had to signal people to move the blackmail. The point as stated is a lot of 'nuclear' is all about blackmail. Not all of it, but a lot of it."

• "Symbolic Communication" [9]

Blackmail is a worldwide 'practice', with all countries and their governments engaging in aquiring and utilizing it to the fullest.
"Just as the 1986 Mirano scandal, the X-Dossiers contain evidence that sexual blackmail operations, whoever is running them, are not limited to the United States. In 1996, X1 reported how the same activities had been going on in Brussels."
"As the bewildered Belgians tried to make sense of what was going on, incredible rumours began circulating that Dutroux might have been protected in some way, that he had friends in high places. Pornographic videos taken from his home were said to feature prominent individuals, one a senior member of the Roman Catholic church. It almost defied belief. Who would protect a psychopath, other than people with something truly terrible to hide?...'It is quite obvious,' said Katarin de Clercq, Belgian coordinator of the pressure group End Child Prostitution Abduction and Trafficking, 'that some people were protecting Dutroux. The government tried to convince us that he was a lone serial killer and psychopath, but now we hear stories about unnamed famous personalities being involved in sex orgies and blackmail and pornographic video tapes. People feel that something is completely wrong here and we have to show we will not tolerate it.'"

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"I was unfortunate enough to attend the IHS Templar Castle rite in 2001. Amongst the people in attendence were: J. K. Rowling. Gordon Brown. David Miliband. Stephen Daldry. Stella Rimington (she was the Dr. Mengele of the organisation, organising the torture and murder of kidnapped children). Dr. Joanne Collie. Andrew Marr (he spent most of the time naked and screaming - off his head on some form of narcotic). John Scarlett (he was so drunk/drugged up that he had very little idea of what was going on around him). The Templars had captured a large amount of people whom they called the 'snakes' i.e. slaves in a large dungeon underneath the castle. One brave person managed to set them free and the result in the neighbouring village of Mons and other places nearby, ensured that the British Army had to move in. Thus began the most incredible cover-up in recent European history. It was like WACO, Guyana. I was one of the 'slaves' taken at that castle but subsequently freed by the British Army (who also know what happened - a MASSIVE cover-up). The British Army ordered those in the Castle to come out. They then sent a tank in to bulldoze the walls. Prince Philip and Prince William were in that Castle. Both of them had murdered countless tiny children in their rites. The British Army assembled watched as both walked out with large, dark, woven potato sacks over their heads. They were then bundled into a van and driven away. The name SPUDNIKS was coined because Prince Philip and Prince William had to exit the castle with potato sacks pulled down over their heads and bodies. The British Army present at the time - may or may not have had any idea who they were but the SIS general there, certainly did. They might have managed to cover it up regarding the ordinary soldiers there but the videotapes are now on sale worldwide. The whole event had been closely monitored for blackmail purposes."

• Ex MI6 [2]

The CIA also blackmails incestual/pedophilic parents for their children to use in trauma-based mind control slave projects like MONARCH.
"My Uncle Bob, also implicated in manufacturing the porn, out of apparent desperation informed my father of a U.S. Government Defense Intelligence Agency TOP SECRET Project to which he was privy. This was Project Monarch. Project Monarch was a mind-control operation which was 'recruiting' multigenerational incest abused children with Multiple Personality Disorder for its genetic mind-control studies. I was a prime 'candidate,' a 'chosen one'. My father seized the opportunity as it would provide him immunity from prosecution."

• Cathy O'Brien [3]

"The expendables are the children of parents who were blackmailed into turning their children over to the CIA. This is all hidden by the power of the National Security Act. These are children, who have been sold by pedophile fathers, or pornographic parents. The programmers/masters program them with the expectation that they will be "thrown from the freedom train" when they get to age 30. (Freedom Train is the code word for the Monarch trauma-based mind-control. To be thrown from the Freedom Train means to be killed.) The CIA and the Illuminati are skilled at blackmailing parents to give up their children. They would watch the mail for porn. Pedophile and murderers who abuse their children are warned that they will go to prison for long lengths of time if they do not cooperate by selling their children into mind-controlled slavery. In return for the parent’s cooperation, they provide rich financial rewards to the parent(s). It’s clearly a case of 'if you don’t cooperate you lose in life big time, if you do cooperate you win big time.'"

• Fritz Springmeier [15]

Blackmail is the glue holding together all of the sick people in charge, and is the one of the top methods of control. This is the truth: blackmail, pedophilia, and mind control are how this world is really run.
"Former CIA director William Colby giving advice to John DeCamp, urging him to quit his investigations into the Franklin child abuse affair:"
"'What you have to understand, John, is that sometimes there are forces and events too big, too powerful, with so much at stake for other people or institutions, that you cannot do anything about them, no matter how evil or wrong they are and no matter how dedicated or sincere you are or how much evidence you have. This is simply one of the hard facts of life you have to face.'"

• The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]

"Again, it’s built in, entrenched foxes guarding the predatory henhouse that permeate all levels of government, military, courts, law enforcement, entertainment and news media, corporate global finance and education. With pedophile puppet masters controlling the pedophile puppet strings of blackmailed, compromised and controlled Western politicians, courts and law enforcement, their diabolical infrastructure has afforded them living above the law continuing to rape and kill our innocents for centuries."

• Joachim Hagopian [14]

Links and Sources
[1] - Noreen Gosch Speaks About - Jeff Gannon, Johnny Gosch And The Attempted Theft Of Her Book 'Why Johnny Can't Come Home'

• Noreen Gosch

[2] - Master List of Quotes and Comments

• Ex MI5/MI6 Agents and Royal Arch Illuminati slaves

[3] - Trance-Formation of America

• Cathy O'Brien

[4] - One Nation Under Blackmail

• Whitney Webb

[5] - Thanks for the Memories

• Brice Taylor

[6] - Eyes Wide Open

• Fiona Barnett

[7] - "I had access to classified documents about the Jeffrey Epstein case"
[8] - Child Trafficking, Ritual Sex Abuse & MK-ULTRA Are A Single Worldwide Operation, Run by the U.S., U.K. and AUS Secret Services

• Fiona Barnett

[9]- Symbolism Communication
[10] - An Illuminati Primer

• Veronica Swift, Jessie Czebotar

[11] - The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks
[12] - The Hallett Report No. 1

• Greg Hallett

[13] - The Pegasus File

• David G. Guyatt

[14] - Anatomy of the Luciferian Elite’s Global Child Sex Trafficking Pedophile Operations

• Joachim Hagopian on CathyFoxBlog

[15] - The Illuminati Formula Used To Create An Undetectable Mind Control Slave

• Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler

[16] - Deeper Insights Into the Illuminati Formula

• Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler

[17] - Hope Beryl-Green Article

Ibandr, during the morning and afternoon so full of life and sound and laughter, slowed as the sky darkened above. The sun had set for some time and the shadows of the city were erratic and scattered in the evening torchlight. There were many lit throughout the city at sundown, many in the city center, some south by the riverbank to ward off animals, and some in the west by those who grew cotton and made goods. Shadr held one of these torches now. He was a young man, having grown up in Ibandr and never knowing the starving times, although his father always spoke of them. He had also talked to him about the day the city spilled its own blood. How he had been part of the fight to retake Ibandr from the Zivold and how he barely survived, losing an arm for his efforts. When the eastern man had come - Barnam had been his name - his father jumped at the chance to sabotage the man who stole their lives, even if it had been so long. Shadr’s father was too old but Shadr himself was not, the young man eager to serve his family however he may. So now he stood as the sun set, stick alight with flame, looking at the large pile of dried grass and hemp and cotton. Waiting.
Over a hundred men on horses galloped toward Ibandr. Barnam rode at the head, taking one last glance over his shoulder at the men riding behind him, Shahadr’s Point falling further in the distance. It was getting darker by the gallop, the sun having set to their right. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. The rhythm of horseback calmed Barnam. He felt at home, at peace on horseback now. His life with the Albayet had been good to him, prepared him for his duty. He looked at the sky as he rode, the first twinkling stars shining in the dusk. He blinked. What was that? Another! A streak of light shot through the blackening blue of the heavens. Some time passed then, another!
“Vastatn blesses us on this night!” Barnam called to the riders behind him, pointing to the sky at the shooting stars making their way across the world. He gripped the spear in his hand tighter. Good fortune was to come.
Ibandr was more difficult to see as they rode on the flat plains between Shahadr’s Point and the city, but in the darkness he could just make it out. Flames. The old boys have done it then, he thought. When last in the city, he found an old friend of his father and that man’s son, Shadr. There were a handful of others but all too old or afraid to move against the Zivold. Shadr, though, was eager. Setting fire to the cotton in Ibandr’s west had worked well enough, if he could see the flames from here. The sky darkened as they neared the city. It was almost time.
He was close enough to hear shouting over the sound of the horses around him. Then, a great bellow louder than he’d ever heard. A bellow sounding across the city, the plain, again and again in long, slow bursts. An alarm? A call for help? Someone must have seen them. A hundred men on horseback would be hard to miss, but Barnam did not care. “It’s time, Albayet! Ride to our glory! Ride for Kalliza!”
Shouts of Kalliza, victory, to war called out behind him as the hundred split into three groups, one stayed straight behind Barnam while the others spread out in two directions, one to the west to the fire and the other to the east.
“Victory!” Barnam heard himself shouting as he burst into the city, the vastness of the plain suddenly replaced by houses and canals and patchwork fields of sorghum. Men, women, children had come out of their peripheral homes to answer the commotion, and Barnam looked at their terrified faces as they saw him and his horsemen ride toward them.
A scarred, weathered, bearded man, in billowing clothes carrying a spear in his right hand and a scythe tied to his hip, screaming as he charged on a horse. A sight to see. A last sight to see. He did not want to kill innocents, he did not mean to kill them, but you have to be realistic about these things. In the heat of war, Barnam would not stop to question each and every life he took. Today was a day of new beginnings, of a cleansing of the city and washing it in a new path. The stars streaking above were the ushering of a new dawn on the Luzum and Barnam would be damned if he would get in the way of that. He thought all these and more as his horse ran down the man who stood defiantly in front of him. As they made their way to the city, the screams confirmed that the first man was only one of many. You have to be realistic about these things.
The city had no way to prepare for what was coming. Through his whole life Barnam scarcely had heard of any meaningful raids on the city, or great battles between one city and another. Ibandr and its people had not been tried and tested as Barnam and the Albayet had.
With that Barnam could not have expected the first fighters they saw. Ten men burst forward down a street between two larger houses, two had spears and the rest holding hoes or scythes. They came so suddenly Barnam and the horseman next to him, Gudenle, had no time to move. Bunched up as they were they had no time to fight. One with a spear burst it through Gudenle’s horse, throwing him to the side. Another ran to finish Gudenle off but was stopped by a second spear bursting through him, Barnam having flung his own to defend his man. The defenders stood shocked for an extra breath, and Gudenle, with Kalliza watching over him, landed well and was on his feet. He swung a scythe from his hips into his arms and Barnam did the same. Barnam, Gudenle, and the other horsemen fought through the men then, losing two more horses but no tribesmen.
Having bested their first challenge, they trudged on. Barnam and the Albayet fought for quite some time as they made their way to the city center. Those who came to defend the city were few and far between, but they fought fiercely and bravely. By the time they reached the great storehouse of Ibandr and the Temple of Kutenr, only Barnam, Gudenle, and eleven others remained. Barnam dismounted from his horse to confront the sight before him. He and his Albayet stood opposite a tall, lean man dressed in cotton and some foreign leather clothing, with others around him. All stood fierce and tall, with either spears or blades of copper or stone. The tall, lean man held a copper blade in his right hand. Beyond, dozens of citizens were running either into their homes or making a dash to leave the city. Flames blazed in the west and a cacophony of screaming, neighing, and yelling filled the air.
“Where is the Zivold?” Barnam bellowed above the clamor. “I am Barnam, son of Huttl, a righteous man who walked in the light of the Paroxl. He was murdered by Attarnap, a coward and a thief, and I demand his presence in front of me today!”
The tall man raised his eyebrows and gasped. Behind him, the storehouse glowed in the light of the flames, encroaching closer and closer. “Barnam? Is that really you?” He started to laugh. “The little boy who lived on the edge of the furthest part of the city. Amazing, even the dung can come back to haunt you. And here I thought I was being punished for killing my father.”
“Your…” Barnam couldn’t believe what he had heard. “You killed… Attarnap? You killed the Zivold?”
The man who Barnam knew as Belis only nodded. “My father was complicated, Barnam. He was complicated and he was a fool. He thought he could take more and more, demand more and more of the people, and everything would be fine. This temple, those canals, that lake to hold the flood waters for a drought? Do you know how many died for those Barnam? Too many. Too many times there were riots like the one your father tried to start and I fear that if he stayed alive that would be the end of our,” he gestured to the men around him, “position in the city.”
Barnam could not believe what he was hearing. The men around Belis moved forward, and Barnam’s men did the same. “No!” Both men shouted at once. “He’s mine,” Belis said, and Barnam grunted in agreement. How dare he?
Barnam let out a roar. “How dare you take what was mine by right?” Barnam took a step forward, Belis almost stumbling to step back, keeping his distance. “Your father took the life of my own. Theft in its many forms is the only sin worthy of punishment by Marryagai the thief, is it not?” He held out his right arm, scythe in hand, rounding it on those who stood by to watch. Then, pointing at Belis, “and your father Attarnap stole the life of Huttl, stole a husband from a wife, a father from a son. and now you steal my revenge from me? You, Belis, lowlife of lowlives, believe you can take your father’s place. You, Belis, murderer of your own kin, your own father believe you can steal vengeance from me?” Bantam raised his arms, “Look at what you stand against! I am Barnam, son of the union between Mauair and Huttl, chosen by the Albayet to lay waste to what you claim, summoned by Samvastatn to bring glory to this earth. You call yourself Kutenr, as your father did?” He stepped closer. “Do you remember who Kutenrs nemesis is? Do you know the story of Kalliza, Paroxl of horses and creator of the plains, champion of the world when the greed of Kutenr and his grains grew too great. Look around you, Belis. I am Kalliza manifest in flesh and bone.”
Barnam cackled as he looked around him once more, taking yet another step toward Belis, and pointed with his scythe. “The gods have forsaken you, murderer! Dezmedetem rages behind you laying waste to all that you were. Samvastatn courses the sky with light, laying waste to all that you will be. And here I stand, I, Barnam of the Albayet, Barnam of Mauair and Huttl, Barnam the bane of Belis, Kalliza reborn, true lord of Ibandr, to lay waste to all that you are!”
With a guttural cry, the would-be conqueror flew at Belis. It was all Belis could do to raise his copper blade in time, a loud clang misshaping both scythe and sword as the two men connected. Barnam came at him with the fury of gods, whirling his scythe on Belis faster than he ever had. Belis stumbled back with each strike. Barnam was practiced, experienced, weathered from his life in the east, while Belis had only ever killed those around him with treachery, not skill. Belis was slower, weaker and more fatigued with each strike he had to block. But there was a chance. Barnam was the more skilled fighter, yes, but the fury of the gods which coursed through his veins made him move faster, think less. The maddening smile on Barnam’s face blinded him to any outcome but his victory. The Zivold’s eyes darted around with every chance, desperate to unearth some victory.
As the two men moved in their melee, Belis saw his chance. Barnam arced high and Belis, in one move, turned to yank a torch jutting from the ground, grabbing it with his left hand. The blade in his right flew at Barnam’s scythe while his left burst forward, torch in front, at Barnam’s face.
A howl of pain burst through the chants around them. Shocked by his own success, Belis stood there, mouth agape, torch and blade in hand. Barnam reeled from the strike, face almost smoking, and when he looked at Belis the right side of his head was a scarred and seared mass of red and pink flesh. Barnam stared at Belis, right eye almost blocked by the puffing of his face, and muttered something to him.
“What did you say, brute?” spat Belis at the hulking man in front of him.
“Burn me,” Barnam repeated, “and you burn the world.” The words of the Paroxl Kalliza, when he struck down Kutenr in their battle for the heavens. Barnam leapt at Belis once more. They fought again but this time there would be no mistake on Barnam’s part, and Belis felt it. Barnam pushed him further and further back toward the great storehouse. As they stood at the entry way, Belis’s arm outstretched with his balde in hand, Barnam brought his scythe down hard on the man’s wrist. A second howl of pain and a clang as Belis’ blade fell to the ground and his wrist was carved through. His hand was still attached but he’d be getting no use from it any longer.
“Stay back!” Belis screamed, waving the torch in front of him. On the floor in front, his shadow danced in the light of the growing fires in the western district. The flames were nearing them now, the heat coursing through the air. “Stay back you demon! You’ll get no more from me, you and your horseback brutes will not take this city while I live!”
Just as Barnam was to respond, “Then die,” Belis turned and ran into the storehouse. Barnam raced after him. “Take this monster!” Belis yelled as he shoved the torch onto an open pile of grain. The dry sorghum burst into flame, sparks flying and fires licking the roof. “Take this as your payment for your father’s death,” Belis was screaming now as he ran further in the storehouse, laying fire to piles of cotton, throwing off jar lids and burning the seeds and fibers within. Barnam could do nothing, impotent with his scythe, as a wall of fire separated him from Belis. Enraged, he bellowed and ran outside and around the storehouse to the Temple of Kutenr. Belis stood there now at the base. Behind him the storehouse was just beginning to burn as a whole. In front of him the temple, and behind the temple the fires of the western districts were finally upon them.
“So Barnam,” Belis stood at the base, torch flames licking the air and wrist dripping with blood, “is this was you wanted? Is this what you wanted to claim as your own?”
Barnam ran at him, raising his scythe and in one motion bringing it down on Belis’ neck. His face froze in horrified surprise and the scythe dug into his shoulders and neck, blood spurting from the wound. “Let it burn Belis. Let it all come to the ground from which we sprouted.” He brought his scythe out of Belis, who fell to the ground, gurglilng, and brought it back down to hack again and again. “Let it burn!” He was shouting, hacking, laughing, “Let it all burn! You stole my vengeance so now I shall have it back twelve-fold! Let it burn! We shall rebuild! We shall rebuild! We… shall… rebuild!” And with the final cut Belis came apart, head, neck, shoulder, and arm separated from the rest of him, face still looking on in horror at Barnam.
He was panting now, the man turned conqueror, his old and rutted copper scythe dented and broken from the fighting and the effort. He tossed it aside with a clang. His face burned from the torch, his lungs burned from the flames beside him, his muscles ached from the battle.
But above? Above the sky was a light with the streaks of a thousand stars, coursing through the sky as though it was Samvastatn and Niovollin creating the earth once more, sending stars from the heavens to course their energy through the world as rivers. Thousands and thousands of stars streaked across the sky, heralding the rise of a new man. A new Zivold. A new God.
“Barnam!” He looked behind him. Gudenle was coming from one of the round homes next to the storehouse, dragging a small, frail man behind with him. “Is this him?”
The man fell in front of Barnam, wrapped in bundles of cotton and hemp, thick matted hair gray and white with age. “Hadr,” Barnam breathed and knelt at him, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders.
Hadr brought his face up to look at Barnam. One thin, shaking hand came to rest on Barnam’s cheek, and he breathed a staggered breath. “Is that you Barnam? Is that you my boy?” A tear welled in his eye and he started to shake his head. “No, no, no,” Hadr muttered, “no, no no. Do not give me your empathy, my dear boy. I have wronged you.”
Barnam could not understand. Gudenle was saying something about needing to leave as the fire was only growing, but Barnam waved his hand and stared at Hadr. “It was me, Barnam,” the old man said through tears, “I betrayed your father, your uncle, everyone that day. I told Attarnap when i got you and your mother out of the city. It was me Barnam! I’m the reason your father is dead,” and he shook in his sobs, muttering, “let me die, boy, let me die.”
Hadr fumbled with his hands in his rags, but Barnam could barely see for the red that covered his vision. Hadr had betrayed his father, his family. Hadr had betrayed him. He grabbed Hadr by his hair and yanked his head up, putting the two men face to face. “You don’t die yet old man,” and he spat in his face. “You come with me. When the fires abate, you will proclaim me Zivold of Ibandr. You will proclaim that I am the vessel from Kalliza on this world. You will put me higher than any Zivold has ever been, and only then will you be allowed to die. I will do it myself.” He spat in his face again and pulled him to his feet by his hair.
“Let me DIE!” Hadr screamed as he was yanked up. His hands fumbled through his rags and they emerged gripping a small blackshine [obsidian] blade from his rags. He pulled his arms out and thrusted into his belly, but Barnam grabbed his arm like a vice, inches from death.
As he twisted the blade from Hadr’s hands, Barnam only repeated, “You do NOT die yet old man,” and threw him forward. He nodded to Gudenle, and the company walked away from the flames of the city center.
Flames swallowed Ibandr. For two days and two nights, Barnam, the Albayet, and the prisoner Hadr waited at Shahadr’s Point as they watched the city burn on the riverbank. Refugees fleeing from the burning and seeing where the conquerors had gone had come to be with them, either to curry favor or through sheer terror of seeing their home burning. Others stayed by the farms in the homes that survived or camped by the great reservoir.
When the fires abated, the survivors, the conquerors, and Hadr the prisoner walked into the city, faces of terror and horror and grief staring back at them. Some houses stood, others charred, and still others broken and brittle. Barnam had tried to stop the pillaging of the city but you have to be realistic about these things. He was Kalliza on earth. The city needed to be burned before it could be rebuilt.
When he arrived at the city center, the storehouse was a charred ruin and the temple behind it stood charred and blackened. The fires had raged and the once great city of Ibandr now stood charred but still proud. The Albayet went and corralled those who remained in the city center, and still others had come to the core now, refugees in their own lands, fleeing the fires that burned without remorse. Many had come to Barnam and the Albayet but others had stayed in the city, finding refuge in this or that district that survived the fires.
Barnam announced who he was, why he had come, and what the future held for Ibandr. “Belis was a fraud! Attarnap was a fraud!” He brought up Hadr. “A fraud held up by this man against the Paroxl, against our gods!” He walked to the ruins of the storehouse. “I am no fraud. I am Barnam, Kalliza reborn. Kutenr is nothing to the light of Kalliza and it is in his name which this city will be rebuilt.” In one year Barnam promised they would be returned to their former glory and poised to reach greater, grander heights than ever before.
The conqueror’s bloodthirst had been quenched. Knowing Attarnap was dead, killing his son, and laying waste to Ibandr had been revenge enough against those who wronged his father and those who stood by and done nothing.
Barnam the conqueror became Barnam the rebuilder. Over the year he convinced the Albayet to move west, abandoning the Duf river in a great migration to Ibandr, calling the union between the Hortens of Ibandr and the Hortens of the Albayet the Hemoph Hortens, or Union of the Hortens. He replaced the storehouse with one of similar grandeur, but on the side walls and pillars were carved intricate images and forms of Barnam as Kalliza, striking down Belis of Kutenr. The Temple to Kutenr was stripped bare and its walls adorned with images of Ibandr, or stories of the Paroxl, and above all of Barnam the Magnanimous, images carved to tell his story and his journey from refugee to god.
At the year’s end, Barnam held the Festival of Kalliza. It was here that he brought out the imprisoned Hadr, old and shriveled and frail. He had not been kept in a prison or in solitude or tortured. Barnam let the man walk free under supervision. “Let those who died by his hand torment him,” Barnam once said. They had forbidden him from holding weapons of any kind lest he take his own life, but the sight of the free Sinnamit, free by the mercy of Barnam the conqueror alone, did much to grow the new Zivold’s legend.
Hadr announced Barnam as a god reborn, lord of the new world and Zivold of Ibandr, son of a man and woman wronged and champion to all those that had been wronged. Never mind that Barnam had created so many wrongs when he burned the city. No, never mind all who died for one man’s vengeance. You have to be realistic about these things.
At the height of the ceremony came Barnam’s final act for the new city. As Hadr finished proclaiming him god of a new dawn on the Luzum, Barnam repeated all of Hadr’s transgressions. His slights against his father, against his city, against the gods. His cowardice and failures as Sinnamit. Barnam called Hadr a necessary sacrifice to give for the life of Ibandr, and slit the old man’s throat on the steps of the new temple, bringing all of the Sinnamit’s powers into his own.
Ibandr rose back to its prominence prior to the Albayet Sacking, and rose further still. Barnam learned of the projects built by Attarnap, of how Ibandr had risen from its people and its lands and by harnessing the power of the river Luzum to control the fate of their crops. To defend against the dry seasons and the wet. Ibandr was rebuilt and Barnam ensured that it was he who was credited. He played his factions of the loyal Albayet families and those who felt were allies within the city, against those who wished him to be gone. Barnam kept ownership of the grain but for other goods he allowed families to hold their own. His reign was tenuous in reality but the image of Barnam as greater than he was, as a god among mortals, a step in a new direction, the rosy fingers of the coming dawn, cemented any fears against his hold and guaranteed he would not often be tested.
Barnam had three daughters and two sons with his wife, married from the time he was with the Albayet, and when he died his son, Askalladr, was appointed the Zivold by the strong families, the Illir as they were coming to be known. The Zivold was now the strongman of the city, emblematic of the gods on earth, priest-king, god-king, father-king, all were encompassed by the great and powerful Zivold.
Attarnap and Belis were nothing. They were glorified tribesmen who hoarded wealth. Barnam was something else, a ray of heaven on the ground. Askalladr’s ascension was only further proof that now, indeed, there was a new Dawn on the Luzum.
Context: Was a lot of fun writing all this. This last piece may not be as strong for evidence of statehood but in connection with the other r rp posts I hope this is enough to establish season 5’s first true city state! There’s a lot more to develop in the next week but hopefully this is solid enough ground for Ibandr to gain prominence on a larger stage. I will definitely be sticking to shorter pieces in the future lol

I’m curious to know from other Americans if they have their SS check deposited in the US or in a Thai bank. I can qualify for the Non OA with the cash deposit or monthly income but unsure which way is better. My biggest concern would be about SSA office screwing something up. I’m aware I have to complete a proof of life annually. So any horror stories about direct deposit into Thai account?

Just a public service announcement.
The quality of shoppers has gone down. I personally see drug addicts doing shops in my area.
Don't remove their tip and upset them. THEY KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE LMAO. I have heard horror stories of people "tip baiting" then the shopper going back and robbing or vandalizing your home!
You get what you pay for people

ive been looking for new games to get into and heard the name silent hill bobbing around so i thought id ask as i think there are multiple games ?
do i need to play them all to understand a story?- or can i just buy one of them and if so which one
im not that well-versed in horror games, although played tlou1 and tlou2 recently and loved them they are the furthest ive went in terms of horror
please give advice on where to go now, or if this is even the right game for me

I'm in a fairly well paid office job and I'm pretty advanced in my career. I don't hate my boss or colleagues, however I find the work itself draining. The worst part is I feel that it negatively affects my health because I'm sitting for long hours each day. Sometimes I even feel my legs go numb or feel weak/heavy from not moving all day.
I'm planning to stick it out for a couple more years until my financial situation is comfortable enough for me to quit
I was considering becoming a teacher but I changed my mind after hearing horror stories from teachers on Reddit.
Are there any jobs that are sort of intellectually challenging or rewarding (ie. not repetitive manual tasks) that do not require me to sit all day? I also don't want to stand in the same place all day. Basically I want to be able to move around.
I've considered being a tour guide in the past but I've heard the pay is pretty bad.

I'm assigned male at birth (AMAB) but non-binary (x) hence my reddit username. I recently lost my life-partner and I am attempting to fill an emotional and ...flirtatious void. I've been looking to chat with Straight men [only] who are open/experimental and lean dominant.
Ideally, I'd love to chat with attached/Married men (in open relationships) looking to add something extra to their lives. Men who are cocky, showoffs and routinely stirred by the idea of their next 'conquest' always manage to catch my interest. I'm a huge comic book/anime nerd so any guys into the same should get along with me great.
Interests: Comics (DC/MARVEL), animation, anime, manga, philosophy, theology, political science, gender studies
Favorite movies: BLACK SWAN, THE LAST UNICORN, EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE, HOME ALONE 2, US, HALLOWEEN (2019), anything MCU or DC ANIMATED
Currently on my Discovery+ watch list: THESE WOODS ARE HAUNTED, THE HAUNTED MUSEUM, TRUE TERROR, BELIVERS, MY HAUNTED HOUSE, WHERE MURDR LIES, DEADLY AFFAIRS, THE PERFECT MURDER, UNUSUAL SUSPECTS, FATAL VOWS, BLOOD RELATIVES, MARRIED WITH SECRETS, MANSION&MURDERS, FATAL VOWS, BEHIND MANSION WALLS, A CRIME TO REMEMBER, WHOO THE [BLEEP], DEADLY WOMEN, PROPERTY BROTHER, FLIP OR FLOP, MILLION DOLLAR ROOMS, LOVE IT OR LIST IT.
Currently on my Hulu watch list: MOM, AMERICAN DAD!, BOB'S BURGERS, FRAISER, FUTURAMA, LIVING SINGLE, ANIMANIACS, TWO SENTENCE HORROR STORIES
Currently on my Paramount+ watch list: STAR TREK: DISCOVERY, STAR TREK: PICARD, STAR TREK: LOWER DECKS, STAR TREK: PRODIGY, DARIA, I LOVE LUCY. Be sure to check through my posts for other interests.

Hey folks, TedCruzFuckDoll here. I've got a story to tell you, a story about a food brand that once was a beacon of quality and value, but has sadly fallen from grace. It's a story about Kirkland Signature, the Costco brand.
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I remember the first time I stumbled upon Kirkland. It was a magical experience, like finding a hidden treasure. The quality was tremendous, the best, really. I mean, their steaks were so juicy and tender, they'd melt in your mouth. Their wine? Absolutely top-notch. And don't even get me started on their chocolate chip cookies - they were so good, you'd think they were baked in the White House kitchen.
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But folks, something happened. Something terrible. The quality of Kirkland Signature started to decline. The steaks became tough, the wine lost its flavor, and the cookies? They tasted like cardboard. It was a disaster, a total disaster.
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Now, I'm not one to point fingers, but I can't help but notice that this decline coincided with Sleepy Joe Biden and his radical Dems taking office. Suddenly, food prices started to skyrocket. The cost of a steak went through the roof. A bottle of wine became a luxury. And a pack of cookies? Forget about it.
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You see, folks, the radical Dems and their socialist policies are driving up food prices. They're making it harder for hardworking Americans to afford good, quality food. And it's not just Kirkland Signature that's suffering. It's every food brand out there.
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I'm not saying that Sleepy Joe and his radical Dems are directly responsible for the decline of Kirkland Signature. But I am saying that their policies are making it harder for brands like Kirkland to maintain their quality while keeping prices affordable.
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So, what's the solution? Well, we need to get rid of these socialist policies. We need to bring back the free market, where competition drives quality up and prices down. We need to make America great again, folks. And that starts with making our food great again.
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So, let's stand up for Kirkland Signature. Let's stand up for all the food brands that are struggling under the weight of these socialist policies. Let's make our voices heard, folks. Because together, we can turn this around. We can bring back the magic of finding a great food brand and experiencing food again.
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Thank you, and God bless America.

Just graduated from law school last week and it’s really been the hardest couple years of my life from doing law school online at my parents house and being the oldest daughter so I was taking care of everything while trying to do school at the same time- this is a whole other story but I managed to convince my mom I wanted to start therapy and that maybe moving out (I was 22) was the only way I wouldn’t fail out of school. It had to get the point where my depression was so visible that my mom had no choice but to get a therapist- oh and I finally got on medication for my ADHD which I’ve been diagnosed since a kid but she didn’t think meds were a good option and I cried the first time I took both my adderall and anxiety meds because I felt like I was going behind my parents back (my white friends thought I was insane) I have no idea how I was unmedicated for so long I wonder how much I would have suffered less if I had started earlier but whatever. But back to the main rant
Basically- I’m mixed so I’m culturally confused all the time. I am very white passing but I perceive and interact with the world as a POC, this is different from the rest of my siblings. One of them has cut my parents off and is dealing with their own trauma but in the most explosive and disrespectful way. Long story short- I did not want to invite this sibling to my graduation because I felt they would use it as an opportunity to cause problems and fight with my parents. I do my best to not cause trouble or really draw attention to myself and I’m just now starting to learn that I have my own wants and goals in life. I realized that I wanted to actually celebrate and have the focus on me for once because I worked so so hard for this. So I didn’t invite him, the weeks before graduation my mom (the Asian parent) told me I was being American and unkind for not inviting him. So so many conversations and I held my ground saying I wasn’t going invite them. At one point she said it was the family’s graduation to which my dad (white lol) was like “who else is graduating?” She texted me the entire graduation day telling me to invite my sibling to dinner at least because they found out they weren’t invited and were upset- this sibling has truly been a menace so I really didn’t want them there but I ended up inviting them to dinner just to get my mom to stop texting and calling me. Then she proceeded to text me over and over asking me if I made that sibling feel wanted. Which I obviously have no idea how they feel so I just said I think so tried to answer in anyways that would end the conversation but she just kept calling me.
The entire dinner and day was ruined because she was so desperate to include the sibling who cut us off and used me to try to make herself feel better. I broke down and cried and told her she ruined my graduation because she made it all about that sibling and asked her to apologize for hurting my feelings. She then said I was being selfish and that it was our graduation. I just kinda gave up after that like I just don’t know why it’s so hard for them to admit they made a mistake. Anyways wish me luck while I study for the bar because they have no idea how much work this is and the family obligations have not lessened even tho I have desperately tried to explain.

Some great matches coming up here, and holy wow did Altmaier and Sinner put on a show today.
Congrats to Belle23, unpleasant, 5grand8to1, and dcphil who are leading the ATP bracket comp, and thiago1314 who's leading the odds comp.

Alcaraz vs Shapovalov :

This round will have the first big tests for a lot of seeds. This one is somewhat unexpected. Denis Shapovalov came into this event not even being discussed. His play lately (and at Roland Garros) had been decent, but included very few match-wins. So much so that many people (myself included) believed Nakashima and Arnaldi would beat him, and it seems like the pressure being off has allowed him to play some good tennis. Arnaldi played solid, but Shapo was just a bit too much for him. It sets up what is arguably a more high profile matchup, one that’ll give us our first look at Alcaraz having to really showcase his defensive abilities. Thus far Carlos has won fairly easily. He dropped an odd set to Taro Daniel, but it didn’t really affect the momentum of the match. Against a guy like Denis, he’ll need to avoid giving him too much confidence, so I think we’ll see his foot on the gas throughout this match.
The tricky part here is that all the pressure is on Alcaraz. He got a bit creative in his last match because he was dominating things and sent some shots wide and into the net playing for the crowd. The outcome was assured though, so the audience shifting their support to the challenger wasn’t something that really mattered. If Shapovalov plays the type of tennis that he needs to in order to win against Alcaraz, the energy shift in the stadium is going to be palpable, and it’ll be interesting to see him navigate that. Stories of crowd-shifting energy aside, Alcaraz probably wins this in 3-4 sets. He really is fast enough and solid enough on defense to put back most of what Shapo can offer, and Denis is prone to errors when he has to come up with a bunch of shots in a row. The slightly slower courts benefit Alcaraz because he is able to generate his own pace very well, and because it makes it harder to hit through him. I don’t think Shapovalov is ready for this level of opponent, but I do think he has the type of offense and athleticism necessary to put on an excellent show. Should be a tremendous match. Alcaraz in 3-4.

Musetti vs Norrie :

This is a rematch of Barcelona, where Norrie won the first before Musetti pulled away, eventually winning 6-1 in the third. I somewhat think there will be a similar outcome here. I thought Shevchenko could score on Musetti, and nope. Norrie is one of the hardest workers on tour, and regularly outperforms his own tennis ceiling by digging in and refusing to miss, but he’s playing a guy who seems to be able to do that without being at full exertion. The slower conditions do benefit Norrie a bit, but I don’t think he’ll be able to score that easily on Musetti and his flat backhand is not able to score on clay the way it is on hardcourt. Lorenzo is taking care of his serve really well and the crowd is behind him. It’s apples and oranges but if Shevchenko played Norrie, I’d expect him to win a set. Musetti’s ability to infuse pace and hit a much heavier ball should give make this feel uphill for Norrie, and I don’t think fatigue will be an issue because both he’s been winning in straight sets. Ready to be surprised, but Musetti in 4.

Fognini vs Ofner :

Fognini saunters up to the chalkboard, peering up at numbers and symbols. The equation is long and complex, but it is no match for Fognini.“14,” says Fabio, with a wry smile, pointing to the board. The teacher squints disapprovingly.“You are no match for Fognini,” says Fognini.“Sir this is a Wendy’s,” says the teacher, who is wearing a Wendy’s uniform. It is a Wendy’s. “Ahh, so it is,” says Fognini, while reaching into his bag for his spectacles. “I’ll have a McDouble”
Fognini is in great shape to make the fourth round, but I’m not buying my tickets yet. I thought Kubler would outwork him, but Fognini outclassed the Australian. His power and deft offense really set him apart, and this next match does have the feel of “if he puts in the work, he should win”. Despite all that, I think he is in a bit of trouble. These are the matches that he should have been winning his whole career, and he constantly struggled against contenders who were willing to make the same effort on a big stage. Ofner has one big benefit here, his serve is much bigger than Kublers. Even as I’m typing this, it feels like I’m going to go on a “doubt Fognini” losing streak, but Ofner is playing good tennis and he got a simple round 2 win which should give him a bit of a reset. The days off are really useful for someone who came through qualifying.
This is a spot that both players are going to be absolutely motivated to get a win, so we should see the best from both up until the pressure moments arrive. Then I think Fognini implodes and Ofner squeaks by because he’s simply been playing more big moments in his time grinding the Challenger tour lately. Ofner in 5.

Schwartzman vs Tsitsipas :

DIEGOGOGO! It’s refreshing to see Schwartzman winning matches and enjoying himself out there once again, even if it’s at the expense of my picks. I wasn’t sure how it would happen, but I thought his form would revert. It hasn’t, but unfortunately I’m primed to pick against him again. Stefanos Tsitsipas beat RCB in straight sets, and it was the type of solid performance that makes me doubt he’ll have a lapse here. Schwartzman is capable of dragging this out, but Tsitsipas has gone beyond the level where he can beat by someone trying to extend rallies. His forehand is too big for that, and his serve can bail him out when he needs it. His returning is the last issue he needs to work on (his backhand is fine but could improve of course), but Diego’s serve isn’t much. If he wins a set, it’ll be a pretty good accomplishment, but I don’t think it will change the momentum or rattle Tsitsipas. Tsitsipas in 3-4.

Djokovic vs Davidovich Fokina :

We got a look at Djokovic, and a close first set woke him up, Fucsovics played his best, but he just doesn’t have a way to score cheap points on Djokovic. Even in the wild Altmaier upset of Sinner, Daniel was serving really well and getting quick points from that. You need that to pull an upset, because the top players score on their serves. The first guy who made Novak play is gone, and here is the first guy who could beat him if he doesn’t play his best. Davidovich Fokina is through after a really solid performance against Luca Van Assche. LVA showed great mettle in continuing to play throughout this match, which is impressive considering how many challengers have gotten breadsticked in the early rounds. ADF is just able to generate offense and hit cleanly for an entire match though, and there is no hole in his game. The h2h for Djokovic ADF does include one win for Fokina, a 3 set win in Monte Carlo. The problem with counting that is that Djokovic seems to always bow out of Monte Carlo early.
Looking at strictly tennis, Fokina has a few ways to make this competitive. One, he’s hitting his backhand really well and his forehand down the line really well. This is important because Djokovic has magical rubber bones. He defends extremely well to the backhand wing, and shifts his weight so that he can almost always send the next ball to his opponent’s backhand. Since ADF is hitting his backhand cleanly cross-court and down the line, he has a puncher’s chance to maintain control of rallies when he goes down the line. Two, his stamina appears to be solid right now. He’s fast enough to defend against Novak’s ground game, so there’s a good chance he’ll reap the benefit of whatever occasional errors Djokovic does throw in. He’s ready to challenge here, but I’m not sure if he can win. The same way Shapo is the best showcase for Alcaraz, ADF is the best for Djokovic. Very few players on tour have a complete offensive array, and even fewer that do can also defend and take care of their serve against him. I’m expecting a very high level affair, and if Djokovic is able to just shut him down it’s a very scary notion for the rest of the draw. Novak will have to elevate his level in this match, and I’m interested to see if he will. Djokovic in 4-5.

Varillas vs Hurkacz :

That’s a nice lead you’ve got there. Be a shame if someone .... won every single set left in the match. Juan Pablo Varillas has arrived in the third round with a very strange path. Down two sets and with Robert Bautista-Agut playing some tremendous tennis, Varillas seemed sunk. RBA looked fatigued in the first set though, and this season has seen the roboto finally look like a human, which answers some questions about AI developing consciousness. No need to worry as long as we’ve got Varillas. This next match is one that Varillas is unlikely to win if he does down 2-0, but he might not have to here. RBA was really dominating baseline points and not making many errors. Varillas was just a bit outmatched in the hitting department until the edge was off. In this matchup against Hurkacz, Varillas will be the more consistent player from the baseline by far. Returning serve could be an issue, but Griekspoor was 50/50 to win his match so Varillas will know that he won’t just get served off the court.
Trouble for Varillas lies in his own lack of a serve. Griekspoor has a lot of pop (I keep using this word this week and idk why, I promise to stop soon) on his delivery and Varillas is more of a traditional clay-court server, solid stuff but not many unreturneds. Hurkacz turning around after two three setters is likely going to be tough, but I think he should win this in 4 unless the first set turns into a marathon. If the first set is a tiebreaker though, I could see Varillas wearing Hubert down.

Khachanov vs Kokkinakis :

Kokkinakis and Wawrinka absolutely delivered. A five set classic that ended with a lot of respect shared between the two players, and Kokkinakis collapsing to the floor. Wawrinka was on his last legs at the end of the match, but his full-stretch slices kept rallies going and Thanasi was forced to hit a number of huge shots to finally get across the finish line. It was a match that Stan probably would not have recovered well from, and it’s a nice name for Kokkinakis to add to his list. Despite being the younger player, Kokkinakis is towards the second half of his career on tour so every win is a bonus. This next round is one that Kokkinakis will likely play the role of Wawrinka in. His explosive offense will allow him to be competitive, but the odds that his opponent’s level stays steadier as the match progresses are strong. Khachanov had some early hiccoughs this week but he’s been a consistent performer at the majors and the slower courts will make it tough for Kokkinakis to beat him. Khachanov in 4.

Sonego vs Rublev :

Sonego and Rublev both faced tricky left-handed opponents from France, so are they twins? Yes. Rublev is a pretty sizable favorite for this one, which is a semi-puzzle because Sonego won their previous meeting on clay and he’s playing some great tennis. The price (-340) is likely a result of Rublev’s good form. He’s hitting the ball well and the slower clay makes it tough to hit through him. He’s also much more consistent than Sonego. Lorenzo is serving really well though, and his dropshot/forehand combo is good enough to expose Rublev’s slightly slowed movement. There have been a lot of matches so far where both players were playing well, but one managed to be just slightly better in each rally. I worry that’s the case here, as Sonego is at the top of his game but still is a tiny bit inconsistent. He’s been dominating his matches, but at a level below what Rublev generally brings to the table. The h2h and his form are hard to ignore though, so I think this will be very competitive. It’ll be hard for Sonego to win the baseline rallies from neutral, but I think he’ll be able to return serve a good enough chunk of the time to frustrate Andrey. Rublev in 5.

Rune vs Olivieri :

This draw is doing Holger a ton of favors. After a Monfils wrist injury gave him a walkover, he now has what I consider the easiest match of the third round. Oliveiri’s run to this current stage has been great for his career, and he’s an extremely hard worker, but he just doesn’t have the game to beat Rune. Vavassori was dealing with cramps in his previous round, and played a two hour doubles match last night. The result was a somewhat flat performance today. When he had control, he was able to hit the ball clean past Oliveiri, but most of this match was G.A. moving him around and getting in better and better position until he could finally end the rally. The third round finish will get him inside the top 200 and net him enough prize money to keep competing for at least a year or two more, and he certainly won’t give up here, but he wins by outlasting his opponents and outworking them, and Rune is just another tier of tennis. Holger should win in 3 sets by at least a break in each.

Cerundolo vs Fritz :

Oddsmakers set the total at 36 for Cerundolo Hanfmann. Given their previous matches had been close, and both were in good form, it led me to believe that one of them would hit a wall physically in this match. It turned out to be Hanfmann. The score after an hour of play was just 4-3 in the first set, and the writing was on the wall despite some frustration from Francisco’s end. He finished the match in straights, and next is a winnable but tricky contest against Taylor Fritz. Fritz saw himself matched up against the French version of himself.
Rinderknech is a tall lanky fellow with a huge serve, a middling backhand, and big forehand that seems to work amazing when he wins and lack pace when he loses. After winning the first set 6-2, the announcers were getting excited. Tennis announcers are 80% unbearable, and when they try to get involved in predictions, it gets worse as they try to educate us to some secret plot when they’re completely guessing. The announcer pointed out how Rinderknech was mixing in serve and volleys and how that was a sign of supreme confidence. Nevermind that Rinderknech serve-volleys every single match he’s ever played on tour, TODAY HE’S CONFIDENT! Unfortunately for him, Fritz found his serve in the second set, and he became somewhat unplayable. In a match between two servers, the guy with the stronger baseline game usually wins, and that was the case here. If they both served underhand, Fritz would never lose a set.
Cerundolo is definitely much better than Fritz on clay, but he’s played a ton of matches in a row. He was the more physically able player today against Hanfmann, but it was a battle between two guys who’ve played nonstop for the past two weeks. Fritz is relatively fresh, and his serving is good enough to win him sets if he can get to the business end. I don’t see a way that this ends quickly, and given Cerundolo’s slight fatigue I worry that Fritz may edge him in the end. Cerundolo in 4 or Fritz in 5.

Jarry vs Giron :

Ah yes, the classic Roland Garros question. Can anyone stop Giron? After not really doing anything of note this clay season, Giron has some alive here. He froze the talented qualifier Medjedovic, and gave no hope to Lehecka in a straight set beating that was pretty quick (the match last just 1:44). The end of the road has arrived, but given his stellar play it’s not entirely safe to count him out. Nico Jarry is different though. It’s been since the early days of Zverev that we’ve seen a guy with such a huge serve who also goes after his groundstrokes. Jarry lost the first against Tommy Paul, but his focus and effort was there and once he was able to secure breaks of serve, the set was simply over. I think Tommy is a bit hindered, but it’s not clear what the issue is. Hopefully he’s healthy for grass, but for now it was a solid win for Jarry, who let loose some charismatic roars after the win.
Giron’s serve/forehand combo are good enough to make him competitive here, but it’s a david goliath situation, and I think Jarry will just be able to hold onto his serve a bit longer than Giron. Jarry in 4.

Zhang vs Ruud :

A few seasons ago Zhang was starting to win titles on the challenger tour, and it was a bit of puzzle because his best success was coming on clay. Fast forward to now, and he’s in the third round of the French Open and has cemented himself in the top 100. A month ago he’d have a good shot to beat Casper Ruud also, but something is in the air this week. Hypothetically, if I were working on an animated musical called Casper Ruud : King of Clay, I’d have been worried up until last week. Casper always has some struggles on hardcourt, but he was getting washed left and right on clay. He finally showed signs of life in Geneva though, and in the past round he really looked sharp. The conditions are good for him, and his draw is filled with gradual raises in level so he has time and practice to get himself together.
Zhang is a dangerous opponent here, but Ruud should be able to defend well enough to win. The 3/5 format really lends Ruud the ability to play a solid and safe tactical game without risking the loss to a redlining offense. I think Zhang will outperform his pricing here, but Ruud should outlast him. Ruud in 4.

AlternativetimelinewhereSinnerlosesmaier vs Dimitrov :

Daniel Altmaier. Holy wow. Holy glob. Amazing. Absolutely legendary performance. I expected him to play well, but to win in the manner he did is just unheard of. Altmaier was doing everything he could in the first set, and when he finally got to the tiebreaker, he immediately gave up the advantage. He got zipped, and it was the kind of “well, you tried” result that usually folds people up. He had constant pressure on his serve in this match, and saved 15 of 21 break points he faced. After he lost the 3rd set 6-1, it looked like he was sunk. Somehow, he battled through the 4th and won in a tiebreak, and won in the fifth. This was a 5 and a half hour match, and both players levels stayed extremely high throughout. Sometimes Sinner can throw in some poor performances, but he played well in this and Altmaier was still able to win.
While Altmaier was battling for the entire day, Dimitrov won in fairly comfortable fashion. Ruusuvuori kept grinding away, but Dimitrov is just at a very high level in this event. The creative and ambitious shots that he occasionally goes for are landing, and the topspin he hits with just seemed more effective than Ruusvuori’s flat power in the long run. I’m unsure how Altmaier recovers for his match with Dimitrov, as his win against Sinner was not only extremely long, but emotionally draining. His best tennis can absolutely compete even against Dimitrov, but the difference in time on court may allow Dimitrov to win. Grigor’s stellar play may also lend itself to this outcome. I’m expecting a close contest in the early goings, but it’s hard to see another upset even if his last opponent (Sinner) is a bit better than his current one. Dimitrov in 4.

Zverev vs Tiafoe :

Wait. Why is Zverev playing like he used to play? It seems like the ankle injury gave Zverev a reset that has re-ignited his tennis acumen. Molcan is a tough test, and the type that Zverev’s passivity can really give control to. From 0-0 though Alexander was aggressive and accurate, and the difference in weight of shot was evident. Spectators know that Zverev is full of errors and quitmode, but the work it takes to keep the ball in play over and over is not automatic, and Molcan was worn down into defensive errors in this one. He didn’t notch many unreturned serves either, and Zverev is back at the level he showcased last year at this event. If you’re looking for a darkhorse winner, it’s probably Zverev.
Tiafoe had a much tougher opponent, and made quick work of Karatsev’s nostalgia. Aslan was slated to really be competitive here, but Tiafoe’s serve can pretty much make him a threat in any match, and his physical strength let him outlast the sharp play of Karatsev that saw him net the first set. Zverev has won almost all their previous meetings, but this is probably the peak of Tiafoe’s career (not this current event but he’s improved every season) so it should be competitive. I think Zverev’s height will give him the ability to put a few more returns in play, and his own serve is not quite as effective as Tiafoe’s but it’s good enough to keep him in the match. If Tiafoe can isolate Zverev’s forehand he does have a good shot here, but I expect Zverev to be slightly more durable, and his return to offensive tennis means that he’s not the same Next Gen disappointment that we’ve seen losing in the past few years. Zverev in 4-5.

Coric vs Etcheverry :

This is a great spot for Etcheverry. He made quick work of De Minaur, and this is the round where the flat hitters went down to the traditional clay-court players. Etcheverry hits the ball really hard, and there’s full commitment on every swing which generates a really pleasing sound off his racquet. Coric thus far has been outlasting his opponents, and while his physical strength is off the charts, Etcheverry is a step up from the guys he’s been facing and should be fresh for this. Add in that he also won their previous meeting in 2022, and there’s reason to believe that this will be very competitive. Coric fans can breathe easy though, because it’ll be much harder to hit through him than it was to down De Minaur. I think the record number of 5 setters is likely to continue in the third, and this is just another extremely close match. Leaning into the upset. Etcheverry in 4-5.

Nishioka vs Seyboth Wild :

Thiago is really getting rewarded for defeating Medvedev. Playing Guido Pella is always tough, but he’s well past his prime. They went to four sets, but Seyboth was almost always in control. He’ll have a much tougher test here in Nishioka, and it’s a spot where Thiago can win, but he’ll need to show the type of patience that he did against Medvedev. Yoshihito was able to shut down Purcell, who suffered from some cuts to his hands early in the match. Dropping the first and winning in 4 really feels like a dominant performance to me, because it generally means the other player had to redline to get the first set. Nishioka’s defense is good enough to frustrate Seyboth, but he’s not really playing his best tennis yet. I know Thiago is better, and I know this is his surface, but I’m not sure that he can get this done quickly, and in a long match I think I like Nishioka. Offense vs defense, and I have concerns that Nishioka’s experience and next-level speed are the right formula to get past Wild. Nishioka in 5.