Rust valley restorers the naked truth
Digital Reality - Part 24
2023.06.02 07:01 JCD_007 Digital Reality - Part 24
Link to Part 1
Link to Part 2
Link to Part 3
Link to Part 4
Link to Part 5
Link to Part 6
Link to Part 7
Link to Part 8
Link to Part 9
Link to Part 10
Link to Part 11
Link to Part 12
Link to Part 13
Link to Part 14
Link to Part 15
Link to Part 16
Link to Part 17
Link to Part 18
Link to Part 19
Link to Part 20
Link to Part 21
Link to Part 22
Link to Part 23
Note: This story is meant to be read after completing DDLC Plus. All credit for the original DDLC and DDLC Plus characters and world goes to their creator. Some concepts like the Universal Constructor are also borrowed from other series (most notably the original Deus Ex), though its use in this story is my own idea. My original characters in this story will deliberately not be named and their descriptions will be kept vague, so anyone reading this who wants to see themselves in one of the original characters can more easily do so. I'd welcome any feedback and will post more parts as I write them. I hope you enjoy the story. This chapter took a bit longer due to the challenges inherent in writing poetry and trying to write something that I thought sounded like the various characters. As with previous installations, here is a custom dialogue to go with it: The Poetry Festival
Credit for Sayuri's character design goes to user Hoeruko who made the design a number of years ago and originally posted Sayuri in this thread: The next doki fusion, Sayuri, is here.
Here is Part 24 of Digital Reality. The Literature Club finally gets to put on the festival. Will their words have an impact on any of the MES engineers? Will they get Monika back?
Part 24: Digital Poetry
The Literature Club members all stood together in the club room and waved a greeting to the group in the MES conference room.
“Hi everyone!” Sayori began, “On behalf of the Literature Club, thank you for joining us today. I’m Sayori, and this is Yuri, MC, Natsuki, and our newest member, Sayuri. Though our club president Monika isn’t here right now, we’ve all written poems to share with you today.”
“Don’t forget the cupcakes,” Natsuki added, “I don’t usually share it, but you should have my recipe for the best cupcakes ever in the packets you have. I made some for us to share here, but since we don’t have a way to send them to the real world, I figured sharing the recipe was the next best thing!”
The MES engineers flipped through the packets on the table in front of them.
“A cupcake recipe?” asked Rea Vorte with surprise, “You can’t just make cupcakes appear in the simulation?”
“No,” Natsuki replied, “Knowing what we now know about our world I know why you would think that, but I’ve always made my cupcakes with a recipe and ingredients.”
“Interesting,” Ro Teether said, “I would not have expected the simulation to go into that level of detail.”
“I think the original script contained an event in which the characters can bake cupcakes, so that may be where it comes from,” replied Ive Laster.
Paula Miner sat silently, looking intently at the recipe page. After a few moments she looked up.
“I’m by no means an expert baker, but reading through this recipe it does look like it would work,” Miner said, glancing from Laster to Natsuki, “Your secret ingredient is rather interesting, too.”
Natsuki smiled, “That’s how I’ve always made them.”
“By the way, since we’re on a two-way connection, can they see us?” Miner asked.
“Sort of,” the FXI President replied, “They’ve told me when I’ve been connected to the system that I appear as a fuzzy silhouette to them.”
“Yeah, we can’t see you exactly, but we know you’re there,” Sayori confirmed.
Miner nodded slowly. “Very well. We’ll need to chat about this cupcake recipe more later. Please continue.”
“Okay!” Sayori said, “We’ve each written a poem that we’re going to share with you today. There’s no particular theme that connects them all, but with everything that we’ve learned in the past week we thought that writing was a good outlet for our thoughts and emotions.”
“MC has agreed to start today’s event by sharing his haiku, entitled ‘Poem About Poetry’,” Sayori continued.
MC stepped to the front of the group. He looked down at his piece of paper and then back up at the group as he began to speak.
“I’m far from as good of a writer as some of the other members you’ll hear from today, but that just means that the quality can go up from here,” MC said in a self-deferential tone, “This is a poem I wrote about the creative process of writing poetry.”
He winked at Sayori as he began to read.
“What is poetry?
Far more meaningful than just
Simply random words”
Natsuki grinned. “Wow, you didn’t take my advice about not just throwing random words on a page, you literally wrote a poem about it!”
“Haiku is an interesting choice,” Teether said, “It shows an understanding of syllables and structure, and I find it very ‘meta’ that you would choose to create a poem about poetry.”
MC nodded, “My past poetry has been accused of being nothing more than twenty random words on a page, so I’m poking fun at myself a bit.”
“Well done, MC,” Sayori said, “That was a fun poem! Next up will be Yuri, with her poem called ‘The City.’”
Yuri stepped to the front of the group. She glanced to the side, looking slightly nervous. After a few moments, she seemed to gather her thoughts and looked toward the group. “My poem is not as straightforward as MC’s haiku, so I would prefer not to share the meaning until after you have had the opportunity to consider it for yourselves.”
She started to read, her voice becoming stronger and more confident with each word.
“A city stood in the distance.
Shining lights, soaring towers.
A beautiful and magnificent place.
A place of honor and achievement
When viewed from afar with detachment.
Though upon arrival
The city unveils its truth.
There is no honor here.
Glowing lights
Are cold and artificial.
I thought I knew this place
But it treats me as a stranger.”
Yuri looked around the club room after she had finished speaking. An enigmatic smile of satisfaction crossed her face.
Sayori spoke up first. “Yuri, it seems like your poem could be about changes in perspective over time. Like going back to visit a neighborhood you’ve moved away from. You know things aren’t as they once were, but you still kind of feel lonely when you find that things have changed.”
Yuri nodded. “That’s part of it. We’ve all experienced a significant change recently as we’ve understood our world, and I struggled to find a way to describe what I was feeling. Places that had been familiar to me suddenly appeared different with the knowledge that this is a simulation.”
“So the AIs can not only write poetry but use metaphors and explain their meaning,” Teether observed, “Fascinating. Ive, you never told me that the entities in VM1 were capable of creativity like this.”
Laster shrugged, “Other than Monika, they were tied to the script until recently. Based on Monika’s behavior, we knew that at least she was capable of taking initiative and making changes to the world, but she was the only entity able to do that. The script included poetry, but we’ve never tasked the entities with creating original content.”
“This isn’t because of anything that the FXI team did, right?” Teether asked, “I know you mentioned that they were responsible for all of the entities gaining elevated access permissions. They didn’t extend the script or anything?”
“Yes and no,” the FXI CTO replied, “We restored files to the VM and added the ‘monitor kernel access’ permission to all of the characters, but we didn’t do any scripting. This is all them.”
Miner glanced between the FXI President and the FXI CTO with suspicion but said nothing.
Sayori took the pause as an opportunity to continue. “Thanks, Yuri. Natsuki will be next with her poem, ‘My Friends.’”
“Okay, time for my poem!” Natsuki said, “Mine is a bit more upbeat than Yuri’s.”
“Some come from near
Some from afar
Each shines bright like a star
They’re my friends
That’s who they are
Old or new
Many or few
Friends are important
To me and you”
Natsuki smiled at the group, “You all inspired this poem. And by you all I mean both you all here in the club and our new FXI friends. You’ve made the literature club a place that I’ve enjoyed and a place of friendship.”
“I liked your poem, Natsuki,” Sayori said, “I’m glad you feel that way about your friends.”
A look somewhere between exhaustion and frustration came across Paula Miner’s face. “This is all well and good, but are we gathering any useful data from listening to an AI read a cute little poem like this?”
Natsuki glared at Miner and opened her mouth to offer what was certain to be a sarcastic retort, but Sayori pre-empted her.
“Are you not enjoying our poetry?” Sayori asked, sounding disappointed.
“The poetry is fine. I’ll even say it’s impressive for AI-generated content,” Miner replied, “But though your poems are interesting, we’re here to do a job, not study literature. And we need to gather useful data to justify our own jobs and this project’s existence. So tell me, Ive, are we getting useful data from this?”
Laster tapped a few keys on his laptop. “We’re recording this session and logging all data. It looks like there may be some interesting patterns of activity, but we won’t be able to say for sure until we analyze what we’ve got.”
“I’d imagine that you’re likely getting a lot of useful data,” the FXI President chimed in, “You’re not only gathering the data logs from VM1, but you can pair them with the recordings to understand what happens in the system when the AIs are allowed to interact and create on their own. I don’t know what your project goals are, of course, but in terms of AI research I’d think that there’s something you can get out of this.”
“There also may be something useful for our efforts to stabilize our connection to VM2,” Teether added, “If we can understand how entities operate when freed from a script in VM1, it may give us some clues as to how we might be able to interact with VM2.”
Miner considered for a moment and then nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. Ive, let’s just make sure we’re logging everything for future analysis.”
As the conversation once again died down, Sayori continued. “I’ll go next. My poem is called ‘A New Day’ and it’s about my journey with some personal challenges.”
She took a deep breath and began to recite her poem.
“Storms tried to block out the sun
The world was dark and gray.
It’s so hard to have any fun
When the clouds won’t go away.
But you never stopped trying
To shine through the darkness
Even when I was crying
You showed me kindness
It’s a new day now
Though the clouds aren’t gone
The sun shines somehow
I find the strength to carry on”
Sayori blinked away misty eyes as she finished reading. The other club members surrounded her in a group hug as she stepped back from the front of the room.
“That was a wonderful poem, Sayori,” MC said, “You share your feelings so well.”
“I liked that poem quite a bit,” Laster chimed in, “It’s got a great message of perseverance and hope even in challenging times.”
Sayori nodded. “I’ve been through a lot, but things are getting better now. My friends have been a huge source of support through all of this.”
“I really like your writing, Sayori,” Sayuri added, “Your poem is easy to read but the more you think about it, the more you feel the emotions you’re trying to convey.”
“Thanks, everyone. I appreciate your kind words,” Sayori replied, “And now for the finale of our festival I’d like to introduce our newest member, Sayuri, and her poem ‘What Remains.’”
Sayuri stepped to the front of the group. “I’ve been reading through classic poetry recently. Poems like Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’ inspired me to write this one about what will stand the test of time in a time when so much is digital.”
Sayuri paused, looking around the room, before closing her eyes and reciting her poem from memory.
“Ancient monuments that still stand
Classic portraits and landscapes grand
Such works are the legacies of the past
Physical objects that will last
But what will tell of this new age?
When are stories are gigabytes, not a printed page
A digital reality, its purpose completed
Leaves little trace if it’s deleted
If all that remains is a dusty drive
Will the future know we were alive?”
Sayuri opened her eyes as she finished. Both the club room and the MES conference room were silent as both groups took in her words.
“Wow, Sayuri,” Yuri said, breaking the silence, “That was incredible. I really loved the images you created with your words.”
The FXI President glanced around the conference room. Paula Miner’s expression had softened, and she appeared to be lost in thought. Ro Teether continued to look excited and intrigued by his observations of the Literature Club. The FXI CTO wore a satisfied smile. Ive Laster looked relaxed and relieved. And Rea Vorte was looking down at the conference table and shaking her head. Her expression was difficult to read.
Miner looked up at the screen showing the Literature Club. “I never thought an AI would generate content that would make me feel anything. But I have to say this has given me some things to think about. Ive, can you please confirm that we’ve logged all the data from this session?”
Laster nodded. “Yes, we’ve got everything. If this is the last big data gathering session we have before decommissioning VM1, I’d say it’s a pretty good one to go out on.”
“If this is truly AI-generated content, this seems like a new level of sophistication,” Teether mused, “It’s one thing to be able to generate text, but to be able to convey this kind of emotion and explain the meaning of metaphors is not a capability I’ve ever seen in AI.”
“It’s a little scary,” Rea Vorte added, “I don’t know that I like the idea of AI this sophisticated. Especially after what we saw Monika-”
“Let’s refrain from speculation,” Miner said, cutting Vorte off, “We can talk more about system capabilities later.”
“You think we’re scary?” Sayori said, looking sad, “We just wanted to share our writing with you. We just wanted to show that we’re not that different from you. We have feelings, emotions, and desires just like you do.”
“You’ve got my vote, for whatever it’s worth,” the FXI CTO said with a smile, “I’m not big into poetry, and I certainly had my concerns about sophisticated AI when I first encountered all of you. But the more I’ve interacted with and observed you the more I see how similar you are to us.”
Miner glanced sideways at the FXI CTO but said nothing.
“Can we please have Monika back now?” Natsuki asked.
Laster turned to Vorte, “Rea, please move Monika’s file back to VM1 by COB today. Let’s discuss how we can best move the entire simulation after we’re done here.”
“Thanks, Ive!” Natsuki said with a smile, “Sayori did a great job leading the club in Monika’s absence, but it will be good to have her back.”
Vorte looked up at Laster. Frustration was evident on her face. “Like I said before, let’s discuss that offline after we’re done here.”
Laster shrugged. “Fine. I’m not blaming you if there’s a problem by the way. If there’s an issue, we’ll work on it together.”
“Great job, everyone,” the FXI President said to the Literature Club, “We’re going to log off from VM1 now, but I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.”
The Literature Club members waved to the group in the MES conference room as the club room faded from the projection screen to be replaced with Laster’s desktop.
“I think we have a lot to discuss, and it’s going to take some time to unpack the implications of everything that we just saw,” Miner said, “I was skeptical of the value of this presentation at the start of this meeting, but I’m hopeful that we have gathered new and useful data from this session. Let’s all take a break for a bit and reconvene at six, which gives us an hour break. I want to discuss this further. Ro, can you please order in some dinner for the group? I think we’re going to have a long night.”
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Link to Part 2
Link to Part 3
Link to Part 4
Link to Part 5
Link to Part 6
Link to Part 7
Link to Part 8
Link to Part 9
Link to Part 10
Link to Part 11
Link to Part 12
Link to Part 13
Link to Part 14
Link to Part 15
Link to Part 16
Link to Part 17
Link to Part 18
Link to Part 19
Link to Part 20
Link to Part 21
Link to Part 22
Link to Part 23
Note: This story is meant to be read after completing DDLC Plus. All credit for the original DDLC and DDLC Plus characters and world goes to their creator. Some concepts like the Universal Constructor are also borrowed from other series (most notably the original Deus Ex), though its use in this story is my own idea. My original characters in this story will deliberately not be named and their descriptions will be kept vague, so anyone reading this who wants to see themselves in one of the original characters can more easily do so. I'd welcome any feedback and will post more parts as I write them. I hope you enjoy the story. This chapter took a bit longer due to the challenges inherent in writing poetry and trying to write something that I thought sounded like the various characters. As with previous installations, here is a custom dialogue to go with it: The Poetry Festival
Credit for Sayuri's character design goes to user Hoeruko who made the design a number of years ago and originally posted Sayuri in this thread: The next doki fusion, Sayuri, is here.
Here is Part 24 of Digital Reality. The Literature Club finally gets to put on the festival. Will their words have an impact on any of the MES engineers? Will they get Monika back?
Part 24: Digital Poetry
The Literature Club members all stood together in the club room and waved a greeting to the group in the MES conference room.
“Hi everyone!” Sayori began, “On behalf of the Literature Club, thank you for joining us today. I’m Sayori, and this is Yuri, MC, Natsuki, and our newest member, Sayuri. Though our club president Monika isn’t here right now, we’ve all written poems to share with you today.”
“Don’t forget the cupcakes,” Natsuki added, “I don’t usually share it, but you should have my recipe for the best cupcakes ever in the packets you have. I made some for us to share here, but since we don’t have a way to send them to the real world, I figured sharing the recipe was the next best thing!”
The MES engineers flipped through the packets on the table in front of them.
“A cupcake recipe?” asked Rea Vorte with surprise, “You can’t just make cupcakes appear in the simulation?”
“No,” Natsuki replied, “Knowing what we now know about our world I know why you would think that, but I’ve always made my cupcakes with a recipe and ingredients.”
“Interesting,” Ro Teether said, “I would not have expected the simulation to go into that level of detail.”
“I think the original script contained an event in which the characters can bake cupcakes, so that may be where it comes from,” replied Ive Laster.
Paula Miner sat silently, looking intently at the recipe page. After a few moments she looked up.
“I’m by no means an expert baker, but reading through this recipe it does look like it would work,” Miner said, glancing from Laster to Natsuki, “Your secret ingredient is rather interesting, too.”
Natsuki smiled, “That’s how I’ve always made them.”
“By the way, since we’re on a two-way connection, can they see us?” Miner asked.
“Sort of,” the FXI President replied, “They’ve told me when I’ve been connected to the system that I appear as a fuzzy silhouette to them.”
“Yeah, we can’t see you exactly, but we know you’re there,” Sayori confirmed.
Miner nodded slowly. “Very well. We’ll need to chat about this cupcake recipe more later. Please continue.”
“Okay!” Sayori said, “We’ve each written a poem that we’re going to share with you today. There’s no particular theme that connects them all, but with everything that we’ve learned in the past week we thought that writing was a good outlet for our thoughts and emotions.”
“MC has agreed to start today’s event by sharing his haiku, entitled ‘Poem About Poetry’,” Sayori continued.
MC stepped to the front of the group. He looked down at his piece of paper and then back up at the group as he began to speak.
“I’m far from as good of a writer as some of the other members you’ll hear from today, but that just means that the quality can go up from here,” MC said in a self-deferential tone, “This is a poem I wrote about the creative process of writing poetry.”
He winked at Sayori as he began to read.
“What is poetry?
Far more meaningful than just
Simply random words”
Natsuki grinned. “Wow, you didn’t take my advice about not just throwing random words on a page, you literally wrote a poem about it!”
“Haiku is an interesting choice,” Teether said, “It shows an understanding of syllables and structure, and I find it very ‘meta’ that you would choose to create a poem about poetry.”
MC nodded, “My past poetry has been accused of being nothing more than twenty random words on a page, so I’m poking fun at myself a bit.”
“Well done, MC,” Sayori said, “That was a fun poem! Next up will be Yuri, with her poem called ‘The City.’”
Yuri stepped to the front of the group. She glanced to the side, looking slightly nervous. After a few moments, she seemed to gather her thoughts and looked toward the group. “My poem is not as straightforward as MC’s haiku, so I would prefer not to share the meaning until after you have had the opportunity to consider it for yourselves.”
She started to read, her voice becoming stronger and more confident with each word.
“A city stood in the distance.
Shining lights, soaring towers.
A beautiful and magnificent place.
A place of honor and achievement
When viewed from afar with detachment.
Though upon arrival
The city unveils its truth.
There is no honor here.
Glowing lights
Are cold and artificial.
I thought I knew this place
But it treats me as a stranger.”
Yuri looked around the club room after she had finished speaking. An enigmatic smile of satisfaction crossed her face.
Sayori spoke up first. “Yuri, it seems like your poem could be about changes in perspective over time. Like going back to visit a neighborhood you’ve moved away from. You know things aren’t as they once were, but you still kind of feel lonely when you find that things have changed.”
Yuri nodded. “That’s part of it. We’ve all experienced a significant change recently as we’ve understood our world, and I struggled to find a way to describe what I was feeling. Places that had been familiar to me suddenly appeared different with the knowledge that this is a simulation.”
“So the AIs can not only write poetry but use metaphors and explain their meaning,” Teether observed, “Fascinating. Ive, you never told me that the entities in VM1 were capable of creativity like this.”
Laster shrugged, “Other than Monika, they were tied to the script until recently. Based on Monika’s behavior, we knew that at least she was capable of taking initiative and making changes to the world, but she was the only entity able to do that. The script included poetry, but we’ve never tasked the entities with creating original content.”
“This isn’t because of anything that the FXI team did, right?” Teether asked, “I know you mentioned that they were responsible for all of the entities gaining elevated access permissions. They didn’t extend the script or anything?”
“Yes and no,” the FXI CTO replied, “We restored files to the VM and added the ‘monitor kernel access’ permission to all of the characters, but we didn’t do any scripting. This is all them.”
Miner glanced between the FXI President and the FXI CTO with suspicion but said nothing.
Sayori took the pause as an opportunity to continue. “Thanks, Yuri. Natsuki will be next with her poem, ‘My Friends.’”
“Okay, time for my poem!” Natsuki said, “Mine is a bit more upbeat than Yuri’s.”
“Some come from near
Some from afar
Each shines bright like a star
They’re my friends
That’s who they are
Old or new
Many or few
Friends are important
To me and you”
Natsuki smiled at the group, “You all inspired this poem. And by you all I mean both you all here in the club and our new FXI friends. You’ve made the literature club a place that I’ve enjoyed and a place of friendship.”
“I liked your poem, Natsuki,” Sayori said, “I’m glad you feel that way about your friends.”
A look somewhere between exhaustion and frustration came across Paula Miner’s face. “This is all well and good, but are we gathering any useful data from listening to an AI read a cute little poem like this?”
Natsuki glared at Miner and opened her mouth to offer what was certain to be a sarcastic retort, but Sayori pre-empted her.
“Are you not enjoying our poetry?” Sayori asked, sounding disappointed.
“The poetry is fine. I’ll even say it’s impressive for AI-generated content,” Miner replied, “But though your poems are interesting, we’re here to do a job, not study literature. And we need to gather useful data to justify our own jobs and this project’s existence. So tell me, Ive, are we getting useful data from this?”
Laster tapped a few keys on his laptop. “We’re recording this session and logging all data. It looks like there may be some interesting patterns of activity, but we won’t be able to say for sure until we analyze what we’ve got.”
“I’d imagine that you’re likely getting a lot of useful data,” the FXI President chimed in, “You’re not only gathering the data logs from VM1, but you can pair them with the recordings to understand what happens in the system when the AIs are allowed to interact and create on their own. I don’t know what your project goals are, of course, but in terms of AI research I’d think that there’s something you can get out of this.”
“There also may be something useful for our efforts to stabilize our connection to VM2,” Teether added, “If we can understand how entities operate when freed from a script in VM1, it may give us some clues as to how we might be able to interact with VM2.”
Miner considered for a moment and then nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. Ive, let’s just make sure we’re logging everything for future analysis.”
As the conversation once again died down, Sayori continued. “I’ll go next. My poem is called ‘A New Day’ and it’s about my journey with some personal challenges.”
She took a deep breath and began to recite her poem.
“Storms tried to block out the sun
The world was dark and gray.
It’s so hard to have any fun
When the clouds won’t go away.
But you never stopped trying
To shine through the darkness
Even when I was crying
You showed me kindness
It’s a new day now
Though the clouds aren’t gone
The sun shines somehow
I find the strength to carry on”
Sayori blinked away misty eyes as she finished reading. The other club members surrounded her in a group hug as she stepped back from the front of the room.
“That was a wonderful poem, Sayori,” MC said, “You share your feelings so well.”
“I liked that poem quite a bit,” Laster chimed in, “It’s got a great message of perseverance and hope even in challenging times.”
Sayori nodded. “I’ve been through a lot, but things are getting better now. My friends have been a huge source of support through all of this.”
“I really like your writing, Sayori,” Sayuri added, “Your poem is easy to read but the more you think about it, the more you feel the emotions you’re trying to convey.”
“Thanks, everyone. I appreciate your kind words,” Sayori replied, “And now for the finale of our festival I’d like to introduce our newest member, Sayuri, and her poem ‘What Remains.’”
Sayuri stepped to the front of the group. “I’ve been reading through classic poetry recently. Poems like Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’ inspired me to write this one about what will stand the test of time in a time when so much is digital.”
Sayuri paused, looking around the room, before closing her eyes and reciting her poem from memory.
“Ancient monuments that still stand
Classic portraits and landscapes grand
Such works are the legacies of the past
Physical objects that will last
But what will tell of this new age?
When are stories are gigabytes, not a printed page
A digital reality, its purpose completed
Leaves little trace if it’s deleted
If all that remains is a dusty drive
Will the future know we were alive?”
Sayuri opened her eyes as she finished. Both the club room and the MES conference room were silent as both groups took in her words.
“Wow, Sayuri,” Yuri said, breaking the silence, “That was incredible. I really loved the images you created with your words.”
The FXI President glanced around the conference room. Paula Miner’s expression had softened, and she appeared to be lost in thought. Ro Teether continued to look excited and intrigued by his observations of the Literature Club. The FXI CTO wore a satisfied smile. Ive Laster looked relaxed and relieved. And Rea Vorte was looking down at the conference table and shaking her head. Her expression was difficult to read.
Miner looked up at the screen showing the Literature Club. “I never thought an AI would generate content that would make me feel anything. But I have to say this has given me some things to think about. Ive, can you please confirm that we’ve logged all the data from this session?”
Laster nodded. “Yes, we’ve got everything. If this is the last big data gathering session we have before decommissioning VM1, I’d say it’s a pretty good one to go out on.”
“If this is truly AI-generated content, this seems like a new level of sophistication,” Teether mused, “It’s one thing to be able to generate text, but to be able to convey this kind of emotion and explain the meaning of metaphors is not a capability I’ve ever seen in AI.”
“It’s a little scary,” Rea Vorte added, “I don’t know that I like the idea of AI this sophisticated. Especially after what we saw Monika-”
“Let’s refrain from speculation,” Miner said, cutting Vorte off, “We can talk more about system capabilities later.”
“You think we’re scary?” Sayori said, looking sad, “We just wanted to share our writing with you. We just wanted to show that we’re not that different from you. We have feelings, emotions, and desires just like you do.”
“You’ve got my vote, for whatever it’s worth,” the FXI CTO said with a smile, “I’m not big into poetry, and I certainly had my concerns about sophisticated AI when I first encountered all of you. But the more I’ve interacted with and observed you the more I see how similar you are to us.”
Miner glanced sideways at the FXI CTO but said nothing.
“Can we please have Monika back now?” Natsuki asked.
Laster turned to Vorte, “Rea, please move Monika’s file back to VM1 by COB today. Let’s discuss how we can best move the entire simulation after we’re done here.”
“Thanks, Ive!” Natsuki said with a smile, “Sayori did a great job leading the club in Monika’s absence, but it will be good to have her back.”
Vorte looked up at Laster. Frustration was evident on her face. “Like I said before, let’s discuss that offline after we’re done here.”
Laster shrugged. “Fine. I’m not blaming you if there’s a problem by the way. If there’s an issue, we’ll work on it together.”
“Great job, everyone,” the FXI President said to the Literature Club, “We’re going to log off from VM1 now, but I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.”
The Literature Club members waved to the group in the MES conference room as the club room faded from the projection screen to be replaced with Laster’s desktop.
“I think we have a lot to discuss, and it’s going to take some time to unpack the implications of everything that we just saw,” Miner said, “I was skeptical of the value of this presentation at the start of this meeting, but I’m hopeful that we have gathered new and useful data from this session. Let’s all take a break for a bit and reconvene at six, which gives us an hour break. I want to discuss this further. Ro, can you please order in some dinner for the group? I think we’re going to have a long night.”
2023.06.02 06:14 zartes Convergence Manifesto - I've run most of it. I have notes
at the start of the year, I decided I wanted to run a campaign for some friends, and to save myself some effort, I thought I would run a pre-written game. I looked up Eberron adventures, and the convergence manifesto looked like it would suit the quick, very-slightly-casual-ish campaign I wished to run. While I haven't finished the campaign yet, I want to write out some thoughts about it.
WHAT FOLLOWS WILL SPOIL THE CONVERGENCE MANIFESTO CAMPAIGN. DON'T READ IF YOU INTEND TO PLAY IT.
ALSO, PARTS OF THIS MIGHT NOT MAKE SENSE IF YOU HAVEN'T READ OR RUN THE ADVENTURES BECAUSE I'M BAD AT EXPLAINING THINGS.
To start with, I'd like to say that some of my criticisms of the campaign are probably problems with me. I have focus issues, and I'm a picky perfectionist, and to be fair to all the writers involved, they have done better jobs than I would in their shoes.
A note on my group: our party consisted of a human wild magic sorcerer (ex-skycoach driver), human wizard (aundairian expatriot), a gargoyle barbarian (used the rules for a Hadozee), an eladrin eloquence bard, and a goblin rogue (retired Conquerer champion looking for something new to do)
The Campaign As a Whole:
The premise of the Convergence manifesto is that Nigel Faurious, Provost of Morgrave university, wants a bunch of relics that are each attuned to one of Eberron's planes. Each adventure is a mission to some location on Khorvaire to retrieve or create such an item.
Each of the adventures is written by a different author, and as a result I think they vary pretty wildly in quality.
Adventure 1: Fired and Forgotten.
Synopsis: PCs go through hazing ritual to join adventuring guild in Sharn, get sent to pick up bespoke Fernia-linked magic item from a forge in the Cogs, discover forge has been shuttered due to warforged workers protesting - they have to convince the owner to be less of an ass. Then Daask show up.
This one was good! A strong start. Everybody enjoyed the hazing ritual, and I decided to use the optional NPC with the aberrant dragonmark manifesting (for reasons I'll explain further down). The warforged union situation was a very good introduction to what is special and different about the Eberron setting. This might be an issue with me as GM, but I found that the PCs dealt with the non-combat parts of the adventure VERY easily through use of skills and illusions, never thought about leaving the immediate vicinity of the forge (and thus missed some content), and I felt kind of bad having the forge owner not immediately cooperate in the face of 20+ results on Persuasion and Intimidate.
The daask Ettin bruiser being toned down for a bunch of level 1s was a very nice touch, but throwing that at the players right after the fight with the mephits made that bit rough.
Adventure 2: Live Another Day
Synopsis: PCs get air-dropped into Droaam so they can find a hidden valley with an Irian manifest zone, so they can charge up a crystal. On the way they may encounter some ogres, have to navigate a hidden set of tunnels, and then on arriving discover a clan of harpies is living in the valley, as they are persona-non-grata in Droaam. When Droaam monsters follow the PCs into the valley, they have to fight them off before the harpies will let them complete their mission
So, slight issue with this one, probably unique to my party - the adventure calls for a lot of Survival rolls for the overland travel and nobody in my party had survival. They were a bunch of city-slickers. Seemed a little odd the adventuring guild picking the party to do this.
While the adventure was somewhat rail-roady, it at least makes sense in that the PCs are following in the footsteps of a prior explorer. My main issue was the last portion - once the PCs get to the valley, there will ALWAYS be Droaamite monsters on their heels. Firstly, this discounts the possibility that the party had been religiously using Pass Without Trace or doing other things to make them untrackable. My party didn't, but a party with a ranger and/or druid might have. Secondly, the fight as written is a bit boring. It's two Gnolls. Two gnolls shouldn't be a threat to a clan of harpies. Once the gnolls are dead, three goblins show up. After that, two half-ogres show up. You can optionally add some more scenes fighting gnolls and chasing anything trying to get away. I revamped the fight a bit by making all of these fight scenes one long drawn-out battle with reinforcements arriving, and I re-contextualized the Harpies wanting the PCs to fight the monsters without their help - the Harpies could probably run rings around the ground-based humanoids, but the Harpies both thought this was the PCs fault they were here, and didn't want to show themselves in case any stragglers got away to report on the Harpies' presence.
Weird thing my party did: when they encountered the ogres at the start of the adventure, the group came up with a plan to pretend to be fellow Droaamite monsters if they failed to sneak past - they then snuck past the ogres without any issue, and were disappointed that they couldn't use their disguises... so they used them when the encountered the harpies, not knowing the harpies were enemies of Droaam. This very nearly turned into a combat situation, but the bard managed to talk everybody down and explain why they had been lying.
Adventure 3: Rime or Reason
Synopsis: Nigel sends PCs to Icewhite island to get a Risia macguffin after another expedition failed to return. They have to contend with a blizzard, find a tower of ice in the middle, and defeat ice monsters, a puzzle/trap, the possibly backstabby survivors of the failed expedition, and then deal with the tower collapsing once they find the item.
Some parts of this one were good - my party really seemed to enjoy trying to find a solution to get through the blizzard despite their lack of survival skill proficiency. Two of the casters were constantly casting prestidigitation to keep the Constitution 8 rogue from succumbing to hypothermia, and even then it was a bit touch and go.
Now, I had some issues with the ice tower as presented. First, the adventure says it's an ancient dwarven ruin, dating back to when the dwarves came down from the Frostfell. Personally, that didn't make great sense to me - why would you willingly make a building in a risian manifest zone? The whole of Icewhite island is freezing cold, and the manifest zone is worse.
Second problem - there is door, with a puzzle. The puzzle is so easy that I worked out the answer the instant I looked at the handout at the back of the adventure, before even reading the description - there are four columns of symbols (a book, scroll, wand, potion - again, not terribly dwarf-y?), and each symbol rotates a certain number of octagonal faces from one row to the next, and you just have to make the last row match the pattern. If you mess it up, it will spring a trap that will potentially either tickle the PCs a little, or cause a TPK if they're messed up from any prior fights because anybody reduced to 0 HP by the trap is frozen solid until freed by greater restoration, which no PC at this level of adventure will have.
Third problem - the tower is only four storeys tall. As described, it more cube-shaped than tower shaped. Also, as described, a PC with misty step standing on the shoulders of another PC of above average height could potentially teleport to the top of the tower and avoid 50% of the adventure content.
Fourth problem - the top of the tower is described as a garden made of icy plants... which doesn't make sense with Risia's canonical loathing of life.
my fixes: I changed the backstory of the tower, rather than being a dwarven relic, it was an Aundairian Magical Congress research facility, set up during the war to try to draw weaponizable power out of the Risian manifest zone - a wizard tower felt more right than a dwarven one. I then changed the solution to the puzzle - the symbols still had to be rotated, but what columns they were in had to be swapped, to represent the Congress sharing magical knowledge. I had the other expedition that was there explain they had tried the obvious solution and it hadn't worked. I also made the tower taller, mostly as an aesthetic thing, and so that the stand-on-shoulders-and-teleport trick only got the party Eladrin up to a balcony, rather than the roof. I kept the set-piece of the tower collapsing, saying that the magic the Aundairians had been trying had kept the manifest zone coterminous and removing the macguffin broke the spell holding the ice tower together.
Adventure 4: Living Legend
Synopsis: the party goes to Darguun, hunting a legendary hobgoblin hero. They get to see the fact that bugbears take slaves, follow a guide to a Thelanis manifest zone, and undertake several trials to prove they are worthy of claiming the hero's weapon to bring back.
So... the premise is cool. The execution is anything but
Even setting aside the fact that some parties might get entirely side-tracked by fighting slavers, the issue I had was that the trials in the adventure didn't seem to really key into the fact that Eberron goblinoids are supposed to have some different and interesting cultural mores.
The trials aren't bad, per se, but they don't feel goblin-y at all.
Worst of all, though, there is a Hobgoblin you encounter during the trials who is one of the Dhakaani fallout-vault people who is set on passing the trials to claim the weapon herself. As written, she is quite easy to befriend, will readily tell the PCs that she is from a hidden vault of survivors of the goblinoid empire, and if they DO befriend her, doesn't leave the room she's in despite the fact she's here for the same cultural relic the PCs are. WHICH FEELS INSANE. Every bit of canon and kanon lore I've encountered about the Dhakaani suggest that they distrust non-Dhankaani at best, and outright loath them at worst, and are trying to keep their presence secret. She should be either fighting to the death or keeping her origin secret then betraying the PCs, or not here at all.
Between the un-goblin-ish trials, and the insanely cooperative yet unhelpful NPC, this one needed the most fixing to satisfy my tastes. As I didn't have the time and brain juice to do that before the session, I decided to skip this adventure, and have the PCs collect a Thelanis macguffin as part of the later adventurer where they go to a Feyspire (adventure 12: Lost in Dreams).
Adventure 5: Perfect Timing
Synopsis: PCs get on a lighting rail intending to jump off it as it goes over a bridge, so they can appear in Daanvi to acquire the macguffin. twist: there's emerald claw terrorists on the train, and one of them has stolen the thing the PCs need to get into Daanvi, intending to go himself. Once in Daanvi, it's a race against the Emerald Claw guy to fill out all the paperwork to get the macguffin first
So, over-all, this one is really good. The premise is good. Situation is hilarious. It's very Eberron
Minor issues: the train has SO MANY COMBAT ENCOUNTERS. the PCs start at one end, and have to fight their way to the other, with one fight in every single train car, one of which is purely due to a misunderstanding. It took two sessions to get through the train half of the adventure, and that is with me having skipped two of the fights. In hindsight, I would have maybe also varied the stats of the enemies a bit more.
Also, while I comprehend the drama of having the thief jump out of train with his accomplices during a fight, this presumes the PCs don't kill every single one of his accomplices. I had to pull some shady DM shenanigans to get the guy out of the train in one piece, and give him new allies to help in the final battle at the end of the paperwork race.
My players enjoyed this one a heap, but one did comment that he thought it should have come later in the campaign, as it was such a departure from the others.
Adventure 6: Night's Gambit
Synopsis: PCs have to infiltrate Fort Bones in Karrnath and steal a mabaran macguffin from under the nose of the military there.
Another really good one, although not without it's issues. The adventure presents interesting characters in the form of the fort's up-tight commander and relatively chill head necromancer, a timeline of what they will be up to at various times of day, and has options of all kinds of approaches: sneaking in, joining up with what is basically the Karrnathi Foreign Legion, or acting as bodyguards for a visiting inspector. I loved that it gave all these options.
my only complaints were that the timeline was a little hard to make sense of as presented, and the map of the fort seemed... a bit too small and simple for the facility as it's described. I feel like you'd expect one of Karrnath's most important border forts to be at least a two-storey building (I fixed that by describing the fort's upper levels as being still under construction after the last time it was sacked).
How my party handled it: so, my group aren't terribly sneaky on the whole. They also do not look like adventurers - to glance at, they are a Gargoyle, the hottest and floweryest elf you've ever seen, a depressed cab driver, the least magical aundairan wizard ever, and a goblin grandmother. So they couldn't really sneak in, wouldn't blend in as recruits, and I felt wouldn't really be the kind of people the inspector would hire as bodyguards....
...so they decided to BE the inspector. Eladrin lady was the inspector herself, gargoyle got dressed up as weird undead bodyguard, aundairian wizard was silent note-keeper, grandmother was a servant, and cabbie became the coach-driver. The group arrived a day early ("surprise inspection"), and were given a tour of the fortress. They executed everything perfectly. In the end, the only fight they had was an ambush on the necromancer in his own bedroom at 3am, wherein they beat him senseless, put him to sleep with a spell, and healed him back to full HP, so when he woke up in the morning he had no physical proof that anything had happened and was questioning his own sanity. They even fashioned a replica of the macguffin (it's a conqueror piece - the goblin rogue had her own set, which the wizard imbued with some necromantic energy), so the alarm wasn't raised for several hours after the PCs had left the fort.
Adventure 7: The Silvered Edge of Twilight
Synopsis: PCs go to Thaliost to pick up a Lammanian macguffin from a silver flame priest - when they get there, it's been stolen. They do some investigating, track the theives to the railway station, and chase them down to the Eldeen reaches where they fight Ashbound druids and lycanthropes.
Kind of middling adventure - nice premise, but very railroady. For starters, there's an NPC (who I edited out) who gets sent with the PCs for all of the investigation portion who basically seems to exist to keep them on track and/or provide lore about Thaliost and also to force them into a fight they might otherwise be able to avoid. Even outside of that, the investigation seemed a bit being-led-by-the-nose, although maybe that came down to how I was running it.
The issue, for my run at least, was once they were on the train. As written, the PCs need to track down the missing item on the train - it's written with there being a few red herrings as to who might be the thief, but it's a magic item. I have never seen a group of PCs who didn't have access to detect magic, so my PCs just bypassed all the red herrings with a single spell.
Next, there is supposed to be a set-piece fight where the were-tiger with the item jumps off the train, and leaves here were-rat minions to fight the PCs. I can't really criticise the adventure writer for not forseeing what my PCs did: the eladrin bard walked scootched up to the were-tiger, went "hey, I gather you're a nature-themed terrorist? I am too! I hate civilization. Can I tag along and then borrow your item when you're done with it? Also are you single?" and then rolled a 27 for persuasion.
The PCs came along and jumped the lycanthropes a day later. To be fair, the adventure never explained how the were-tiger was supposed to get to the final battle before the PCs as she jumped off a moving train and is slower than it is.
Adventure 8: The March of Madness
Synopsis: PCs go to an ancient dungeon in the Shadow Marches, go on a vision quest before being allowed inside by the druid guardian, and then have to contend with/repair the wards inside the dungeon before they can get their Xoriat macguffin. Depending on how it plays out, they may or may not end up accidentally killing an ancient orcish guardian inside the dungeon, and may or may not be betrayed by an insane warlock.
The adventure is very solid, great even. The map that comes with it is... very uninspiring, so I re-mapped the dungeon and added a bit of extra flavour to one room (there's a weird trap that doesn't make much sense, so I made it a weird manigest zone effect rather than a deliberate thing), but that is basically the only changes I made. 4.5 stars!
Adventure 9: Weathering the Storm
Synopsis: PCs get sent to the Lazaar principalities to receive a Kythri macguffin that is being imported. Ship doesn't arrive, investigation leads to sky pirates, which in turn leads to an attack on a skyship.
So, again, really nice premise. Some issues with the execution, though - see, the synopsis in the adventure itself makes reference to the Chaos Fleet, a concept introduced in 4th edition, where there was a pirate fleet in the principalities that were basically Davy Jones' crew from Pirates of the Carribean, if they went all elemental-y rather than all fish-y.
Except, the Chaos Fleet never actually show up in the adventure at any point. All the opposition in the adventure is Wind Whisperer pirates. ALL of it. Literally, it's only the one statblock for everybody except the final boss.
my fixes: when the PCs are inspecting the wreck of the vessel that had their macguffin on it, rather than Wind Whisperers returning to the scene of the crime, I had a Chaos fleet ship turn up chasing the scent of the macguffin that they were lusting after - I used weirds from the Ravnica book, and some mephits. After that, I fed the PCs info of sightings of Chaos Fleet ships chasing after a skyship in the heart of a storm - the Chaos guys I described as not usually a threat because they're terminally incapable of cooperating with each other, but this was concerning because the Wind Whisperers seemed to be trying to use the macguffin to draw all of them into their wake and then force them into Regalport.
In the adventure as written, then PCs are airdropped onto the macguffin-holding skyship with some friendly Regalport sailors to help them (and to keep the fight against the Wind Whisperers manageable). I gave the wind whisperers some more variance in statblocks (scounts, thugs, deck wizards from ghosts of saltmarsh), and had the ship under attack by elementals at the same time, rather than give the PCs allies.
I also had the aberrant dragonmarked NPC from adventure 1 show up in Regalport, saying she had been given a grant by Nigel to continue her studies somewhere other than Sharn.
Adventure 10: At Death's Door
Synopsis: PCs sneak into the upper level of the Lair of the Keeper to get a Dolurrh macguffin while the (alleged) Keeper is out having a meeting with some minions. It's a dungeon crawl.
This is the best one. Almost every encounter can be fought or talked through (with varying difficulty). The Rakshasa is great. The demon and the bodak are great. The Orcs are great. I loved it. No fixes. No notes. 5/5 stars.
Further Adventures:
This is as far as we've gotten at time of writing. I'm currently gearing up to run A Heart in Mourning, and am running into some of the same issues as Rime or Reason - the adventure site feels too small, the approach to it a bit too rail-roady due to being a tower, combined with the fact it doesn't really feel like it's Shavarath-ish enough. Also, ending with a collapsing tower seems repetitive at this point.
I need to read Lost in Dreams in more detail. It looks complex, so I'll report back on that one.
As for the last adventure - a read-through revealed some really neat set-piece fights and the stupidest twist I've ever \***ing heard of*. As written, the adventure reveals that Nigel Faurious has secretly been... a gnome woman from zilargo who the PCs have never heard of and who wants revenge on Sharn for her sons dying in the War.
...What???
I at least have a fix for that: Nigel Faurious is... actually Nigel Faurious. Nothing secret going on there. He came to Morgrave university in his 20s in hopes of studying to help his fiancé - the fiancé had an aberrant dragonmark that meant they would create spontaneous manifest zones temporarily. One day they had a bad flare-up, and got killed by a mob, just like the NPC nearly is in adventure 1. After that Nigel as spent the last 20 years trying to reverse-engineer the manifest-zone creation effect with the intention of destroying the city that killed the love of his life.
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Thanks for reading all this way, I know this has been a really long post. I appreciate the effort.
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WHAT FOLLOWS WILL SPOIL THE CONVERGENCE MANIFESTO CAMPAIGN. DON'T READ IF YOU INTEND TO PLAY IT.
ALSO, PARTS OF THIS MIGHT NOT MAKE SENSE IF YOU HAVEN'T READ OR RUN THE ADVENTURES BECAUSE I'M BAD AT EXPLAINING THINGS.
To start with, I'd like to say that some of my criticisms of the campaign are probably problems with me. I have focus issues, and I'm a picky perfectionist, and to be fair to all the writers involved, they have done better jobs than I would in their shoes.
A note on my group: our party consisted of a human wild magic sorcerer (ex-skycoach driver), human wizard (aundairian expatriot), a gargoyle barbarian (used the rules for a Hadozee), an eladrin eloquence bard, and a goblin rogue (retired Conquerer champion looking for something new to do)
The Campaign As a Whole:
The premise of the Convergence manifesto is that Nigel Faurious, Provost of Morgrave university, wants a bunch of relics that are each attuned to one of Eberron's planes. Each adventure is a mission to some location on Khorvaire to retrieve or create such an item.
Each of the adventures is written by a different author, and as a result I think they vary pretty wildly in quality.
Adventure 1: Fired and Forgotten.
Synopsis: PCs go through hazing ritual to join adventuring guild in Sharn, get sent to pick up bespoke Fernia-linked magic item from a forge in the Cogs, discover forge has been shuttered due to warforged workers protesting - they have to convince the owner to be less of an ass. Then Daask show up.
This one was good! A strong start. Everybody enjoyed the hazing ritual, and I decided to use the optional NPC with the aberrant dragonmark manifesting (for reasons I'll explain further down). The warforged union situation was a very good introduction to what is special and different about the Eberron setting. This might be an issue with me as GM, but I found that the PCs dealt with the non-combat parts of the adventure VERY easily through use of skills and illusions, never thought about leaving the immediate vicinity of the forge (and thus missed some content), and I felt kind of bad having the forge owner not immediately cooperate in the face of 20+ results on Persuasion and Intimidate.
The daask Ettin bruiser being toned down for a bunch of level 1s was a very nice touch, but throwing that at the players right after the fight with the mephits made that bit rough.
Adventure 2: Live Another Day
Synopsis: PCs get air-dropped into Droaam so they can find a hidden valley with an Irian manifest zone, so they can charge up a crystal. On the way they may encounter some ogres, have to navigate a hidden set of tunnels, and then on arriving discover a clan of harpies is living in the valley, as they are persona-non-grata in Droaam. When Droaam monsters follow the PCs into the valley, they have to fight them off before the harpies will let them complete their mission
So, slight issue with this one, probably unique to my party - the adventure calls for a lot of Survival rolls for the overland travel and nobody in my party had survival. They were a bunch of city-slickers. Seemed a little odd the adventuring guild picking the party to do this.
While the adventure was somewhat rail-roady, it at least makes sense in that the PCs are following in the footsteps of a prior explorer. My main issue was the last portion - once the PCs get to the valley, there will ALWAYS be Droaamite monsters on their heels. Firstly, this discounts the possibility that the party had been religiously using Pass Without Trace or doing other things to make them untrackable. My party didn't, but a party with a ranger and/or druid might have. Secondly, the fight as written is a bit boring. It's two Gnolls. Two gnolls shouldn't be a threat to a clan of harpies. Once the gnolls are dead, three goblins show up. After that, two half-ogres show up. You can optionally add some more scenes fighting gnolls and chasing anything trying to get away. I revamped the fight a bit by making all of these fight scenes one long drawn-out battle with reinforcements arriving, and I re-contextualized the Harpies wanting the PCs to fight the monsters without their help - the Harpies could probably run rings around the ground-based humanoids, but the Harpies both thought this was the PCs fault they were here, and didn't want to show themselves in case any stragglers got away to report on the Harpies' presence.
Weird thing my party did: when they encountered the ogres at the start of the adventure, the group came up with a plan to pretend to be fellow Droaamite monsters if they failed to sneak past - they then snuck past the ogres without any issue, and were disappointed that they couldn't use their disguises... so they used them when the encountered the harpies, not knowing the harpies were enemies of Droaam. This very nearly turned into a combat situation, but the bard managed to talk everybody down and explain why they had been lying.
Adventure 3: Rime or Reason
Synopsis: Nigel sends PCs to Icewhite island to get a Risia macguffin after another expedition failed to return. They have to contend with a blizzard, find a tower of ice in the middle, and defeat ice monsters, a puzzle/trap, the possibly backstabby survivors of the failed expedition, and then deal with the tower collapsing once they find the item.
Some parts of this one were good - my party really seemed to enjoy trying to find a solution to get through the blizzard despite their lack of survival skill proficiency. Two of the casters were constantly casting prestidigitation to keep the Constitution 8 rogue from succumbing to hypothermia, and even then it was a bit touch and go.
Now, I had some issues with the ice tower as presented. First, the adventure says it's an ancient dwarven ruin, dating back to when the dwarves came down from the Frostfell. Personally, that didn't make great sense to me - why would you willingly make a building in a risian manifest zone? The whole of Icewhite island is freezing cold, and the manifest zone is worse.
Second problem - there is door, with a puzzle. The puzzle is so easy that I worked out the answer the instant I looked at the handout at the back of the adventure, before even reading the description - there are four columns of symbols (a book, scroll, wand, potion - again, not terribly dwarf-y?), and each symbol rotates a certain number of octagonal faces from one row to the next, and you just have to make the last row match the pattern. If you mess it up, it will spring a trap that will potentially either tickle the PCs a little, or cause a TPK if they're messed up from any prior fights because anybody reduced to 0 HP by the trap is frozen solid until freed by greater restoration, which no PC at this level of adventure will have.
Third problem - the tower is only four storeys tall. As described, it more cube-shaped than tower shaped. Also, as described, a PC with misty step standing on the shoulders of another PC of above average height could potentially teleport to the top of the tower and avoid 50% of the adventure content.
Fourth problem - the top of the tower is described as a garden made of icy plants... which doesn't make sense with Risia's canonical loathing of life.
my fixes: I changed the backstory of the tower, rather than being a dwarven relic, it was an Aundairian Magical Congress research facility, set up during the war to try to draw weaponizable power out of the Risian manifest zone - a wizard tower felt more right than a dwarven one. I then changed the solution to the puzzle - the symbols still had to be rotated, but what columns they were in had to be swapped, to represent the Congress sharing magical knowledge. I had the other expedition that was there explain they had tried the obvious solution and it hadn't worked. I also made the tower taller, mostly as an aesthetic thing, and so that the stand-on-shoulders-and-teleport trick only got the party Eladrin up to a balcony, rather than the roof. I kept the set-piece of the tower collapsing, saying that the magic the Aundairians had been trying had kept the manifest zone coterminous and removing the macguffin broke the spell holding the ice tower together.
Adventure 4: Living Legend
Synopsis: the party goes to Darguun, hunting a legendary hobgoblin hero. They get to see the fact that bugbears take slaves, follow a guide to a Thelanis manifest zone, and undertake several trials to prove they are worthy of claiming the hero's weapon to bring back.
So... the premise is cool. The execution is anything but
Even setting aside the fact that some parties might get entirely side-tracked by fighting slavers, the issue I had was that the trials in the adventure didn't seem to really key into the fact that Eberron goblinoids are supposed to have some different and interesting cultural mores.
The trials aren't bad, per se, but they don't feel goblin-y at all.
Worst of all, though, there is a Hobgoblin you encounter during the trials who is one of the Dhakaani fallout-vault people who is set on passing the trials to claim the weapon herself. As written, she is quite easy to befriend, will readily tell the PCs that she is from a hidden vault of survivors of the goblinoid empire, and if they DO befriend her, doesn't leave the room she's in despite the fact she's here for the same cultural relic the PCs are. WHICH FEELS INSANE. Every bit of canon and kanon lore I've encountered about the Dhakaani suggest that they distrust non-Dhankaani at best, and outright loath them at worst, and are trying to keep their presence secret. She should be either fighting to the death or keeping her origin secret then betraying the PCs, or not here at all.
Between the un-goblin-ish trials, and the insanely cooperative yet unhelpful NPC, this one needed the most fixing to satisfy my tastes. As I didn't have the time and brain juice to do that before the session, I decided to skip this adventure, and have the PCs collect a Thelanis macguffin as part of the later adventurer where they go to a Feyspire (adventure 12: Lost in Dreams).
Adventure 5: Perfect Timing
Synopsis: PCs get on a lighting rail intending to jump off it as it goes over a bridge, so they can appear in Daanvi to acquire the macguffin. twist: there's emerald claw terrorists on the train, and one of them has stolen the thing the PCs need to get into Daanvi, intending to go himself. Once in Daanvi, it's a race against the Emerald Claw guy to fill out all the paperwork to get the macguffin first
So, over-all, this one is really good. The premise is good. Situation is hilarious. It's very Eberron
Minor issues: the train has SO MANY COMBAT ENCOUNTERS. the PCs start at one end, and have to fight their way to the other, with one fight in every single train car, one of which is purely due to a misunderstanding. It took two sessions to get through the train half of the adventure, and that is with me having skipped two of the fights. In hindsight, I would have maybe also varied the stats of the enemies a bit more.
Also, while I comprehend the drama of having the thief jump out of train with his accomplices during a fight, this presumes the PCs don't kill every single one of his accomplices. I had to pull some shady DM shenanigans to get the guy out of the train in one piece, and give him new allies to help in the final battle at the end of the paperwork race.
My players enjoyed this one a heap, but one did comment that he thought it should have come later in the campaign, as it was such a departure from the others.
Adventure 6: Night's Gambit
Synopsis: PCs have to infiltrate Fort Bones in Karrnath and steal a mabaran macguffin from under the nose of the military there.
Another really good one, although not without it's issues. The adventure presents interesting characters in the form of the fort's up-tight commander and relatively chill head necromancer, a timeline of what they will be up to at various times of day, and has options of all kinds of approaches: sneaking in, joining up with what is basically the Karrnathi Foreign Legion, or acting as bodyguards for a visiting inspector. I loved that it gave all these options.
my only complaints were that the timeline was a little hard to make sense of as presented, and the map of the fort seemed... a bit too small and simple for the facility as it's described. I feel like you'd expect one of Karrnath's most important border forts to be at least a two-storey building (I fixed that by describing the fort's upper levels as being still under construction after the last time it was sacked).
How my party handled it: so, my group aren't terribly sneaky on the whole. They also do not look like adventurers - to glance at, they are a Gargoyle, the hottest and floweryest elf you've ever seen, a depressed cab driver, the least magical aundairan wizard ever, and a goblin grandmother. So they couldn't really sneak in, wouldn't blend in as recruits, and I felt wouldn't really be the kind of people the inspector would hire as bodyguards....
...so they decided to BE the inspector. Eladrin lady was the inspector herself, gargoyle got dressed up as weird undead bodyguard, aundairian wizard was silent note-keeper, grandmother was a servant, and cabbie became the coach-driver. The group arrived a day early ("surprise inspection"), and were given a tour of the fortress. They executed everything perfectly. In the end, the only fight they had was an ambush on the necromancer in his own bedroom at 3am, wherein they beat him senseless, put him to sleep with a spell, and healed him back to full HP, so when he woke up in the morning he had no physical proof that anything had happened and was questioning his own sanity. They even fashioned a replica of the macguffin (it's a conqueror piece - the goblin rogue had her own set, which the wizard imbued with some necromantic energy), so the alarm wasn't raised for several hours after the PCs had left the fort.
Adventure 7: The Silvered Edge of Twilight
Synopsis: PCs go to Thaliost to pick up a Lammanian macguffin from a silver flame priest - when they get there, it's been stolen. They do some investigating, track the theives to the railway station, and chase them down to the Eldeen reaches where they fight Ashbound druids and lycanthropes.
Kind of middling adventure - nice premise, but very railroady. For starters, there's an NPC (who I edited out) who gets sent with the PCs for all of the investigation portion who basically seems to exist to keep them on track and/or provide lore about Thaliost and also to force them into a fight they might otherwise be able to avoid. Even outside of that, the investigation seemed a bit being-led-by-the-nose, although maybe that came down to how I was running it.
The issue, for my run at least, was once they were on the train. As written, the PCs need to track down the missing item on the train - it's written with there being a few red herrings as to who might be the thief, but it's a magic item. I have never seen a group of PCs who didn't have access to detect magic, so my PCs just bypassed all the red herrings with a single spell.
Next, there is supposed to be a set-piece fight where the were-tiger with the item jumps off the train, and leaves here were-rat minions to fight the PCs. I can't really criticise the adventure writer for not forseeing what my PCs did: the eladrin bard walked scootched up to the were-tiger, went "hey, I gather you're a nature-themed terrorist? I am too! I hate civilization. Can I tag along and then borrow your item when you're done with it? Also are you single?" and then rolled a 27 for persuasion.
The PCs came along and jumped the lycanthropes a day later. To be fair, the adventure never explained how the were-tiger was supposed to get to the final battle before the PCs as she jumped off a moving train and is slower than it is.
Adventure 8: The March of Madness
Synopsis: PCs go to an ancient dungeon in the Shadow Marches, go on a vision quest before being allowed inside by the druid guardian, and then have to contend with/repair the wards inside the dungeon before they can get their Xoriat macguffin. Depending on how it plays out, they may or may not end up accidentally killing an ancient orcish guardian inside the dungeon, and may or may not be betrayed by an insane warlock.
The adventure is very solid, great even. The map that comes with it is... very uninspiring, so I re-mapped the dungeon and added a bit of extra flavour to one room (there's a weird trap that doesn't make much sense, so I made it a weird manigest zone effect rather than a deliberate thing), but that is basically the only changes I made. 4.5 stars!
Adventure 9: Weathering the Storm
Synopsis: PCs get sent to the Lazaar principalities to receive a Kythri macguffin that is being imported. Ship doesn't arrive, investigation leads to sky pirates, which in turn leads to an attack on a skyship.
So, again, really nice premise. Some issues with the execution, though - see, the synopsis in the adventure itself makes reference to the Chaos Fleet, a concept introduced in 4th edition, where there was a pirate fleet in the principalities that were basically Davy Jones' crew from Pirates of the Carribean, if they went all elemental-y rather than all fish-y.
Except, the Chaos Fleet never actually show up in the adventure at any point. All the opposition in the adventure is Wind Whisperer pirates. ALL of it. Literally, it's only the one statblock for everybody except the final boss.
my fixes: when the PCs are inspecting the wreck of the vessel that had their macguffin on it, rather than Wind Whisperers returning to the scene of the crime, I had a Chaos fleet ship turn up chasing the scent of the macguffin that they were lusting after - I used weirds from the Ravnica book, and some mephits. After that, I fed the PCs info of sightings of Chaos Fleet ships chasing after a skyship in the heart of a storm - the Chaos guys I described as not usually a threat because they're terminally incapable of cooperating with each other, but this was concerning because the Wind Whisperers seemed to be trying to use the macguffin to draw all of them into their wake and then force them into Regalport.
In the adventure as written, then PCs are airdropped onto the macguffin-holding skyship with some friendly Regalport sailors to help them (and to keep the fight against the Wind Whisperers manageable). I gave the wind whisperers some more variance in statblocks (scounts, thugs, deck wizards from ghosts of saltmarsh), and had the ship under attack by elementals at the same time, rather than give the PCs allies.
I also had the aberrant dragonmarked NPC from adventure 1 show up in Regalport, saying she had been given a grant by Nigel to continue her studies somewhere other than Sharn.
Adventure 10: At Death's Door
Synopsis: PCs sneak into the upper level of the Lair of the Keeper to get a Dolurrh macguffin while the (alleged) Keeper is out having a meeting with some minions. It's a dungeon crawl.
This is the best one. Almost every encounter can be fought or talked through (with varying difficulty). The Rakshasa is great. The demon and the bodak are great. The Orcs are great. I loved it. No fixes. No notes. 5/5 stars.
Further Adventures:
This is as far as we've gotten at time of writing. I'm currently gearing up to run A Heart in Mourning, and am running into some of the same issues as Rime or Reason - the adventure site feels too small, the approach to it a bit too rail-roady due to being a tower, combined with the fact it doesn't really feel like it's Shavarath-ish enough. Also, ending with a collapsing tower seems repetitive at this point.
I need to read Lost in Dreams in more detail. It looks complex, so I'll report back on that one.
As for the last adventure - a read-through revealed some really neat set-piece fights and the stupidest twist I've ever \***ing heard of*. As written, the adventure reveals that Nigel Faurious has secretly been... a gnome woman from zilargo who the PCs have never heard of and who wants revenge on Sharn for her sons dying in the War.
...What???
I at least have a fix for that: Nigel Faurious is... actually Nigel Faurious. Nothing secret going on there. He came to Morgrave university in his 20s in hopes of studying to help his fiancé - the fiancé had an aberrant dragonmark that meant they would create spontaneous manifest zones temporarily. One day they had a bad flare-up, and got killed by a mob, just like the NPC nearly is in adventure 1. After that Nigel as spent the last 20 years trying to reverse-engineer the manifest-zone creation effect with the intention of destroying the city that killed the love of his life.
------
Thanks for reading all this way, I know this has been a really long post. I appreciate the effort.
2023.06.02 05:56 NeedleworkerSad357 Overview of the Blackmail Running Our World
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:
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."
"My personal belief, based on my experiences, is that over the years, more leaders were under mind control."
"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."
"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."
"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.’"
"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."
"'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?
"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."
"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.'"
"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."
"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.'"
[1] - Noreen Gosch Speaks About - Jeff Gannon, Johnny Gosch And The Attempted Theft Of Her Book 'Why Johnny Can't Come Home'
[8] - Child Trafficking, Ritual Sex Abuse & MK-ULTRA Are A Single Worldwide Operation, Run by the U.S., U.K. and AUS Secret Services
[10] - An Illuminati Primer
[12] - The Hallett Report No. 1
submitted by NeedleworkerSad357 to conspiracy [link] [comments]
- Deep Underground Military Bases
- Alice in Wonderland Programming
- Overview of the Mind Control Running our World
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]
- Greg Hallett [12]
- The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]
- Greg Hallett [12]
- Brice Taylor [5]
"My personal belief, based on my experiences, is that over the years, more leaders were under mind control."
- Brice Taylor [5]
- Veronica Swift [10]
- Hope Beryl-Green [17]
- Fritz Springmeier [15]
"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]
- Ex MI6 [2]
- Whitney Webb [4]
- Fiona Barnett [8]
- Noreen Gosch, Johnny Gosch's mother (of the 'Franklin Boys') [1]
- Whitney Webb [4]
- The Reality of Protected Child Abuse Networks [11]
- Greg Hallett [12]
"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]
- Joachim Hagopian [14]
- Fritz Springmeier [16]
"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]
- Cathy O'Brien [3]
- Detective James Rothstein (NYPD, Retired) [6]
- Fiona Barnett [6]
"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]
- Cathy O'Brien [3]
"'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
"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]
"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]
- Ex MI6 [2]
"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]
- Fritz Springmeier [15]
"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]
- Joachim Hagopian [14]
[1] - Noreen Gosch Speaks About - Jeff Gannon, Johnny Gosch And The Attempted Theft Of Her Book 'Why Johnny Can't Come Home'
- Noreen Gosch
- Ex MI5/MI6 Agents and Royal Arch Illuminati slaves
- Cathy O'Brien
- Whitney Webb
- Brice Taylor
- Fiona Barnett
[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
[10] - An Illuminati Primer
- Veronica Swift, Jessie Czebotar
[12] - The Hallett Report No. 1
- Greg Hallett
- David G. Guyatt
- Joachim Hagopian on CathyFoxBlog
- Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler
- Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler
2023.06.02 05:54 Swordkirby9999 Could you remove rust via electrolosis using the ocean?
I just watched some guy restore a rusty old padlock and after scraping off the surface rust with a wire brush he then hooked it up to some electrolosis thing made from aluminum scrap, a wire for suspending the lock, and a 12 volt battery in a plastic storage bin. The solution he put the thing in was just saltwater, and that made me wonder if the ocean is salty enough where you could do electrolysis to remove tarnish and rust on metals like iron.
submitted by Swordkirby9999 to NoStupidQuestions [link] [comments]
2023.06.02 04:45 Gameran Dexter Flux Presents: Sound-Off! - Part Two
Babaganoush: The following contest is scheduled for one fall…
Crowd: One fall!
And is for… the WiR Television Championship! Already in the ring, the challenger, weighing in at 235 pounds, The Suuuuuuperstar!
Banaganoush: And Already in the ring, the champion, “Guaranteed, Gabe Garvin!”
Ding Ding Ding!
Mann: And the bell rings here, and we are back underway at Sound Off! Presented by Dexter Flux.
The Superstar does a little spin as he approaches Gabe Garvin and the two back off from each other. The two wrestlers stare down a moment, before launching at each other with a collar and elbow tie-up. The Superstar gains the upper hand and locks Garvin in a headlock. Garvin, in a headlock, however, gets pushed into the ropes, where he gets pushed away. Garvin looks for a back body drop as The Superstar bounces off the ropes, but eats a boot for his trouble. Garvin tries to regain control by lifting Superstar on his shoulders, Superstar shifts back to the ground, but gets lifted and dropped on his chest! The Superstar is forced to roll out of the ring to recover.
Crowd: [Apathetic Silence]
Garvin goes under the bottom rope and gets quickly caught with a kick to the stomach. The Superstar throws Garvin into the barricade and begins to hammer away.
Woodbridge: And The Superstar turning things around here!
Mann: And folks, we’ll be back after these messages from our sponsors!
Woodbridge: Why are we going to commercial, the match just st-
The following advertisement plays
We fade back into the action with a crowd shot, which stays longer than comfortable on a shot of 40 apathetic fans. As it cuts back to the ring, we see Gabe Garvin deliver a vertical suplex to The Superstar, before going to a pin that convinces nobody of its success.
Mann: And we are back here at Sound Off! Garvin has regained control here!
The Superstar rolls to the corner and forces a momentary break. As the ref tries to restore order, The Superstar throws an overhand shot at Garvin- who blocks it and responds in kind, backing the Superstar back into the corner, and whipping him across the ring. As Superstar bounces off with a thud, Garvin hits the ropes beside him and hits a bulldog. Garvin goes for a cover, which gets a…
ONE
TWO
Kickout!
The Superstar flops into the corner once more, and Garvin is halted from pulling him away by the official. As The Superstar exits the corner, Garvin is right back on top of him, whips him off the ropes, and delivers a back body drop! The Superstar rolls out of the ring once more, but Garvin follows in pursuit. Garvin charges in, but gets caught with a drop-toe hold, and crashes into the announce table.
Mann: Watch out!
Woodbridge: Garvin seeking to capitalize on his newfound momentum here…
Crowd: [Does not care]
The Superstar throws Garvin back into the squared circle, and delivers a club to the back of his head, Followed by stomps and a knee drop. Superstar waits for Garvin to try and get back up, before stomping again, followed by a punch. As Garvin powers back to his feet, The Superstar looks to grab him, but Garvin pulls him in for a belly-to-belly suplex! Superstar shuffles into the corner, followed by Garvin, who eats a boot for his trouble before The Superstar storms out with a lariat. The Superstar looks for a chin lock, but Garvin is too oily, and he slips free. Superstar retaliates for this oily transgression with a fist and applies a headlock to a cornered Garvin.
Mann: And The Superstar getting some offense here, Garvin is in trouble! Can our TV champion save the match?
The Superstar works the headlock in the corner until the ref forces a break, at which juncture The Superstar turns around and throws his fists at Garvin. Following this, The Superstar lifts Garvin to his feet and goes for a whip, but as Garvin hits the other turnbuckle, he lifts his left foot to kick an incoming Superstar! As Garvin looks to capitalize, The Superstar grabs the leg that kicked him and takes Garvin down to the mat. Superstar drops an elbow on Garvin’s knee, and a second elbow, before looking for a knee twist, which Garvin pushes away from.
Mann: And Garvin fends off the Superstar’s onslaught! What a heroic effort by our TV Champion!
Crowd: [awkward silence]
Garvin sells his injured knee for a moment, before using it to pull a charging Superstar down with a drop-toe hold, flip Superstar over, and try to apply a submission, but this time, The Superstar pushes Garvin away! The Superstar delivers an elbow to a staggered Garvin, before delivering a Russian leg sweep, and going for a cover.
ONE
TWO
Kickout!
The Superstar is in disbelief that his leg sweep failed to get the victory, and he pulls Superstar by the arm, before kicking his downed body in the rib. Garvin throws himself off the ground to throw a punch at Superstar’s gut, but as he gets up, he is once again cut off by a clothesline, and a pin attempt.
ONE
TWO
Kickout.
Crowd: [Apathetic, a smattering of boos, and a single portly fan in a Shooting Association shirt attempting to start a “boring” chant]
Woodbridge: The Superstar is unable to get the best of Garvin despite some strong offense here, and the longer this goes on, the more I like the TV Champion’s chances in this match.
Mann: And all the Garvinites in the crowd cheering for their hero to make a comeback!!
Crowd shot of bored audience quickly pans back to the ring, where The Superstar is applying an arm wringer
Mann: And this match of course is presented by our sponsors, over at Mann Corporation!
The Superstar transitions to a half camel clutch, still clutching the arm of Garvin
Mann: Mann Corporation is committed to providing high-quality products to all of our loyal customers! Use code “WiR” at checkout for 3.5% off select items at MannCoStore.com!
The Superstar has transitioned into a standing headlock
Mann: If you buy within the next 7 minutes, all Gabe Garvin merchandise is 10% off! Act fast! And now, back to the action!
Garvin powers out of the headlock and whips The Superstar into a corner. He charges in, and misses, as The Superstar moves out of the way, and attempts to lock in another arm wringer. Garvin tries to power out but fails, and the hold is applied.
Superstar: ASK HIM!
Garvin does not submit, and once again tries to lift himself upwards. Superstar sees this, and shifts so that he is lying down on the back of Garvin, still applying the arm wringer. Garvin winces in agony and reaches for the rope with his free hand. Unable to reach them, Garvin Begins to power himself upwards for the third time, and this one is successful, as he slowly works his way up to his feet, Superstar now trapped in the air in a fireman’s carry. The Superstar pushes himself off as Garvin gets to his feet, and tries to throw a punch. Trying to reclaim the momentum, The Superstar goes for an Irish whip, and looks for a dropkick as Garvin returns, but to no avail! Garvin holds onto the rope, and The Superstar crashes back to the ground.
Mann: And Garvin escaping the hold! Superstar is dazed!
Woodbridge: And this could be the opening the TV Champion needs to regain control of this match! The Superstar is in trouble, as Gabe is Garving up!
Mann: It’s Garvin’ time!
Garvin bounds off the ropes and leaps for a flying clothesline!
Mann: What a maneuver!
Garvin hits the ropes again, and nails a staggered Superstar with another flying clothesline! The Superstar writhes in agony as he tries to pull himself back to a standing base, where Garvin is waiting for him. Garvin bounces off the ropes, and nails a rising Superstar with a shoulder block.
Mann: Vintage Garvin! And he has the upper hand! The fans here on their feet!
Crowd: [Silent, sitting down]
Garvin ascends to the second rope, and as a wounded Superstar ascends once more, he leaps for a double ax handle, but nobody is home! The Superstar looks to capitalize with a DDT, but it gets blocked by Garvin, who fights out, throws Superstar against the ropes, and hits another shoulder block. With The Superstar down, Garvin looks at the crowd, backs against the ropes, and hits a fist drop!
One guy in the crowd Crowd: YEEEAAAH WE FUCKIN LOVE THE FIST DROP YEEEEAAHHH
Crowd: WOOO!! GAR-VIN! GAR-VIN!
Woodbridge: And the people exploding for Garvin’s fist drop! (?)
Garvin looks almost surprised at the suddenly raucous crowd, and motions for his finishing maneuver! As soon as he indicates he isn’t going for another fist drop, the crowd dies and goes back to their silence. Superstar stumbles to his feet, gets his arm trapped, and’s he’s lifted into the air, before being slammed down with a Pump Handle Slam! Garvin goes into the cover…
ONE
TWO
THREE!
DING DING DING!!
Mann: And Gabe Garvin retains!
Woodbridge: His victory was all but Garunteed
Babaganouh: And here is your winner, at a time of Seven minutes and Forty-Five seconds… Garunteed Gaaaaaabeeeeee Gaaaaarviiiin!!
Crowd [Scant Murmors]
Mann: And tonight we have seen a truly memorable title defense from our heroic TV Champion, Gabe Garvin. And to watch all of Garvin’s matches from the comfort of your home, go to WWW dot Wrestle Is Reddit dot com slash Garvin for all the latest updates! And a special thanks to our sponsor for this show, JDate!
The monitor shows Dexter Flux on screen, who immediately gets a crowd pop 10x louder than anything of the past 7:45
Crowd: FLUX! FLUX! FLUX! WE LOVE FLUX!
Flux: I'm not… I'm not Jewish, but that's really not what JDate is about. It's about like… dating. JDate is what JDate is. That's what it is. I'm Dexter Flux. I'm the President of the United States. Thank you for your service.
The monitor cuts back to the crowd going bananas for Flux. A guy is screaming and beating the shit out of the old woman sitting next to him because he loves Dexter Flux so much.
Mann: And you too can be just like these happy people if you buy a Gabe Garvin T-Shirt, now 4% off at select TJ Maxx stores near you!
Garvin holds up his title on the apron while the crowd cheer for Flux, and a photographer gets a photo of the victorious champion in front of a cheering crowd. As Garvin gets down from Bret’s rope, the camera cuts to…
Something else. It's shot differently, worse cameras that pan around instead of cut. No commentary. No acknowledgment. It's a documentary shoved in the middle of a wrestling show.
We're in a church basement, or a community gym, or something like that, with hardwood floors and dim, white light pouring in through windows near the top of the room. There's a table next to the door with a coffee machine and paper cups and a door to the outside propped open, so people can step out to smoke. A voice speaks up.
Teddy (O.S.): I don't think I've ever been a good person.
We move to the middle of the room. There's a circle of people sitting in chairs, looking at one whose face is obscured but whose voice most WiR diehards recognize. The circle's watching him carefully, skeptically. A couple of them glance at the camera as it moves by, which seems like an outsider - a perverse interloper. Some of them are recognizable, heels from all over the wrestling scene. Most of them seem miserable to be here, unrepentant. One figure, dressed up, seems more warm in his posture, but we don't see his face either.
Teddy (O.S.): I don't think I've ever really tried, I mean. I've been a good guy, for a little bit. Here and there. But I wasn't who I was. I was somebody trying to get cheered, trying to make sure they loved me. And when they didn't, I just… I snapped.
Finally, we see him, the object of their attentions. He is sitting in a chair, dressed down in a t-shirt, paper cup of coffee by his feet. Teddy Coronado. There's no charisma to the way he speaks. He was a preacher once, electrifying, manic, an embodiment of television airwaves. Now, he's mumbling. The camera zooms in on his face, as he tried to put together the next few words, shaking his head. The words seem ridiculous to say and maybe that's because they're wrestling words and this man - sitting here, in the basement - does not seem to be a wrestler.
Teddy: I'm Teddy Coronado and… Sorry. I'm Teddy and I'm a heel.
Others (all together): Hi, Teddy.
He cringes at them.
Teddy: I've been…
He stops, sucking on his tongue. It's the noise of a crowd, again.
Teddy: I'm sorry, I don't think I can do this.
Spence (O.S.): It's alright.
The camera pans over to a much more shocking face, Spence Cooper, dressed like a normal person, with a buttoned-up v-neck, instead of his usual attire as one half of the Golden State Stars, wearing mesh shirts and whatever nonsense is left. The rest of the group turns to him with a sort of reverence that seems wholly unfitting for him.
Spence: This is hard stuff, Teddy, alright - this is hard stuff, everybody. I mean, when I was a member of the Golden State Stars-
Chaz (O.S): GOLDEN! STATE! ST-
Spence: Chaz.
We whip pan to Chaz Levine, who is also there. He is dressed less like a normal person.
Chaz: Sorry, bro, still working on it.
Spence: We all have hiccups, is what I was saying. This is hard work. That's why not everybody does it. But it's good work. You've been here for a long time, right?
He's staring at the ground as he said it, as if ashamed.
Teddy: Six months.
Spence: Six months and it's still hard. That should show to everyone else here that even the best of us You can do it, Teddy. You can say it.
Teddy takes a breath, tries to put it together. After a few seconds, he looks back up. And it's almost there. That spark, that fire in his eyes.
Teddy: I've… been thinking about things, recently. I've been thinking about my time as a wrestler. I've done a lot of things in this business - and I'm not bragging about that, but I'm saying it because I need to say it. I was the best guy on the mic for a long time. I was good in the ring, too. I beat some of the best people in that company and sometimes I even did it clean.
There's a chuckle at that, in the room, and he gives a rueful smile, for a second, looking back on everything. Then it fades. So does the light in his eyes. Teddy looks at his feet, again, but the rest of them are listening, now. Most of them hate this place, but they listen
Teddy: I lied, I cheated, I stole. I used every dirty fucking trick in the book - you can look. My granddad wrote it. I used weapons. I hired my own ref. I made my own matches. I attacked people from behind the scenes. I once wrestled with a cardboard cut-out, so I could move its torn-off foot under the bottom rope to get a break.
He's looking up, now, and the fire isn't in his eyes, but it's in his words.
Teddy: I gave up everything for that title, for those accolades, for those year-end awards, for my hand raised up at the end of the night. I've got a claim to being the best champion in that company's history. I went into this business looking for all of that. I said to myself that I'd be different than my family, from my great-grandfather, from my grandfather, from my…
He stops. He leaves the final word unsaid.
Teddy: But that's not what I'm saying. I had the chance to change my name. I had a shitty start, but I had my own agency. What I did was my own. And by the end, I gave up that. I gave up my decency, my integrity, my dedication to this art, I gave up everything I have - and I don't have anything to show for it.
There's a crippling silence, for a few moments, the kind of silence you only notice when everything felt so loud before it.
Teddy: I don't talk to any of the roster I was a part of. My name doesn't get mentioned in promos. The fans - the fans that used to jeer my name, who serenaded me after I was forced out of that company - they don't think about me. I gave up everything I ever had and I don't…
He takes a shallow breath, emotional, seeming to hold back tears as he rubs his temples. A man offers him a tissue box but he waves it aside. For as much pride as he has managed to put aside, he can't allow himself to cry in front of the only people he's ever been genuine to.
Teddy: I got an offer, recently. You guys know about it.
Teddy half-heartedly gestures at the camera and a couple of them glance back at it. Chaz, on the edge of frame, flexes a little bit when reminded a camera is watching him.
Teddy: I got an offer to come back to WiR. They're coming back, apparently, again. They've offered me a couple times, over the years, and I almost took it. I even said I would, once, before. Back when I still had the bookstore. And then I started training and I became what I was, again, and I gave up the bookstore, and I was so fucked up I couldn't even make it to the show, because I realized, in that ring…
He pauses and they're all listening. He hates that, because he knows why they're listening and why he's talking. Because the fire, suddenly, is there. It's there in his eyes. It's there in his voice. It's there in the way he sits in that chair, the knotting his hands do as he talks, but most of all it's there in the crowd, listening with rapt attention.
Teddy: There's the Teddy Coronado with the money, with the television show, with the betrayal and the burials, even the Teddy who dressed up like a dentist and said he hated bullies. They say I've been a lot of people, had a lot of gimmicks, but the trick is they're all the same one. They're all somebody who needs to have the whole world know that they're the best. But they're all masks. Facades. And when I got into that ring, lit by halogen lights, no one in the audience, no one facing me in that ring, no one there but me, I realized the truth.
The fire in his voice has burned away and, now, he speaks in ashes: harsh, more serious than he's ever been, and more painful. He is being true.
Teddy: I don't know what's beneath those masks. I don't. A part of me is terrified that there isn't anything there. That the shit I've done, to other people, to the industry as a whole, that's who I am. I've tried to find out who it is, out here. I tried to open a bookstore, I tried to become a trainer, I tried to get as far away from that ring as possible.
He stops, again. The crowd is fully drawn in, now, and a furrowed brow of concern on Spence's face breaks through the mask of supportiveness.
Teddy: But, when I got that email, that offer… I think I realized that there's only one way for me to figure that out-
Spence: Teddy…
Teddy turns his eyes to Spence, but there's a weariness to his eyes. He's already made up his mind. He made it up before he even entered this room, before he even entered the cameras in, before Spence even says the thing he knows he's about to say.
Spence: Teddy, I know what you're about to say. And I want to tell you in front of the group, because I know you don't want there to be secrets here. I've been lured that way. We all have, but you have to know that there is a risk to what you're about to say. Some people can recover, can re-enter that ring, Teddy, but some people can't.
There is a warmth in Spence's eyes that make you realize that this is not the same man that was a Golden State Star. Not anymore. But he knows that he can't change his mind.
Spence: This is in your hands, Teddy. It always is.
Teddy sits there, genuinely considering the words and then he smiles. Knows how absurd what he's about to say is. And then he speaks, just as resolute as before. No. More so.
Teddy: I know. But I hear it in me. I hear the roar of the crowd, with me or against me. I hear my opponent's music hit. I hear the bending of the mat, the straining of the ropes, the fight. I know that who I was in there was a monster. But I know that, if there's something of me left, beneath all of this, it's in there.
He stands up.
Teddy: This is what I'm choosing to do, Spence. I'm sorry.
Teddy walks out of the circle, across the hardwood floor, and steps out the door. The camera doesn't follow.
Javier (O.S.): Ladies and gentlemen, the Independent Champion, Diiiiiiiiick Dover!
We cut back to Knott's Berry Farm, where the crowd reacts in a mixed fashion to the announcement of Dick Dover. Prisoner of Society hits, and Dick Dover walks through the curtain with the Independent Championship over his shoulder.
Mann: The Independent Champion enters the building, he says he has an announcement to make.
Woodbridge: That’s right, Shay. We don’t know what it’s going to be, but when Dover walked into the venue this afternoon, he insisted on addressing the crowd.
Dover grabs a mic from Maurice Chondon ringside, then walks up the stairs, wipes his feet on the apron, and enters the ring. He then turns to face the crowd.
Dover: I know you all have a lot of thoughts about me, but let’s get one thing clear right now. There’s been a lot of time gone by since you last saw me. But don’t get me wrong, one thing wouldn’t have changed no matter how long we’ve been apart. I am still your Independent Champion.
Crowd: mix of boos and applause
Dover: But there have been changes. Changes in the world and changes with myself, and it’s time for me to share with you all some changes I’ve made. When WiR went on hiatus i-
Nitroglycerin hits as Joey McCarty storms out from behind the curtain holding a mic.
Crowd: Boooooooooo
McCarty: No no no no no no fuck this shit. I know what this is. I’m not stupid.
McCarty stomps down to the ring.
McCarty: Dick, you’ve talked all this talk about being a fighting champion, but I know a retirement announcement when I see one.
McCarty slides into the ring and pops up to his feet, pacing around Dover.
McCarty: and you must be out of your mind to think you can walk out of here title held high, to a cheering crowd, and go out as champion. You’re out of your goddamn mind.
Dover walks towards McCarty.
Dover: You don’t even-
McCarty: Save it, honestly. I came into this business as an outsider, and I was given the crash course. I don’t know where you learned this, it might have been in dogwater Florida, but it certainly wasn’t in Toronto.
Dover: Joey, you’ll shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you.
McCarty: What I was taught is that you always go out on your back. If you won’t do that, then I’ll do that for you.
Dover goes to talk, but McCarty slaps him.
McCarty: So what you’re going to do right now, is lie down, stare at the lights, and you can end your career the way you’re supposed to, and watch me coronate myself as a triple crown champion.
Dover: Interesting point Joey, counterpoint:
Dover hits McCarty with a spinning back elbow, sending him to the mat!
Dover: You don’t tell me what to fucking do. So here’s what we’re actually going to do, I’m going to show these people I am a fighting champion, we’re going to get a ref out here, and I’m going to whoop your ass
Crowd: YAYYYYY
Mann: HOLD ON A SECOND, DOVER. YOU DON’T GET TO PROMISE PEOPLE MATCHES, I MAKE THE MATCHES but that is a good idea so lets get a ref out here BECAUSE I SAID SO.
Crowd (a little more confused): YAYYY
Jeff Boone sprints out from backstage at full speed and dives headfirst under the rope into the ring.
Boone: ALRIGHTWEGOTAREGULARCHAMPIONSHIPMATCHONEFALLLET’SKEEPITCLEANBOYSNOCLOSEDKNUCKLESONPUNCHESNOHAIRPULLINGIWON’THAVEANYNONSENSEINTHISRINGYOUHEREMEOKRINGTHEBELL
The bell rings, leaving both men a little stunned at how quickly this match has started. Joey moves into action first, lurching for Dover, arms outstretched in a clear indication that Joey wants to initiate a classic “Test of Strength.” Dick Dover knocks away the hands and shoots for a double-leg takedown, sending Joey sprawling to the mat.
Mann: Wow, an incredibly technical start for Dover. Sometimes I think we forget home in depth his wrestling knowhow is.
Dick Dover is slowly overpowering Joey from underneath, when a glint shines in the Canadian’s eyes. A brutal knee to the face erupts from McCarty, slamming into Dover’s nose. Dover steps back, covering his damaged face. Blood begins to drip onto the mat.
Woodbridge: Wow, Dover is absolutely busted up!
Paisner: That’s the opportunistic streak of McCarty showing. Give him an inch, he’ll take a mile and sell you back the inch for triple it’s market value.
Dover shakes his head, trying to clear up the fog inflicted from Joey’s move. Before he gets a chance to recover, Joey is behind him, snaking his arms up to lock Dover in a full nelson. Dover is in a precarious position, but he digs his fingers into Joey’s eyes, cause the hold to release.
Woodbridge: A savvy veteran move, but is it legal?
Mann: Absolutely not. It seems like this ref is going to let them play on, for some reason. Very hands off.
Woodbridge: When you’ve got two fighters who will do whatever it takes to win, sometimes it’s best to just let them go at it. Anything less than that could give the other an unfair advantage.
Dover throws a couple quick strikes to McCarty’s midsection. Joey winces and bends over, giving Dick the opportunity to hit him with a Leg Drop Bulldog that pounds Joey into the mat!
Crowd: WOOOOAH!
Dover capitalizes on McCarty’s grounded position, dropping some falling elbows into the fallen man. But the third elbow doesn’t land cleanly, given Joey the opportunity to flip over and nail another knee into Dover, this time right on the side of his head.
Mann: Hard to imagine these headshots won’t have an effect on Dover if this match goes long.
A quick leap to his feet, and Joey finally has the position he wanted in the beginning, locking up Dover in a contested full collar tie. He gains the upper hand, and begins controlling Dover towards the corner. A grasp of Dover’s wounded head, and then suddenly McCarty is rubbing Dover’s face all over the ringpost!
Crowd: OOOF
But Dover isn’t one to take something like this without fighting back. A wild leg flail nails McCarty right in the gonads, sending him backwards in pain. The ref looks to step in, but then decides not to as Dover runs towards his and lands an uppercut into lariat combo that sends Joey back down to the ground. Dover attempts a cover!
1!
No!
Joey kicks out with relative ease, prompting Dover to consider more violence towards the grounded wrestler.
Mann: What could this devilish man be considering next?
Dover sits on McCarty.
Woodbridge: A chair!
A quick pivot from Dover, and suddenly Joey is up in the air, face in anguish from the inverted surfboard stretch.
Woodbridge: A painful chair!
Suddenly, a voice rings out from the crowd.
Random Fan: DOVER IS STILL LAME!
Dover, mildly irritated by the fan, releases the hold on Joey, sending the stretched out man to the mat. He gets up and aggressively points to the crowd in the direction of the mysterious fan.
Dover: Hey Asshole! You wanna see lame? I’ll show you lame!
Dover grabs Joey’s hair and becomes slamming punches into the downed man’s face.
Crowd: LAME DOVER LAME DOVER LAME DOVER
A frustrated Dover now releases the hold and turns his back on Joey, heading over to the ringpost. He begins to remove the cover. At this point, blood has completely covered his chest. Joey stirs and stands, sneaking up to behind Dover. A quick snatch and Joey has surprise rolled up Dover for a pin!
1!
2!
No!
Dover kicks out and gets back to his feet, but Joey is quicker and grabs Dover’s arm for an irish whip, sending him into the exposed ring post!* The hard metal digs into the small of Dover’s back and he reels in pain, back into Joey who snags his wrist, twisting it into a hold. Dover is up in the air and slammed back onto his neck as Joey lands a modified Fisherman Driver on the champion!
Crowd: OOOOOHHHHH!!!!
It’s Joey’s turn to batter the grounded Dover, repeatedly sending soccer kicks into his skull. The dull sound of bone against flesh carries through the arena in a way that makes most attendees uncomfortable. Joey lifts Dover to his feet, intending to whip him into the exposed ring post again, but Dover has seen this before. He counters with a reversal, sending McCarty into the ropes, McCarty rebounds and Dover SLAMS him into the mat with a teeth-rattling spinebuster!
Crowd: YAYYYYY
Mann: I’m not sure if Dover’s winning the crowd over or if they just enjoy seeing Joey get hurt, either way, Dover is red-hot!
Dover grabs McCarty, and goes into the set up for his Doverleaf! But before he can, a small figure pops up onto the apron.
Woodbridge: WOAH, WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?!
Gigi appears holding a spray bottle and she sprays a fine clear mist right into Dover’s eyes and cackles maniacally!
Mann: What’s this?! It's Gigi! And she’s just assaulted Dover with some sort of liquid!
Dover drops McCarty and grabs at his eyes. Kaitlyn Casey Jones appears from the crowd, holding a sign that says “GAMER GIRL BATHWATER $279.69”, she hops the barricade and grabs a mic, laughing with Gigi. Jones pulls a card out of her pocket and starts reading it.
KCJ: Hey faaaans, if you’re looking to order some of the water that our favorite e-girl actually bathes in, it’s up on the website right now! Guaranteed to have touched Gigi’s skin, go to www.gigigamergirlgush.pizza for more details. Fuck you, Dick!”
Gigi: I wrote that last part.
McCarty clambers to his feet, confused. He notices Dover staggering, and launches himself into the air, connecting with a superman punch to the back of Dover’s skull.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOO
Mann: BERTUZZI! DOVER’S OUT COLD
Woodbridge: I can’t believe this, Dover’s had the title stolen from him!
McCarty scrambles to cover Dover.
1
2
3-NO
Crowd: WOAAAAAH YAYYY
Mann: Dover kicked out!
Woodbridge: How!?!?
McCarty stumbles to the corner in disbelief, and collapses into a seated position onto the bottom turnbuckle, the crowd swells, and McCarty’s confounded expression turns to disbelief and then to anger, he pops to his feet and stomps towards Dover.
Woodbridge: What do either of these men have left in the bag?!
McCarty lifts Dover to his feet, cussing him out as he does. McCarty attempts his Bus Driver Uppercut, but Dover springs to life and catches him, and PLANTS him with a kneeling jawbreaker!
Mann: Cliffs of Dover!
Woodbridge: From the last of his energy!
Mann: Cover!
1
2
3
DING DING DING
Crowd: YAYYYYY!
Mann: Dover is still Independent Champion!
Before Javier can make the announcement, Gigi and KCJ hit the ring and attack Dover, as McCarty rolls out of the ring, jumping him and punching and kicking Dover while he’s down.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOO
Woodbridge: What the hell is this?!
Mann: Gigi still thinks she’s owed a shot at the Independent Championship, she must have made some sort of deal with McCarty to get her match!
Woodbridge: And now that her plan is up in smoke, she’s taking it out on Dover!
Gigi and KCJ continue their assault, KCJ picks up the mic and is about to speak, but before she can, Adam Raised A Cain plays.
Crowd: YAYYYYYYYY
Woodbridge: Someone else with unfinished business, Mark Dutch!
Mark Dutch runs out, Joey McCarty is standing on the ramp, and Dutch shoulder checks him out of the way! Dutch then slides into the ring, and pulls KCJ off of Dover and out of the ring! Gigi scrambles out of the ring away from Dutch.
Mann: Last time we saw these two, they were at eachothers throats, but now Dutch comes to save Dover? What’s going on?
Woodbridge: Looks like there's still lots of unfinished business around these parts.
Mann: That’s enough of this.
Mann grabs a stick mic and attempts to stand on the commentary table, but it wobbles so he instead stands on his chair
Mann: When I brought this company back, it wasn’t for what it was, but what it can become, so I can’t have you three stinking up the joint with old beef, so let’s settle this at the next show. You three for the Independent Title. a brief pause to let that sink in
Crowd: WOOOOOOO
Mann sits back down with a grin on his face.
Mann: I like this “making matches live” thing
Woodbridge: Could stand to work on your crowd work though.
Mann: More WiR action, after this!
Dover, Dutch and Gigi staring eachother down as we fade out to commercial.
submitted by Gameran to wrestlingisreddit [link] [comments]
Crowd: One fall!
And is for… the WiR Television Championship! Already in the ring, the challenger, weighing in at 235 pounds, The Suuuuuuperstar!
Banaganoush: And Already in the ring, the champion, “Guaranteed, Gabe Garvin!”
Ding Ding Ding!
Mann: And the bell rings here, and we are back underway at Sound Off! Presented by Dexter Flux.
The Superstar does a little spin as he approaches Gabe Garvin and the two back off from each other. The two wrestlers stare down a moment, before launching at each other with a collar and elbow tie-up. The Superstar gains the upper hand and locks Garvin in a headlock. Garvin, in a headlock, however, gets pushed into the ropes, where he gets pushed away. Garvin looks for a back body drop as The Superstar bounces off the ropes, but eats a boot for his trouble. Garvin tries to regain control by lifting Superstar on his shoulders, Superstar shifts back to the ground, but gets lifted and dropped on his chest! The Superstar is forced to roll out of the ring to recover.
Crowd: [Apathetic Silence]
Garvin goes under the bottom rope and gets quickly caught with a kick to the stomach. The Superstar throws Garvin into the barricade and begins to hammer away.
Woodbridge: And The Superstar turning things around here!
Mann: And folks, we’ll be back after these messages from our sponsors!
Woodbridge: Why are we going to commercial, the match just st-
The following advertisement plays
We fade back into the action with a crowd shot, which stays longer than comfortable on a shot of 40 apathetic fans. As it cuts back to the ring, we see Gabe Garvin deliver a vertical suplex to The Superstar, before going to a pin that convinces nobody of its success.
Mann: And we are back here at Sound Off! Garvin has regained control here!
The Superstar rolls to the corner and forces a momentary break. As the ref tries to restore order, The Superstar throws an overhand shot at Garvin- who blocks it and responds in kind, backing the Superstar back into the corner, and whipping him across the ring. As Superstar bounces off with a thud, Garvin hits the ropes beside him and hits a bulldog. Garvin goes for a cover, which gets a…
ONE
TWO
Kickout!
The Superstar flops into the corner once more, and Garvin is halted from pulling him away by the official. As The Superstar exits the corner, Garvin is right back on top of him, whips him off the ropes, and delivers a back body drop! The Superstar rolls out of the ring once more, but Garvin follows in pursuit. Garvin charges in, but gets caught with a drop-toe hold, and crashes into the announce table.
Mann: Watch out!
Woodbridge: Garvin seeking to capitalize on his newfound momentum here…
Crowd: [Does not care]
The Superstar throws Garvin back into the squared circle, and delivers a club to the back of his head, Followed by stomps and a knee drop. Superstar waits for Garvin to try and get back up, before stomping again, followed by a punch. As Garvin powers back to his feet, The Superstar looks to grab him, but Garvin pulls him in for a belly-to-belly suplex! Superstar shuffles into the corner, followed by Garvin, who eats a boot for his trouble before The Superstar storms out with a lariat. The Superstar looks for a chin lock, but Garvin is too oily, and he slips free. Superstar retaliates for this oily transgression with a fist and applies a headlock to a cornered Garvin.
Mann: And The Superstar getting some offense here, Garvin is in trouble! Can our TV champion save the match?
The Superstar works the headlock in the corner until the ref forces a break, at which juncture The Superstar turns around and throws his fists at Garvin. Following this, The Superstar lifts Garvin to his feet and goes for a whip, but as Garvin hits the other turnbuckle, he lifts his left foot to kick an incoming Superstar! As Garvin looks to capitalize, The Superstar grabs the leg that kicked him and takes Garvin down to the mat. Superstar drops an elbow on Garvin’s knee, and a second elbow, before looking for a knee twist, which Garvin pushes away from.
Mann: And Garvin fends off the Superstar’s onslaught! What a heroic effort by our TV Champion!
Crowd: [awkward silence]
Garvin sells his injured knee for a moment, before using it to pull a charging Superstar down with a drop-toe hold, flip Superstar over, and try to apply a submission, but this time, The Superstar pushes Garvin away! The Superstar delivers an elbow to a staggered Garvin, before delivering a Russian leg sweep, and going for a cover.
ONE
TWO
Kickout!
The Superstar is in disbelief that his leg sweep failed to get the victory, and he pulls Superstar by the arm, before kicking his downed body in the rib. Garvin throws himself off the ground to throw a punch at Superstar’s gut, but as he gets up, he is once again cut off by a clothesline, and a pin attempt.
ONE
TWO
Kickout.
Crowd: [Apathetic, a smattering of boos, and a single portly fan in a Shooting Association shirt attempting to start a “boring” chant]
Woodbridge: The Superstar is unable to get the best of Garvin despite some strong offense here, and the longer this goes on, the more I like the TV Champion’s chances in this match.
Mann: And all the Garvinites in the crowd cheering for their hero to make a comeback!!
Crowd shot of bored audience quickly pans back to the ring, where The Superstar is applying an arm wringer
Mann: And this match of course is presented by our sponsors, over at Mann Corporation!
The Superstar transitions to a half camel clutch, still clutching the arm of Garvin
Mann: Mann Corporation is committed to providing high-quality products to all of our loyal customers! Use code “WiR” at checkout for 3.5% off select items at MannCoStore.com!
The Superstar has transitioned into a standing headlock
Mann: If you buy within the next 7 minutes, all Gabe Garvin merchandise is 10% off! Act fast! And now, back to the action!
Garvin powers out of the headlock and whips The Superstar into a corner. He charges in, and misses, as The Superstar moves out of the way, and attempts to lock in another arm wringer. Garvin tries to power out but fails, and the hold is applied.
Superstar: ASK HIM!
Garvin does not submit, and once again tries to lift himself upwards. Superstar sees this, and shifts so that he is lying down on the back of Garvin, still applying the arm wringer. Garvin winces in agony and reaches for the rope with his free hand. Unable to reach them, Garvin Begins to power himself upwards for the third time, and this one is successful, as he slowly works his way up to his feet, Superstar now trapped in the air in a fireman’s carry. The Superstar pushes himself off as Garvin gets to his feet, and tries to throw a punch. Trying to reclaim the momentum, The Superstar goes for an Irish whip, and looks for a dropkick as Garvin returns, but to no avail! Garvin holds onto the rope, and The Superstar crashes back to the ground.
Mann: And Garvin escaping the hold! Superstar is dazed!
Woodbridge: And this could be the opening the TV Champion needs to regain control of this match! The Superstar is in trouble, as Gabe is Garving up!
Mann: It’s Garvin’ time!
Garvin bounds off the ropes and leaps for a flying clothesline!
Mann: What a maneuver!
Garvin hits the ropes again, and nails a staggered Superstar with another flying clothesline! The Superstar writhes in agony as he tries to pull himself back to a standing base, where Garvin is waiting for him. Garvin bounces off the ropes, and nails a rising Superstar with a shoulder block.
Mann: Vintage Garvin! And he has the upper hand! The fans here on their feet!
Crowd: [Silent, sitting down]
Garvin ascends to the second rope, and as a wounded Superstar ascends once more, he leaps for a double ax handle, but nobody is home! The Superstar looks to capitalize with a DDT, but it gets blocked by Garvin, who fights out, throws Superstar against the ropes, and hits another shoulder block. With The Superstar down, Garvin looks at the crowd, backs against the ropes, and hits a fist drop!
One guy in the crowd Crowd: YEEEAAAH WE FUCKIN LOVE THE FIST DROP YEEEEAAHHH
Crowd: WOOO!! GAR-VIN! GAR-VIN!
Woodbridge: And the people exploding for Garvin’s fist drop! (?)
Garvin looks almost surprised at the suddenly raucous crowd, and motions for his finishing maneuver! As soon as he indicates he isn’t going for another fist drop, the crowd dies and goes back to their silence. Superstar stumbles to his feet, gets his arm trapped, and’s he’s lifted into the air, before being slammed down with a Pump Handle Slam! Garvin goes into the cover…
ONE
TWO
THREE!
DING DING DING!!
Mann: And Gabe Garvin retains!
Woodbridge: His victory was all but Garunteed
Babaganouh: And here is your winner, at a time of Seven minutes and Forty-Five seconds… Garunteed Gaaaaaabeeeeee Gaaaaarviiiin!!
Crowd [Scant Murmors]
Mann: And tonight we have seen a truly memorable title defense from our heroic TV Champion, Gabe Garvin. And to watch all of Garvin’s matches from the comfort of your home, go to WWW dot Wrestle Is Reddit dot com slash Garvin for all the latest updates! And a special thanks to our sponsor for this show, JDate!
The monitor shows Dexter Flux on screen, who immediately gets a crowd pop 10x louder than anything of the past 7:45
Crowd: FLUX! FLUX! FLUX! WE LOVE FLUX!
Flux: I'm not… I'm not Jewish, but that's really not what JDate is about. It's about like… dating. JDate is what JDate is. That's what it is. I'm Dexter Flux. I'm the President of the United States. Thank you for your service.
The monitor cuts back to the crowd going bananas for Flux. A guy is screaming and beating the shit out of the old woman sitting next to him because he loves Dexter Flux so much.
Mann: And you too can be just like these happy people if you buy a Gabe Garvin T-Shirt, now 4% off at select TJ Maxx stores near you!
Garvin holds up his title on the apron while the crowd cheer for Flux, and a photographer gets a photo of the victorious champion in front of a cheering crowd. As Garvin gets down from Bret’s rope, the camera cuts to…
Something else. It's shot differently, worse cameras that pan around instead of cut. No commentary. No acknowledgment. It's a documentary shoved in the middle of a wrestling show.
We're in a church basement, or a community gym, or something like that, with hardwood floors and dim, white light pouring in through windows near the top of the room. There's a table next to the door with a coffee machine and paper cups and a door to the outside propped open, so people can step out to smoke. A voice speaks up.
Teddy (O.S.): I don't think I've ever been a good person.
We move to the middle of the room. There's a circle of people sitting in chairs, looking at one whose face is obscured but whose voice most WiR diehards recognize. The circle's watching him carefully, skeptically. A couple of them glance at the camera as it moves by, which seems like an outsider - a perverse interloper. Some of them are recognizable, heels from all over the wrestling scene. Most of them seem miserable to be here, unrepentant. One figure, dressed up, seems more warm in his posture, but we don't see his face either.
Teddy (O.S.): I don't think I've ever really tried, I mean. I've been a good guy, for a little bit. Here and there. But I wasn't who I was. I was somebody trying to get cheered, trying to make sure they loved me. And when they didn't, I just… I snapped.
Finally, we see him, the object of their attentions. He is sitting in a chair, dressed down in a t-shirt, paper cup of coffee by his feet. Teddy Coronado. There's no charisma to the way he speaks. He was a preacher once, electrifying, manic, an embodiment of television airwaves. Now, he's mumbling. The camera zooms in on his face, as he tried to put together the next few words, shaking his head. The words seem ridiculous to say and maybe that's because they're wrestling words and this man - sitting here, in the basement - does not seem to be a wrestler.
Teddy: I'm Teddy Coronado and… Sorry. I'm Teddy and I'm a heel.
Others (all together): Hi, Teddy.
He cringes at them.
Teddy: I've been…
He stops, sucking on his tongue. It's the noise of a crowd, again.
Teddy: I'm sorry, I don't think I can do this.
Spence (O.S.): It's alright.
The camera pans over to a much more shocking face, Spence Cooper, dressed like a normal person, with a buttoned-up v-neck, instead of his usual attire as one half of the Golden State Stars, wearing mesh shirts and whatever nonsense is left. The rest of the group turns to him with a sort of reverence that seems wholly unfitting for him.
Spence: This is hard stuff, Teddy, alright - this is hard stuff, everybody. I mean, when I was a member of the Golden State Stars-
Chaz (O.S): GOLDEN! STATE! ST-
Spence: Chaz.
We whip pan to Chaz Levine, who is also there. He is dressed less like a normal person.
Chaz: Sorry, bro, still working on it.
Spence: We all have hiccups, is what I was saying. This is hard work. That's why not everybody does it. But it's good work. You've been here for a long time, right?
He's staring at the ground as he said it, as if ashamed.
Teddy: Six months.
Spence: Six months and it's still hard. That should show to everyone else here that even the best of us You can do it, Teddy. You can say it.
Teddy takes a breath, tries to put it together. After a few seconds, he looks back up. And it's almost there. That spark, that fire in his eyes.
Teddy: I've… been thinking about things, recently. I've been thinking about my time as a wrestler. I've done a lot of things in this business - and I'm not bragging about that, but I'm saying it because I need to say it. I was the best guy on the mic for a long time. I was good in the ring, too. I beat some of the best people in that company and sometimes I even did it clean.
There's a chuckle at that, in the room, and he gives a rueful smile, for a second, looking back on everything. Then it fades. So does the light in his eyes. Teddy looks at his feet, again, but the rest of them are listening, now. Most of them hate this place, but they listen
Teddy: I lied, I cheated, I stole. I used every dirty fucking trick in the book - you can look. My granddad wrote it. I used weapons. I hired my own ref. I made my own matches. I attacked people from behind the scenes. I once wrestled with a cardboard cut-out, so I could move its torn-off foot under the bottom rope to get a break.
He's looking up, now, and the fire isn't in his eyes, but it's in his words.
Teddy: I gave up everything for that title, for those accolades, for those year-end awards, for my hand raised up at the end of the night. I've got a claim to being the best champion in that company's history. I went into this business looking for all of that. I said to myself that I'd be different than my family, from my great-grandfather, from my grandfather, from my…
He stops. He leaves the final word unsaid.
Teddy: But that's not what I'm saying. I had the chance to change my name. I had a shitty start, but I had my own agency. What I did was my own. And by the end, I gave up that. I gave up my decency, my integrity, my dedication to this art, I gave up everything I have - and I don't have anything to show for it.
There's a crippling silence, for a few moments, the kind of silence you only notice when everything felt so loud before it.
Teddy: I don't talk to any of the roster I was a part of. My name doesn't get mentioned in promos. The fans - the fans that used to jeer my name, who serenaded me after I was forced out of that company - they don't think about me. I gave up everything I ever had and I don't…
He takes a shallow breath, emotional, seeming to hold back tears as he rubs his temples. A man offers him a tissue box but he waves it aside. For as much pride as he has managed to put aside, he can't allow himself to cry in front of the only people he's ever been genuine to.
Teddy: I got an offer, recently. You guys know about it.
Teddy half-heartedly gestures at the camera and a couple of them glance back at it. Chaz, on the edge of frame, flexes a little bit when reminded a camera is watching him.
Teddy: I got an offer to come back to WiR. They're coming back, apparently, again. They've offered me a couple times, over the years, and I almost took it. I even said I would, once, before. Back when I still had the bookstore. And then I started training and I became what I was, again, and I gave up the bookstore, and I was so fucked up I couldn't even make it to the show, because I realized, in that ring…
He pauses and they're all listening. He hates that, because he knows why they're listening and why he's talking. Because the fire, suddenly, is there. It's there in his eyes. It's there in his voice. It's there in the way he sits in that chair, the knotting his hands do as he talks, but most of all it's there in the crowd, listening with rapt attention.
Teddy: There's the Teddy Coronado with the money, with the television show, with the betrayal and the burials, even the Teddy who dressed up like a dentist and said he hated bullies. They say I've been a lot of people, had a lot of gimmicks, but the trick is they're all the same one. They're all somebody who needs to have the whole world know that they're the best. But they're all masks. Facades. And when I got into that ring, lit by halogen lights, no one in the audience, no one facing me in that ring, no one there but me, I realized the truth.
The fire in his voice has burned away and, now, he speaks in ashes: harsh, more serious than he's ever been, and more painful. He is being true.
Teddy: I don't know what's beneath those masks. I don't. A part of me is terrified that there isn't anything there. That the shit I've done, to other people, to the industry as a whole, that's who I am. I've tried to find out who it is, out here. I tried to open a bookstore, I tried to become a trainer, I tried to get as far away from that ring as possible.
He stops, again. The crowd is fully drawn in, now, and a furrowed brow of concern on Spence's face breaks through the mask of supportiveness.
Teddy: But, when I got that email, that offer… I think I realized that there's only one way for me to figure that out-
Spence: Teddy…
Teddy turns his eyes to Spence, but there's a weariness to his eyes. He's already made up his mind. He made it up before he even entered this room, before he even entered the cameras in, before Spence even says the thing he knows he's about to say.
Spence: Teddy, I know what you're about to say. And I want to tell you in front of the group, because I know you don't want there to be secrets here. I've been lured that way. We all have, but you have to know that there is a risk to what you're about to say. Some people can recover, can re-enter that ring, Teddy, but some people can't.
There is a warmth in Spence's eyes that make you realize that this is not the same man that was a Golden State Star. Not anymore. But he knows that he can't change his mind.
Spence: This is in your hands, Teddy. It always is.
Teddy sits there, genuinely considering the words and then he smiles. Knows how absurd what he's about to say is. And then he speaks, just as resolute as before. No. More so.
Teddy: I know. But I hear it in me. I hear the roar of the crowd, with me or against me. I hear my opponent's music hit. I hear the bending of the mat, the straining of the ropes, the fight. I know that who I was in there was a monster. But I know that, if there's something of me left, beneath all of this, it's in there.
He stands up.
Teddy: This is what I'm choosing to do, Spence. I'm sorry.
Teddy walks out of the circle, across the hardwood floor, and steps out the door. The camera doesn't follow.
Javier (O.S.): Ladies and gentlemen, the Independent Champion, Diiiiiiiiick Dover!
We cut back to Knott's Berry Farm, where the crowd reacts in a mixed fashion to the announcement of Dick Dover. Prisoner of Society hits, and Dick Dover walks through the curtain with the Independent Championship over his shoulder.
Mann: The Independent Champion enters the building, he says he has an announcement to make.
Woodbridge: That’s right, Shay. We don’t know what it’s going to be, but when Dover walked into the venue this afternoon, he insisted on addressing the crowd.
Dover grabs a mic from Maurice Chondon ringside, then walks up the stairs, wipes his feet on the apron, and enters the ring. He then turns to face the crowd.
Dover: I know you all have a lot of thoughts about me, but let’s get one thing clear right now. There’s been a lot of time gone by since you last saw me. But don’t get me wrong, one thing wouldn’t have changed no matter how long we’ve been apart. I am still your Independent Champion.
Crowd: mix of boos and applause
Dover: But there have been changes. Changes in the world and changes with myself, and it’s time for me to share with you all some changes I’ve made. When WiR went on hiatus i-
Nitroglycerin hits as Joey McCarty storms out from behind the curtain holding a mic.
Crowd: Boooooooooo
McCarty: No no no no no no fuck this shit. I know what this is. I’m not stupid.
McCarty stomps down to the ring.
McCarty: Dick, you’ve talked all this talk about being a fighting champion, but I know a retirement announcement when I see one.
McCarty slides into the ring and pops up to his feet, pacing around Dover.
McCarty: and you must be out of your mind to think you can walk out of here title held high, to a cheering crowd, and go out as champion. You’re out of your goddamn mind.
Dover walks towards McCarty.
Dover: You don’t even-
McCarty: Save it, honestly. I came into this business as an outsider, and I was given the crash course. I don’t know where you learned this, it might have been in dogwater Florida, but it certainly wasn’t in Toronto.
Dover: Joey, you’ll shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you.
McCarty: What I was taught is that you always go out on your back. If you won’t do that, then I’ll do that for you.
Dover goes to talk, but McCarty slaps him.
McCarty: So what you’re going to do right now, is lie down, stare at the lights, and you can end your career the way you’re supposed to, and watch me coronate myself as a triple crown champion.
Dover: Interesting point Joey, counterpoint:
Dover hits McCarty with a spinning back elbow, sending him to the mat!
Dover: You don’t tell me what to fucking do. So here’s what we’re actually going to do, I’m going to show these people I am a fighting champion, we’re going to get a ref out here, and I’m going to whoop your ass
Crowd: YAYYYYY
Mann: HOLD ON A SECOND, DOVER. YOU DON’T GET TO PROMISE PEOPLE MATCHES, I MAKE THE MATCHES but that is a good idea so lets get a ref out here BECAUSE I SAID SO.
Crowd (a little more confused): YAYYY
Jeff Boone sprints out from backstage at full speed and dives headfirst under the rope into the ring.
Boone: ALRIGHTWEGOTAREGULARCHAMPIONSHIPMATCHONEFALLLET’SKEEPITCLEANBOYSNOCLOSEDKNUCKLESONPUNCHESNOHAIRPULLINGIWON’THAVEANYNONSENSEINTHISRINGYOUHEREMEOKRINGTHEBELL
The bell rings, leaving both men a little stunned at how quickly this match has started. Joey moves into action first, lurching for Dover, arms outstretched in a clear indication that Joey wants to initiate a classic “Test of Strength.” Dick Dover knocks away the hands and shoots for a double-leg takedown, sending Joey sprawling to the mat.
Mann: Wow, an incredibly technical start for Dover. Sometimes I think we forget home in depth his wrestling knowhow is.
Dick Dover is slowly overpowering Joey from underneath, when a glint shines in the Canadian’s eyes. A brutal knee to the face erupts from McCarty, slamming into Dover’s nose. Dover steps back, covering his damaged face. Blood begins to drip onto the mat.
Woodbridge: Wow, Dover is absolutely busted up!
Paisner: That’s the opportunistic streak of McCarty showing. Give him an inch, he’ll take a mile and sell you back the inch for triple it’s market value.
Dover shakes his head, trying to clear up the fog inflicted from Joey’s move. Before he gets a chance to recover, Joey is behind him, snaking his arms up to lock Dover in a full nelson. Dover is in a precarious position, but he digs his fingers into Joey’s eyes, cause the hold to release.
Woodbridge: A savvy veteran move, but is it legal?
Mann: Absolutely not. It seems like this ref is going to let them play on, for some reason. Very hands off.
Woodbridge: When you’ve got two fighters who will do whatever it takes to win, sometimes it’s best to just let them go at it. Anything less than that could give the other an unfair advantage.
Dover throws a couple quick strikes to McCarty’s midsection. Joey winces and bends over, giving Dick the opportunity to hit him with a Leg Drop Bulldog that pounds Joey into the mat!
Crowd: WOOOOAH!
Dover capitalizes on McCarty’s grounded position, dropping some falling elbows into the fallen man. But the third elbow doesn’t land cleanly, given Joey the opportunity to flip over and nail another knee into Dover, this time right on the side of his head.
Mann: Hard to imagine these headshots won’t have an effect on Dover if this match goes long.
A quick leap to his feet, and Joey finally has the position he wanted in the beginning, locking up Dover in a contested full collar tie. He gains the upper hand, and begins controlling Dover towards the corner. A grasp of Dover’s wounded head, and then suddenly McCarty is rubbing Dover’s face all over the ringpost!
Crowd: OOOF
But Dover isn’t one to take something like this without fighting back. A wild leg flail nails McCarty right in the gonads, sending him backwards in pain. The ref looks to step in, but then decides not to as Dover runs towards his and lands an uppercut into lariat combo that sends Joey back down to the ground. Dover attempts a cover!
1!
No!
Joey kicks out with relative ease, prompting Dover to consider more violence towards the grounded wrestler.
Mann: What could this devilish man be considering next?
Dover sits on McCarty.
Woodbridge: A chair!
A quick pivot from Dover, and suddenly Joey is up in the air, face in anguish from the inverted surfboard stretch.
Woodbridge: A painful chair!
Suddenly, a voice rings out from the crowd.
Random Fan: DOVER IS STILL LAME!
Dover, mildly irritated by the fan, releases the hold on Joey, sending the stretched out man to the mat. He gets up and aggressively points to the crowd in the direction of the mysterious fan.
Dover: Hey Asshole! You wanna see lame? I’ll show you lame!
Dover grabs Joey’s hair and becomes slamming punches into the downed man’s face.
Crowd: LAME DOVER LAME DOVER LAME DOVER
A frustrated Dover now releases the hold and turns his back on Joey, heading over to the ringpost. He begins to remove the cover. At this point, blood has completely covered his chest. Joey stirs and stands, sneaking up to behind Dover. A quick snatch and Joey has surprise rolled up Dover for a pin!
1!
2!
No!
Dover kicks out and gets back to his feet, but Joey is quicker and grabs Dover’s arm for an irish whip, sending him into the exposed ring post!* The hard metal digs into the small of Dover’s back and he reels in pain, back into Joey who snags his wrist, twisting it into a hold. Dover is up in the air and slammed back onto his neck as Joey lands a modified Fisherman Driver on the champion!
Crowd: OOOOOHHHHH!!!!
It’s Joey’s turn to batter the grounded Dover, repeatedly sending soccer kicks into his skull. The dull sound of bone against flesh carries through the arena in a way that makes most attendees uncomfortable. Joey lifts Dover to his feet, intending to whip him into the exposed ring post again, but Dover has seen this before. He counters with a reversal, sending McCarty into the ropes, McCarty rebounds and Dover SLAMS him into the mat with a teeth-rattling spinebuster!
Crowd: YAYYYYY
Mann: I’m not sure if Dover’s winning the crowd over or if they just enjoy seeing Joey get hurt, either way, Dover is red-hot!
Dover grabs McCarty, and goes into the set up for his Doverleaf! But before he can, a small figure pops up onto the apron.
Woodbridge: WOAH, WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?!
Gigi appears holding a spray bottle and she sprays a fine clear mist right into Dover’s eyes and cackles maniacally!
Mann: What’s this?! It's Gigi! And she’s just assaulted Dover with some sort of liquid!
Dover drops McCarty and grabs at his eyes. Kaitlyn Casey Jones appears from the crowd, holding a sign that says “GAMER GIRL BATHWATER $279.69”, she hops the barricade and grabs a mic, laughing with Gigi. Jones pulls a card out of her pocket and starts reading it.
KCJ: Hey faaaans, if you’re looking to order some of the water that our favorite e-girl actually bathes in, it’s up on the website right now! Guaranteed to have touched Gigi’s skin, go to www.gigigamergirlgush.pizza for more details. Fuck you, Dick!”
Gigi: I wrote that last part.
McCarty clambers to his feet, confused. He notices Dover staggering, and launches himself into the air, connecting with a superman punch to the back of Dover’s skull.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOO
Mann: BERTUZZI! DOVER’S OUT COLD
Woodbridge: I can’t believe this, Dover’s had the title stolen from him!
McCarty scrambles to cover Dover.
1
2
3-NO
Crowd: WOAAAAAH YAYYY
Mann: Dover kicked out!
Woodbridge: How!?!?
McCarty stumbles to the corner in disbelief, and collapses into a seated position onto the bottom turnbuckle, the crowd swells, and McCarty’s confounded expression turns to disbelief and then to anger, he pops to his feet and stomps towards Dover.
Woodbridge: What do either of these men have left in the bag?!
McCarty lifts Dover to his feet, cussing him out as he does. McCarty attempts his Bus Driver Uppercut, but Dover springs to life and catches him, and PLANTS him with a kneeling jawbreaker!
Mann: Cliffs of Dover!
Woodbridge: From the last of his energy!
Mann: Cover!
1
2
3
DING DING DING
Crowd: YAYYYYY!
Mann: Dover is still Independent Champion!
Before Javier can make the announcement, Gigi and KCJ hit the ring and attack Dover, as McCarty rolls out of the ring, jumping him and punching and kicking Dover while he’s down.
Crowd: BOOOOOOOO
Woodbridge: What the hell is this?!
Mann: Gigi still thinks she’s owed a shot at the Independent Championship, she must have made some sort of deal with McCarty to get her match!
Woodbridge: And now that her plan is up in smoke, she’s taking it out on Dover!
Gigi and KCJ continue their assault, KCJ picks up the mic and is about to speak, but before she can, Adam Raised A Cain plays.
Crowd: YAYYYYYYYY
Woodbridge: Someone else with unfinished business, Mark Dutch!
Mark Dutch runs out, Joey McCarty is standing on the ramp, and Dutch shoulder checks him out of the way! Dutch then slides into the ring, and pulls KCJ off of Dover and out of the ring! Gigi scrambles out of the ring away from Dutch.
Mann: Last time we saw these two, they were at eachothers throats, but now Dutch comes to save Dover? What’s going on?
Woodbridge: Looks like there's still lots of unfinished business around these parts.
Mann: That’s enough of this.
Mann grabs a stick mic and attempts to stand on the commentary table, but it wobbles so he instead stands on his chair
Mann: When I brought this company back, it wasn’t for what it was, but what it can become, so I can’t have you three stinking up the joint with old beef, so let’s settle this at the next show. You three for the Independent Title. a brief pause to let that sink in
Crowd: WOOOOOOO
Mann sits back down with a grin on his face.
Mann: I like this “making matches live” thing
Woodbridge: Could stand to work on your crowd work though.
Mann: More WiR action, after this!
Dover, Dutch and Gigi staring eachother down as we fade out to commercial.
2023.06.02 04:44 IFeelSoWeirdRN Did I do something wrong?
This is the story about my last attempt at dating, the outcome is bothering me and I would like to get some opinions about both my and his behaviour. Met this guy off Grindr, he was sort of my type we met and kinda clicked, I was excited to start dating again. He was very much into the idea of relationship right from the first messages, I said I am not against it if it goes that way eventually.
We went for a couple of walks and after few days he wanted to go to the swimming pool so I joined him even though I dont like it, just went because he enjoys it and wanted to spend time with him. He probably wanted to see me without a jacket on as he couldnt see a hint of my body before (it was couple months back when it was still cold outside). As I strip down naked I see him nervously checking me out - I work out 7 days a week, I am in the best shape of my life and it shows. There was some awkward attempt at a first kiss when we were done swimming - in crowded lockerroom which I didnt appreciate as I am not a fan on PDA. He apologized afterwards, said he couldnt help it, that I look perfect.
As the days go by we organized a long trip after which I spend night at his place - which immediately started with sex initiated by him. I was not against it as I found him attractive and nice. It wasnt that good, he was kinda too agressive for my taste, but he must have enjoyed it a lot. Since that night I felt like he was getting obsessed with me. He would constantly write me how good I look how he misses me etc. Like 20 times a day. At first I didnt mind , but it would get increasingly annoying. I like to take things slow and I dont get strong feelings of infatuation quickly. We met several times for a walk, had great conversations and organized another long weekend trip ending at his place again. Again we had sex and it was not so good once more, he felt even more agressive and pushy, yet I didnt say anything. He was kissing me nonstop, couldnt watch the movie at all, I was trying to hint it was too much and lets save it after the movie, but he didnt get the hint at all. It was the same in the morning he couldnt stop hugging me and smothering me, my face and other body parts were totally scratched by his beard, it was really too much, but at the same time kind of sweet, I was still enjoying his presence, found him attractive and returning the affection.
After this encounter I told him I was gonna be busy that week - had shit ton of work ahead of me as I was making time for him instead of working. I also had a death in close family and a funeral to organize and attend. I told him I might have time on wednesday and we could meet, I said I will let him know if I will be free. He then continued with his love messages even more excessively and it was getting a bit annoying, I had my mind at other things. As the wednesday comes and I leave work I see he messaged me how my day was etc, I answer and suddenly he asks if I am free. I told him I would like to go to the workout playground as I didnt have a chance to workout in two weeks and I really wanted to do it. I suggested he comes along, workout for an hour and we can go grab dinner after or go for a walk. He suddenly switches and starts writing me that if he didnt write me I wouldnt even suggest that. I told him I just got off work and I cant use the phone there and I would write him for sure first if he didnt do it before I could (which was the truth, I was thinking about it for the whole last hour of work). He then writes “just go workout if it´s so important to you”, it felt really passive-agressive, so I just write okay.
It kinda hurt me, because it came out of nowhere and I started questioning the past encounters, suddenly I felt like he has been really obsessed with me before and the hint of immature passive agressive behaviour started to bother me a lot. I was very busy the day after, he starts with the messages full of love again asking when we could meet. I told him I was busy all day (true) and also called him out for his behaviour day before. I told him I didnt like it at all and I dont think it was justified as I genuinely wanted to spend time with him. His reaction was “so do you want to meet?” I was honest and told him I am not sure, to give me a day or two to think as I was overwhelmed with work, the funeral and the fact that he acted the way I didnt expect and didnt like at all. He reacted kinda agressive, he felt really hurt that I told him about my concerns and started telling me I dont like him at all, I dont message him (which wasnt true, I reacted as soon as I could everytime) and I am being immature. Then he says He insists on talking about this face to face and I tell him after these messages I am really not sure if I want to do so, to really just give me few days so I can think clearly and not act in affect. He then tells me I am the bad one here and some rough messages followed. I didnt have the strength to deal with it anymore so I blocked him. It´s the only time I ever did this.
What do you think about this?
submitted by IFeelSoWeirdRN to AskGayMen [link] [comments]
We went for a couple of walks and after few days he wanted to go to the swimming pool so I joined him even though I dont like it, just went because he enjoys it and wanted to spend time with him. He probably wanted to see me without a jacket on as he couldnt see a hint of my body before (it was couple months back when it was still cold outside). As I strip down naked I see him nervously checking me out - I work out 7 days a week, I am in the best shape of my life and it shows. There was some awkward attempt at a first kiss when we were done swimming - in crowded lockerroom which I didnt appreciate as I am not a fan on PDA. He apologized afterwards, said he couldnt help it, that I look perfect.
As the days go by we organized a long trip after which I spend night at his place - which immediately started with sex initiated by him. I was not against it as I found him attractive and nice. It wasnt that good, he was kinda too agressive for my taste, but he must have enjoyed it a lot. Since that night I felt like he was getting obsessed with me. He would constantly write me how good I look how he misses me etc. Like 20 times a day. At first I didnt mind , but it would get increasingly annoying. I like to take things slow and I dont get strong feelings of infatuation quickly. We met several times for a walk, had great conversations and organized another long weekend trip ending at his place again. Again we had sex and it was not so good once more, he felt even more agressive and pushy, yet I didnt say anything. He was kissing me nonstop, couldnt watch the movie at all, I was trying to hint it was too much and lets save it after the movie, but he didnt get the hint at all. It was the same in the morning he couldnt stop hugging me and smothering me, my face and other body parts were totally scratched by his beard, it was really too much, but at the same time kind of sweet, I was still enjoying his presence, found him attractive and returning the affection.
After this encounter I told him I was gonna be busy that week - had shit ton of work ahead of me as I was making time for him instead of working. I also had a death in close family and a funeral to organize and attend. I told him I might have time on wednesday and we could meet, I said I will let him know if I will be free. He then continued with his love messages even more excessively and it was getting a bit annoying, I had my mind at other things. As the wednesday comes and I leave work I see he messaged me how my day was etc, I answer and suddenly he asks if I am free. I told him I would like to go to the workout playground as I didnt have a chance to workout in two weeks and I really wanted to do it. I suggested he comes along, workout for an hour and we can go grab dinner after or go for a walk. He suddenly switches and starts writing me that if he didnt write me I wouldnt even suggest that. I told him I just got off work and I cant use the phone there and I would write him for sure first if he didnt do it before I could (which was the truth, I was thinking about it for the whole last hour of work). He then writes “just go workout if it´s so important to you”, it felt really passive-agressive, so I just write okay.
It kinda hurt me, because it came out of nowhere and I started questioning the past encounters, suddenly I felt like he has been really obsessed with me before and the hint of immature passive agressive behaviour started to bother me a lot. I was very busy the day after, he starts with the messages full of love again asking when we could meet. I told him I was busy all day (true) and also called him out for his behaviour day before. I told him I didnt like it at all and I dont think it was justified as I genuinely wanted to spend time with him. His reaction was “so do you want to meet?” I was honest and told him I am not sure, to give me a day or two to think as I was overwhelmed with work, the funeral and the fact that he acted the way I didnt expect and didnt like at all. He reacted kinda agressive, he felt really hurt that I told him about my concerns and started telling me I dont like him at all, I dont message him (which wasnt true, I reacted as soon as I could everytime) and I am being immature. Then he says He insists on talking about this face to face and I tell him after these messages I am really not sure if I want to do so, to really just give me few days so I can think clearly and not act in affect. He then tells me I am the bad one here and some rough messages followed. I didnt have the strength to deal with it anymore so I blocked him. It´s the only time I ever did this.
What do you think about this?
2023.06.02 04:40 MisterSnippy Coming Softly, Softer, It Goes
Fog rolls up, wisping through and across her vision, gradually covering up the figure reflected in the silverbacked glasswork. For a moment, she stands hunched over, letting the water condense and run through hills and valleys between her cyan scales, liquid tinted by colour, traveling down her tail in a stream of droplets. Drip drop, streaming off the end into clear pools that reflect a shimmering clearer view. Water inches up the yellow walls, coating them with a thin film of liquid, that, when gathers enough, trickles down and enlarges the puddles dotting the floor, turning it into a nascent ocean. The last glimpse she has of the mirrored figure, before it's replaced with a cyan smudge, is the expression of unease, ever present, always concealed carefully behind grey fog.
Her inner sanctum is soon left behind, doors closed, wet feet slapping against wooden floors scattering droplets, exchanging mental safety for physical sensibility. One arm slips past another, entering the wardrobe, fingers dancing across different shirts and jackets, tip tapping, stopping on the Torimine suit. Soon, tail slipping through skirt, arms maneuvering through shirt and jacket, shoes slipped on, business-ready. Well-fitted, but a time away from being well-worn. There's not much left for her to grab from the room, just a quick bite to eat, leftovers from yesterday, hidden away in a darkened cupboard, and then out the door into Salazsar.
It's pre-dawn, sky suffused by cloudly dark grey, smatterings of snowflakes whispering through the wind, backlit by lamps and magelight. They stick to her dress and scatter around her whenever the wind changes its aimless flow. She moves down a spiral-staircase, gliding to a lower, more mercantile, level. A much slower, clumsier, snowflake, crystallized by life, not temperature. Step-by-step I descend, until the bottom appears, stonework smoothed from the timeless passage of pedestrians. For a moment she pauses, deliberating, reflecting. Does she really want to do this? She scoffs, no question about that, a false question, then followed by the real one. Does she really want to to this, today? Joints grind back into gear, rust shaking off and flaking away, the answer apparent. She has to.
"Revlii?"
She looks up from the paperwork on her desk, staring in the direction of the concerned, male, voice, that softly rumbles through the doorway into the dim office. The light outside is brighter than inside, making it hard to see a clear figure, instead he's more fuzzy silhouette, eyes glinting against the darkness.
"Yes?"
My eyes meet his for a moment, before he glances elsewhere, pretending to stare at the other objects that litter the room, like the paperwork splattered over her desk. They don't stick to any one object for lengthened time, afraid any errant gaze will be imprisoned into eye-contact if it lingers.
"Listen, are you doing alright? If you need to take a day off you can, okay?"
She gives him an exasperated look, accompanied by a smirk. A hint of teeth poke through the gap in her smile, scales at the corners of her eyes crinkle, head tilts.
"I'm fine. Trust me on that. If I needed a break I would take one."
A perfect smile, happy quick exhale, through the nose, fingers clutching a quill delicately preparing to be put to page, documents to be signed. The Gnoll looks mollified turning to leave, but not
"Well, just remember. If you need to take a break I'd be happy to cover for you, it's no issue."
The last word is rhetorical, he leaves without leaving room for reply. Just her in the office, alone, once again. The only sound the sounds of the paperwork rustling when she places and replaces documents. Lots of paperwork to do, organized into three sections ,one pile growing taller than the others, a combined mix of them.
In the air is a stale smell that sticks to me, seeping into her clothing, into the chair, into the documents. It's unclear where it comes from, not smelling like ink or paper, but something other, not foreign, however. It's all she smells, nothing else, not the pungent ink, not the dusty office, not perfumed Drakes or mouth-watering foodstalls. But it doesn't matter, work to do. Quill reappears against page, drawing lines of ink, curved, straight, forming letters and then words. On this page the final words appear, her signature, always signed, "Revlii Darktongue", exactly the same every time. She places the sheet into the tallest pile, and then places claws upon another and draws the paper over. And then writing again, and signing again.
It's
Street slowly winding upwards, Drakes and Gnolls huddled close together, trying to fit further into the crowd, but also struggling for warmth, this close contact being secretly treasured by many. She aswell, is huddled with them, skirt scraping against other garmets, head covered by wayward snowflakes, face made wet by foggy breath, all their faces wet. The kind of cold misery that forms bonds, and strengthens friendships Her shoes carefully step over small patches of ice, and once or twice a member of the crowd helps her catch her balance when she slips, and she too, for them
The sky is a brilliant orange, beauty magnified by the spires and towers that surround me, distant rooftops glinting orange reflections, eternal burning away of daylight into night. Her path travels upward s, stairs passing beneath her, railings caught, shoes ever click clack and stomp when a slip threatens. The spot appears, between two spires, an opening where the city can be seen down a line, sunset perfectly positioned in the middle.
Revlii takes a minute to take off my shoes, placing them on the ground, and then carefully clearing a clean patch to sit on. A white exhale slowly comes, relaxed, as she gets into a good mental position. The sun slowly falls, distant orange chased by coming clouds that arrive from faraway lands. Work was okay today, she thinks, more of the same, but sometimes lack of change can be good. I might even Level soon if I keep it up.
Another exhale, tension leaving her body, flowing into the air, quickly washed away by cold winds and burned through by the orange light. Her daily routine is to sit here and watch the sunset, regardless of the weather. There are many views like this one in Salazsar, but this one feels personal, only belonging to me, and her alone. More snowflakes fall, amount increasing, wind also getting colder.
She dislikes Winter, her favourite season being Spring, but Winter always brings a calmness with it. Maybe it's how sounds seem to be dampened, the world almost still, vibrations sucked away into snowfall. Maybe it's how the sky looks, blues darker and more inviting, oranges brighter and more vibrant, vying for dominance and turning the sky brilliant shades with the rise and set of the sun. Tommorrow is the weekend, which is nice, I think. Soon the solstice will come, and she'll be back on track towards more favoured seasons less inclined to snowfall and chilly air. Another exhale. Life is good.
submitted by MisterSnippy to WanderingInn [link] [comments]
Her inner sanctum is soon left behind, doors closed, wet feet slapping against wooden floors scattering droplets, exchanging mental safety for physical sensibility. One arm slips past another, entering the wardrobe, fingers dancing across different shirts and jackets, tip tapping, stopping on the Torimine suit. Soon, tail slipping through skirt, arms maneuvering through shirt and jacket, shoes slipped on, business-ready. Well-fitted, but a time away from being well-worn. There's not much left for her to grab from the room, just a quick bite to eat, leftovers from yesterday, hidden away in a darkened cupboard, and then out the door into Salazsar.
It's pre-dawn, sky suffused by cloudly dark grey, smatterings of snowflakes whispering through the wind, backlit by lamps and magelight. They stick to her dress and scatter around her whenever the wind changes its aimless flow. She moves down a spiral-staircase, gliding to a lower, more mercantile, level. A much slower, clumsier, snowflake, crystallized by life, not temperature. Step-by-step I descend, until the bottom appears, stonework smoothed from the timeless passage of pedestrians. For a moment she pauses, deliberating, reflecting. Does she really want to do this? She scoffs, no question about that, a false question, then followed by the real one. Does she really want to to this, today? Joints grind back into gear, rust shaking off and flaking away, the answer apparent. She has to.
"Revlii?"
She looks up from the paperwork on her desk, staring in the direction of the concerned, male, voice, that softly rumbles through the doorway into the dim office. The light outside is brighter than inside, making it hard to see a clear figure, instead he's more fuzzy silhouette, eyes glinting against the darkness.
"Yes?"
My eyes meet his for a moment, before he glances elsewhere, pretending to stare at the other objects that litter the room, like the paperwork splattered over her desk. They don't stick to any one object for lengthened time, afraid any errant gaze will be imprisoned into eye-contact if it lingers.
"Listen, are you doing alright? If you need to take a day off you can, okay?"
She gives him an exasperated look, accompanied by a smirk. A hint of teeth poke through the gap in her smile, scales at the corners of her eyes crinkle, head tilts.
"I'm fine. Trust me on that. If I needed a break I would take one."
A perfect smile, happy quick exhale, through the nose, fingers clutching a quill delicately preparing to be put to page, documents to be signed. The Gnoll looks mollified turning to leave, but not
"Well, just remember. If you need to take a break I'd be happy to cover for you, it's no issue."
The last word is rhetorical, he leaves without leaving room for reply. Just her in the office, alone, once again. The only sound the sounds of the paperwork rustling when she places and replaces documents. Lots of paperwork to do, organized into three sections ,one pile growing taller than the others, a combined mix of them.
In the air is a stale smell that sticks to me, seeping into her clothing, into the chair, into the documents. It's unclear where it comes from, not smelling like ink or paper, but something other, not foreign, however. It's all she smells, nothing else, not the pungent ink, not the dusty office, not perfumed Drakes or mouth-watering foodstalls. But it doesn't matter, work to do. Quill reappears against page, drawing lines of ink, curved, straight, forming letters and then words. On this page the final words appear, her signature, always signed, "Revlii Darktongue", exactly the same every time. She places the sheet into the tallest pile, and then places claws upon another and draws the paper over. And then writing again, and signing again.
It's
Street slowly winding upwards, Drakes and Gnolls huddled close together, trying to fit further into the crowd, but also struggling for warmth, this close contact being secretly treasured by many. She aswell, is huddled with them, skirt scraping against other garmets, head covered by wayward snowflakes, face made wet by foggy breath, all their faces wet. The kind of cold misery that forms bonds, and strengthens friendships Her shoes carefully step over small patches of ice, and once or twice a member of the crowd helps her catch her balance when she slips, and she too, for them
The sky is a brilliant orange, beauty magnified by the spires and towers that surround me, distant rooftops glinting orange reflections, eternal burning away of daylight into night. Her path travels upward s, stairs passing beneath her, railings caught, shoes ever click clack and stomp when a slip threatens. The spot appears, between two spires, an opening where the city can be seen down a line, sunset perfectly positioned in the middle.
Revlii takes a minute to take off my shoes, placing them on the ground, and then carefully clearing a clean patch to sit on. A white exhale slowly comes, relaxed, as she gets into a good mental position. The sun slowly falls, distant orange chased by coming clouds that arrive from faraway lands. Work was okay today, she thinks, more of the same, but sometimes lack of change can be good. I might even Level soon if I keep it up.
Another exhale, tension leaving her body, flowing into the air, quickly washed away by cold winds and burned through by the orange light. Her daily routine is to sit here and watch the sunset, regardless of the weather. There are many views like this one in Salazsar, but this one feels personal, only belonging to me, and her alone. More snowflakes fall, amount increasing, wind also getting colder.
She dislikes Winter, her favourite season being Spring, but Winter always brings a calmness with it. Maybe it's how sounds seem to be dampened, the world almost still, vibrations sucked away into snowfall. Maybe it's how the sky looks, blues darker and more inviting, oranges brighter and more vibrant, vying for dominance and turning the sky brilliant shades with the rise and set of the sun. Tommorrow is the weekend, which is nice, I think. Soon the solstice will come, and she'll be back on track towards more favoured seasons less inclined to snowfall and chilly air. Another exhale. Life is good.
2023.06.02 04:40 Cold-Percentage-9555 Bounty broker packs
Hey guys. I have come back to Sod2 after a year long break and am loving all the new updates. Its become a daily play for me again and I rushed to complete some of the Trumbull Valley bounties on the 30th of May. I came back to play on the 31st with the intent to buy the restored echo s4 smg and restored echo s5 AR for all of my survivors in my dread world but the pack was already gone!
I like the S4 smg because I have a handgun ammo press and crafting a bulk amount of 9mm ammo is not hard to do and the 9mm seems to be effective on dread. I know allot of you guys play lethal and that looks excessively hard and would give me to much anxiety playing. I like the challenge of dread and the ability to survive.
My question is however, can I change my PC date and get that Trumbull Valley pack back or do I have to wait a year?
submitted by Cold-Percentage-9555 to StateofDecay2 [link] [comments]
I like the S4 smg because I have a handgun ammo press and crafting a bulk amount of 9mm ammo is not hard to do and the 9mm seems to be effective on dread. I know allot of you guys play lethal and that looks excessively hard and would give me to much anxiety playing. I like the challenge of dread and the ability to survive.
My question is however, can I change my PC date and get that Trumbull Valley pack back or do I have to wait a year?
2023.06.02 04:37 ThrowRA_cherryberry Found out my bf has been paying for OF 20M and 20F what do i do?
Hi there, so this is a throwaway because I am just super embarrassed about the situation. A few days ago I was chilling at my bfs house and my phone was charging so I was messing around on his while he played a game. It annoyed me that he had so many notifications on emails so i clicked on it to mark them all as read as he never checks his emails anyway. I scrolled down a little and saw an email from OF about a new log in. My heart absolutely broke and I looked at him and asked him to explain, he looked panicked and tried to take his phone back I didnt let him and asked him what that was about and he just shrugged.
I started to get up to leave to go home but I dont drive and there was no bus at that time so I was pretty stuck. I began to question him and tell him this was an absolute deal breaker and I was so hurt and honestly pretty disgusted by this.
For a bit of background we haven’t been as intimate as I would have liked over the past few months and felt like everytime i tried to initiate I would be rejected and I was patient and respectful. Finding this out was a genuine gut punch and made me feel so cripplingly insecure and ruined the really good weekend we were having.
We talked about it and I got upset and basically said he better just tell me the truth if there was anything else he promised there wasn’t and he only bought it once. I kind of calmed down and asked him to show me his bank statement so I could see how much it was. I looked and saw he had actually used it multiple times aka paid for it 3 times since last November.That is when i fully flipped because he blatantly lied to my face.
We both got pretty upset and had a pretty intense conversation where I pretty much attempted to break up with him and he fully started crying and apologising profusely. I checked the account and the person it is looks like me which is the most frustrating part like he didn’t want to sleep with his girlfriend but has paid multiple times to see a stranger who looks like his girlfriend naked.
I am honestly devastated and really hurt by this. I decided not to dump him yet but essentially told him if i ever even think he is doing anything like this again or if he doesnt get his act together then im done with him.
For context we have been together for 3 years, he compliments me all the time and is generally pretty affectionate. Our relationship is really good and i just don’t know what to do. Is this worth breaking up over, i am really conflicted. I am in love with this guy and thought he felt the same but now i just feel like im not enough and maybe he doesn’t feel the same about me as i thought.
Thanks for any advice in advance
TLDR: Found out my boyfriend has paid for OF multiple times and I am unsure if i should break up with him or not.
submitted by ThrowRA_cherryberry to relationship_advice [link] [comments]
I started to get up to leave to go home but I dont drive and there was no bus at that time so I was pretty stuck. I began to question him and tell him this was an absolute deal breaker and I was so hurt and honestly pretty disgusted by this.
For a bit of background we haven’t been as intimate as I would have liked over the past few months and felt like everytime i tried to initiate I would be rejected and I was patient and respectful. Finding this out was a genuine gut punch and made me feel so cripplingly insecure and ruined the really good weekend we were having.
We talked about it and I got upset and basically said he better just tell me the truth if there was anything else he promised there wasn’t and he only bought it once. I kind of calmed down and asked him to show me his bank statement so I could see how much it was. I looked and saw he had actually used it multiple times aka paid for it 3 times since last November.That is when i fully flipped because he blatantly lied to my face.
We both got pretty upset and had a pretty intense conversation where I pretty much attempted to break up with him and he fully started crying and apologising profusely. I checked the account and the person it is looks like me which is the most frustrating part like he didn’t want to sleep with his girlfriend but has paid multiple times to see a stranger who looks like his girlfriend naked.
I am honestly devastated and really hurt by this. I decided not to dump him yet but essentially told him if i ever even think he is doing anything like this again or if he doesnt get his act together then im done with him.
For context we have been together for 3 years, he compliments me all the time and is generally pretty affectionate. Our relationship is really good and i just don’t know what to do. Is this worth breaking up over, i am really conflicted. I am in love with this guy and thought he felt the same but now i just feel like im not enough and maybe he doesn’t feel the same about me as i thought.
Thanks for any advice in advance
TLDR: Found out my boyfriend has paid for OF multiple times and I am unsure if i should break up with him or not.
2023.06.02 04:35 tjk911 JournalismJobs posted the week of 26 May, 2023
submitted by tjk911 to journalismjobs [link] [comments]
2023.06.02 04:30 itsaSSSSecret Fucked and came inside my cousins ass...
I basically I lost my virginity with my cousin doing anal. I was visiting family from out of state and staying at my grandparents house. I was 15m and my cousin was 14m at the time. So after a couple days of being at my grandparents house. I was hanging out with my cousin and we asked if he could spend the night. Everyone agreed and he would be staying in the spare room with me. There was a king size bed and a tv with alot of clutter and boxes they barely made space for me to stay. A day or so earlier I took a regular lotion bottle and put it under the mattress to jerk with.
So fast forward to the night time We tell my grandfather goodnight and go into the room preparing to go to sleep. My grandfather stayed in the TV room with his lazy boy chair and watched TV. It was probley 11pm and he never would stay up past 12am. So once we settle into the room we turn the TV on, get undressed get into bed. We were in our boxers and undershirts. We were talking joking around and somehow got onto the truth or dare game. We had seen eachother naked when younger took baths showed eachother our dicks but nothing serious. So we decided to change the rules on the truth or dare. If you turned down 2 dares then the third dare you have to do no matter what. So I started and asked him truth or dare. He said dare I say I dare you to scream fuck really loud. He thought about it and said he didn't want to. My grand father was still awake in the next room we could hear the tv still. So I said ok then I dare you to walk around the house with your butt showing he though about it and he said no. So I said since you didn't do the 2 dares you have to do the last one. He agreed and I though about it and said "it would have to be a good one". I said that he had to suck my dick for 30 seconds he said "are you sure you want me to do that" and I said yes. So he agreed right then I could feel my dick get instantly hard as a rock. He went under the covers and I pulled down my boxers snapping my hard dick out of the elastic. He put my dick into his warm mouth and began to suck me slow and from my dick being soft enough hard everything he did was feeling so good. I told him to let me touch on his dick and balls while he sucked me so he pulled down his boxers and I started touching on his little dick which was also hard by now.. he kept sucking for a couple minutes and stopped and said his turn.
So we started with the truth or dare again. He asked my truth or dare I said dare. By now we could hear that my grandfather was going upstairs to bed. So the first dare he asked was to run upstairs and wake my grandparents up by screaming I said no The second dare was to go in the front of the house naked and I said no. So now I had to do the last one He said "I dare you to suck my dick now" I said are you sure he said yes. So i went under the covers and he pulls his little hard dick out. It was maybe 4 inches and skinny and mine was 7 inches and thick. I Put his little dick in my mouth and began to suck and lick he barely had and hair and his dick and balls smelled very nice and clean but there was a skin smell that turned me on. He began to touch on my hard dick and balls and I rubbed his balls and sucked him After I few minutes I got tired of sucking and was ready for my turn.
So I ask him truth or dare. He says dare. By now I was so horny and hard I knew I wanted to keep going. My grandparents were upstairs sleeping and we had some privacy. I asked him to do 2 dares I knew he wouldn't do and now I'm at the last dare that he has to do. I said "I dare you to let me put it in your ass". He said are you sure and I said yes. So told him to turn on his side facing away from me. I never fucked before but I knew I would need some lubrication. So I reached under the mattress and got the lotion. He pulled his boxers down and I took a little lotion and put it on his hole and lubed my dick up. I never notice that his ass was so thick and round. He didn't have any hair at all it was smooth and soft to the touch. I line my dick up with his hole and slowly pushed in. He was hurting a little but I was going slow. I would push inside a half inch then back out a half inch. The next stroke I would go a little deeper until I was all the way in. I told him to relax and push back into me once he was loosening up. I pushed into him and grabbed his ass and pulled him into me until I was as deep as I could go and I held it there for a couple seconds. He was so tight and warm around my dick I never felt that kind of sensation before. My dick was as hard as it could get and I knew that it would be very easy to cum. I started to stroke a little faster while grabbing his juicy smooth asscheeks making sure to go as deep inside as I could. Pushing deep at the end of everything stroke. I was moaning from how good it felt and he was moaning everytime I was all the way inside. I reached around and started to play and jerk his dick and balls while I was fucking him. He asked if he could touch my balls and ass and I said yes. So he reached in between his legs and grabbed on my balls while I was stoking into his tight ass. The tingling from him grabbing on my balls and fucking him at the same time was intense. Then he tells me that he wants to stop. I was so rock hard and close to cumming I didn't want to stop. So I said "can I stick it in 10 more times". He said yes so I started counting at the end of each stroke. Making sure each stoke was long and penitrated deep. One ......... twoooo..... I say push into me. And he does three.... fourrr....... five..... push into me harder sixxxx....... seven....ughhhhhhh I moan with pleasure... eightttttt....ughhh I feel my dick begin to throb and my cum started to squirter into his tight smooth fat ass nineeeee....... I continue to throb and shoot my cum inside him . Tennn....... i say "push into me" as my dick was throbbing cum inside of him.i felt the heat and wetness surround my dick as i filled his hole with my hot cum. As i finish cumming the most intense orgasm i ever had i tell him "i think i came" he said "in my ass" i said yes. I know he had to feel my dick throb inside of him. so he was just acting like he didnt know. I pulled my dick out of him still hard and ready to go again. He went to the bathroom and I heard him push my cum out of his ass in the toilet. I went into the bathroom while he was on the toilet and washed my dick off. Curious to see if my cum came out of him. We went back into the room and layed down. I was still horny and ready to go again. He was going to sleep. I asked if i could feel on his dick and balls while we went to sleep and he said yes.we played with eachother for a little longer then fell asleep. I still think about how amazing it felt to cum inside of his smooth fat ass.
If you enjoyed my little secret feel free to comment or write me
submitted by itsaSSSSecret to confessions [link] [comments]
So fast forward to the night time We tell my grandfather goodnight and go into the room preparing to go to sleep. My grandfather stayed in the TV room with his lazy boy chair and watched TV. It was probley 11pm and he never would stay up past 12am. So once we settle into the room we turn the TV on, get undressed get into bed. We were in our boxers and undershirts. We were talking joking around and somehow got onto the truth or dare game. We had seen eachother naked when younger took baths showed eachother our dicks but nothing serious. So we decided to change the rules on the truth or dare. If you turned down 2 dares then the third dare you have to do no matter what. So I started and asked him truth or dare. He said dare I say I dare you to scream fuck really loud. He thought about it and said he didn't want to. My grand father was still awake in the next room we could hear the tv still. So I said ok then I dare you to walk around the house with your butt showing he though about it and he said no. So I said since you didn't do the 2 dares you have to do the last one. He agreed and I though about it and said "it would have to be a good one". I said that he had to suck my dick for 30 seconds he said "are you sure you want me to do that" and I said yes. So he agreed right then I could feel my dick get instantly hard as a rock. He went under the covers and I pulled down my boxers snapping my hard dick out of the elastic. He put my dick into his warm mouth and began to suck me slow and from my dick being soft enough hard everything he did was feeling so good. I told him to let me touch on his dick and balls while he sucked me so he pulled down his boxers and I started touching on his little dick which was also hard by now.. he kept sucking for a couple minutes and stopped and said his turn.
So we started with the truth or dare again. He asked my truth or dare I said dare. By now we could hear that my grandfather was going upstairs to bed. So the first dare he asked was to run upstairs and wake my grandparents up by screaming I said no The second dare was to go in the front of the house naked and I said no. So now I had to do the last one He said "I dare you to suck my dick now" I said are you sure he said yes. So i went under the covers and he pulls his little hard dick out. It was maybe 4 inches and skinny and mine was 7 inches and thick. I Put his little dick in my mouth and began to suck and lick he barely had and hair and his dick and balls smelled very nice and clean but there was a skin smell that turned me on. He began to touch on my hard dick and balls and I rubbed his balls and sucked him After I few minutes I got tired of sucking and was ready for my turn.
So I ask him truth or dare. He says dare. By now I was so horny and hard I knew I wanted to keep going. My grandparents were upstairs sleeping and we had some privacy. I asked him to do 2 dares I knew he wouldn't do and now I'm at the last dare that he has to do. I said "I dare you to let me put it in your ass". He said are you sure and I said yes. So told him to turn on his side facing away from me. I never fucked before but I knew I would need some lubrication. So I reached under the mattress and got the lotion. He pulled his boxers down and I took a little lotion and put it on his hole and lubed my dick up. I never notice that his ass was so thick and round. He didn't have any hair at all it was smooth and soft to the touch. I line my dick up with his hole and slowly pushed in. He was hurting a little but I was going slow. I would push inside a half inch then back out a half inch. The next stroke I would go a little deeper until I was all the way in. I told him to relax and push back into me once he was loosening up. I pushed into him and grabbed his ass and pulled him into me until I was as deep as I could go and I held it there for a couple seconds. He was so tight and warm around my dick I never felt that kind of sensation before. My dick was as hard as it could get and I knew that it would be very easy to cum. I started to stroke a little faster while grabbing his juicy smooth asscheeks making sure to go as deep inside as I could. Pushing deep at the end of everything stroke. I was moaning from how good it felt and he was moaning everytime I was all the way inside. I reached around and started to play and jerk his dick and balls while I was fucking him. He asked if he could touch my balls and ass and I said yes. So he reached in between his legs and grabbed on my balls while I was stoking into his tight ass. The tingling from him grabbing on my balls and fucking him at the same time was intense. Then he tells me that he wants to stop. I was so rock hard and close to cumming I didn't want to stop. So I said "can I stick it in 10 more times". He said yes so I started counting at the end of each stroke. Making sure each stoke was long and penitrated deep. One ......... twoooo..... I say push into me. And he does three.... fourrr....... five..... push into me harder sixxxx....... seven....ughhhhhhh I moan with pleasure... eightttttt....ughhh I feel my dick begin to throb and my cum started to squirter into his tight smooth fat ass nineeeee....... I continue to throb and shoot my cum inside him . Tennn....... i say "push into me" as my dick was throbbing cum inside of him.i felt the heat and wetness surround my dick as i filled his hole with my hot cum. As i finish cumming the most intense orgasm i ever had i tell him "i think i came" he said "in my ass" i said yes. I know he had to feel my dick throb inside of him. so he was just acting like he didnt know. I pulled my dick out of him still hard and ready to go again. He went to the bathroom and I heard him push my cum out of his ass in the toilet. I went into the bathroom while he was on the toilet and washed my dick off. Curious to see if my cum came out of him. We went back into the room and layed down. I was still horny and ready to go again. He was going to sleep. I asked if i could feel on his dick and balls while we went to sleep and he said yes.we played with eachother for a little longer then fell asleep. I still think about how amazing it felt to cum inside of his smooth fat ass.
If you enjoyed my little secret feel free to comment or write me
2023.06.02 04:12 Opening_Event4288 Technical questions about bluing/seasoning
 | I'm restoring a bk carbon steel pan for a friend, and I'm running into an issue. I restore cast iron as a side hustle, so I have lye tanks and electrolysis tanks set up. I put the pan in the e-tank to zap off the red rust, then scrubbed it really well. The red rust gets turned into black rust, and I got most of it off with the scrubbing; I left alone the faint stuff that felt like it was never coming off. I blued the pan over a propane stove and got the beautiful blue black patina, but as it cooled down it seems like the residual black rust oxidized back into red rust. Now I'm wondering if I put it back into my e-tank, will it also remove that magnetite covering as well? Would I be able to just scrub the red rust off and season as normal? Looking for some guidance on the best way to proceed. Pic included to show the rust. submitted by Opening_Event4288 to carbonsteel [link] [comments] |
2023.06.02 04:09 cageyness Prevent rust on communal/student shop tools?
I take classes and rent at a great studio near me. The owner has studio tools for every bench plus singles of various specialty tools for general use. We wipe them down with paper towels and mineral spirits to protect them between uses (not the blades of the jacks, everyone stand down), and then we clean them/burn off that light coating during prep with hot glass. Still, some are in pretty rough shape.
I'm volunteering to clean and restore them between the next class sessions, but I'm wondering about best methods for preventing rust from that point forward. Not every student is as diligent about coating the tools at the end of classes, so compliance is also an issue. A fastemore foolproof method would improve the likelihood that we could keep the tools nicer for longer. I've read Jim Moore's FAQ - which is great - but more feasible for to taking care of one's own set of tools.
Some ideas I'm thinking of trying out with the worst, nearly unusable tools first just to see what's possible:
Also, any recommendations for oils that are suitable for this use? Is mineral spirits the best way to go? Or maybe the better question is are there any oils or lubricants to absolutely avoid?
submitted by cageyness to glassblowing [link] [comments]
I'm volunteering to clean and restore them between the next class sessions, but I'm wondering about best methods for preventing rust from that point forward. Not every student is as diligent about coating the tools at the end of classes, so compliance is also an issue. A fastemore foolproof method would improve the likelihood that we could keep the tools nicer for longer. I've read Jim Moore's FAQ - which is great - but more feasible for to taking care of one's own set of tools.
Some ideas I'm thinking of trying out with the worst, nearly unusable tools first just to see what's possible:
- Bucket or tray or some container where tools could be quickly dipped to ensure complete coating and then wiped to remove the excess.
- Instead of wiping with paper towels, use an absorbent cloth/rag per bench that would be perpetually oily and could just be used standalone to wipe tools down. (This feels like a fire hazard...but maybe there's a safe way to store it.)
- Use the oil-and-sand-in-a-bucket trick like you'd use for garden tools, but use fine grit play sand instead of construction sand to avoid scuffing the tools. This could either be used for storage OR just for the coating process. Any clinging sand would have to be brushed before going through the process of cleaning during prep.
Also, any recommendations for oils that are suitable for this use? Is mineral spirits the best way to go? Or maybe the better question is are there any oils or lubricants to absolutely avoid?
2023.06.02 03:46 The_Alloquist [A Lord of Death] - Chapter 52 (Sorore)
[←Chapter 51] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 53→]
Sorore’s current state could best be described as ‘alarmed’ with considerable regret for good measure. She had entrusted the mage with the knife that she had made, and found it had gone to disaster in short order.
Of course, no such rational analysis came through her mind as she lay on the floor of the church. The shaking and rattling had been so bad her mind had mostly been preoccupied by the grim vision of crushing stones. When the heat and quake had finally abated, she found herself among frightened children and shattered glass. Surprisingly, most of the injuries were fairly minor, given the immensity of what had just happened but still, people glanced up at the warped ceiling with fear.
People slowly staggered to their feet, Niche, having been thrown some ways away, joining them. Outside, there were still screams and the clash of battle, but it seemed smaller than before. Frare took her by the arm, looking around and trying to blink away the dizziness that had taken him to the ground. He began to tug her in the direction of the front door, much to her confusion.
“Not there!” she gasped, “why would we go out there?”
“That’s where…” he said, coughing violently, “that’s where she- where she is.”
“Who? What do you mean?”
“Aya went out, during the chaos,” he said, “Lillian too.”
“We can’t help them now,” she insisted, “did you hit your head? Think about what’s out there Frare! Who knows what the mage conjured up?”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, before peeling away from her and taking off down the centre aisle.
Sorore took one step forward to follow him, yet fear and disorientation held her back from taking another. It wasn’t long however before Frare returned, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what happened out there, it’s like…” he said, eyes crossed in confusion, “I dunno how to describe it. But she’s not out there, at least I don’t think she is.”
“Where else could she have gone?” cried Sorore.
“I don’t know,” said Frare, a little indignant, “I was knocked down. I could barely see.”
“Well, we need to find her,” said Sorore, gesturing at the church to drive the point home.
She looked around the church, trying to figure out where the girl might’ve gone.
“She couldn’t have gone out the window, they’re far too narrow, even for her,” she said, “and you just said she wasn’t anywhere near the front, so she must either be in the hospice or the roof.”
Frare was already moving behind her to examine what remained of the overturned beds and curtains. Many of the patients had been returned with much groans and protest to a prone position, but none of them had a young, dark haired girl attending. In under two minutes, it was clear that Aya was not in the alcove that housed the wounded.
Before the twins could make it to the side door, Niche managed to find them. He was covered with dust, and a significant cut on his head lent a stream of blood to coat his brow.
“What happened?” he said, words coming rather slowly.
“Aya’s gone,” said Sorore, moving towards the door without stopping to greet him.
“What?!” the formerly fuzzy quality of his eyes exploding with anxiety, “where?!”
“Not outside. I checked. Not in the hospice either,” said Frare.
His muddled eyes suddenly flashed bright.
“You did what?!” Niche spat, “you went outside?! How long have I been- don’t ever do that again. You could’ve been attacked! You could’ve been killed! How many close calls do you need before you realise that this is not some childish game?!”
Sorore drew back - Niche could get emotional at times, especially when he talked about duty, especially in the context of his faith. Genuine anger was rare, and a full-on fury like the one he was currently displaying was new. Before he could see much more however, Lillian drew near, having returned from the outside with a stony expression.
“Where is she?” she said, with a grim calm that spoke of devastating consequences should the information be withheld.
“She’s not outside,” repeated Frare, with a slight tremor to his voice, “not with the patients, so she must’ve gone to the catacombs.”
“Or the roof,” added Sorore quickly.
Lillian took off without a word, striding quickly towards the side door and throwing it open. Niche, stumbling a little, followed behind, gesturing for the two of them to follow. They did as much as they could with their shorter length, barely managing to keep their guardians in sight up the stairs.
The church roof was now plain in view, with the fog blowing away to reveal its ruined slates. The cloud banks were now breaking up over the distant trees and village outskirts. They could see the moon light illuminating the fighting below. To her surprise, it looked as if there were far, far less creatures than before.
Perhaps taking that as some token of good fortune, Lillian started forwards. At the far end of the roof, knelt Aya by a crumpled mass of black cloth. Sorore started as she recognized the uniform of the mage and the sleeping cat spirit curled in his lap. The sound of the wind whistling through the trees and over the roof was the only thing to break the silence.
Either the mage was in an exhausted stupor after doing… whatever it is he had done, or perhaps the process had killed him, for he lay motionless and without voice.
Aya at this point had noticed Lillian walking towards her, and perhaps unconsciously took a few steps back. The older woman grabbed at the girl’s wrist, eliciting a gasp from Aya.
“Do I need to put chains on you?” Lillian said without humour, “you were supposed to stay in the church, where it was safe.”
“It’s safe now,” Aya protested,” look, look out there!”
She swept her arm across the rest of the valley and the fighting below. Lillian’s brows were nit, her face crushed in anger, but she did gaze out toward the scene. Still, whatever she found there did little to quell her fury, and she did not release Aya.
The twins took the opportunity to make their way to the far wall and peer over the crenelations. The view yielded much the same as before, and indeed, it seemed like the soldiers were winning handedly. Sorore and Frare watched as the remaining flailing horrors were pinned to the ground with spear and stick, and hacked to death by cold steel. In addition, Sorore realised that the cold fear that had struck her to the core was now abated almost entirely.
“He did that,” she said, “I saw it, I know it. You did too, didn’t you? You were outside Lillian, you saw the fire. It killed the monsters, you saw it. He saved us.”
“It did not save us,” Lillian hissed, “look again, young lady. Do you think all the corpses down there are of the monsters?”
She pointed with her gauntlet down below, where great black marks had been gouged in the hillside. Sorore could make out the twisted remains of bodies, some horribly deformed, some still adorned in armour and clutching weapons. Her stomach turned, and Aya’s expression faltered as she stuttered a half-hearted response.
“We were lucky it didn’t burn down the church instead. Maybe it couldn’t control it, maybe it ran out of power before it could do so. All that I know is that we cannot trust it.”
“He has a name, Lillian,” Aya said, starring the paladin in the eyes.
With a sound of disgust, Lillian handed her over to Niche’s grip, and raised her sword.
“Stop!” Aya gasped, her face blanching as she realised what the paladin was about to do.
“This thing is dangerous, and so is this creature that wears the skin of an animal,” she said, “I will not tolerate his presence, for your safety and ours. Not only that, he’s infected you with corrupt ideas. Unacceptable.”
Sorore felt her breath still as she looked at the glinting edge of the blade. As much as she had her doubts about Efrain, as much as the words of Lillian comported with church teaching, she still had misgivings. The man had attempted to help them, perhaps out of self interest maybe, but so did merchants. Her father was a merchant, and so were many of her family and friends back in Erratz. And it didn’t seem right, to strike this man down when he was so obviously incapacitated.
She began to try and articulate these thoughts, to provide some defence, perhaps to seek some kind of alternative to execution. Lillian was in no mood to hear, however, and prepared a thrust to the heart of the black cloth. Then Frare was there, oh, so brave brother, stepping in between the mage and the paladin.
“No,” he said, planting his feet on the ground and squaring his shoulders, “you’re going to kill someone who isn’t even an enemy, and is unconscious besides?”
Lillian did bring the sword down in response, but only to grab his shoulder, and send him stumbling down the slope of the roof.
“He’s right,” said Sorore, seizing upon the moment, “what about your honour?”
“My task is to keep you safe,” said Lillian, “honour means nothing if it compromises my mission.”
The sword had reached the height of its arc, Sorore trying to think of any excuse to stay the blade. Aya pulled in breath and screamed at the paladin to stop. Frare peeled himself off from the slates and sprinted to catch the blade.
The thing that ultimately ended up stopping it, however, was no action from the children. Through the hills and village, came the sound of a long horn blast. Lillian, temporarily distracted from her grim task, looked out to the west. In the distance was a line of burning torches and glinting steel spears. Her frown deepened, the sword edge touching the roof as she craned her neck. With a final dawn of realisation in her eyes, her jaw tightened as she spoke words through clenched teeth.
“Two days,” she grunted in disgust, “the liar.”
All eyes on the roof of the church turned towards the new column of troops. Frare managed to put himself squarely before the paladin before her attention turned back to the mage at her feet.
“It needs to be done,” said Lillian, frustration audible in her voice, “you can either get out of the way, or I can move you. You do not have a say in this.”
Frare didn’t reply, only raised his fist and bent his knees, ready to spring or defend, whatever came first. Lillian reached out with her gauntlet, fully prepared to repeat the previous engagement. As another horn blast echoed off the mountains, Sorore finally found her answer in the minutiae of church hierarchy.
“Neither do you, Lillian,” she said, stumbling over her words in her haste, “nor Niche. You’re beneath the rank of commander, you’re not a full light-lord. Therefore, if you execute the mage, who is his charge, then you will have committed insubordination. He could use that as a pretext to… do all sorts of things.”
In truth, Sorore had very little idea of what kinds of punishments there were for insubordination, but they were probably quite nasty.
It seemed that assumption was correct, or at least enough to stay her blade for a moment longer. Lillian’s expression was one of confusion bordering on disbelief that Sorore had pulled rank on her. When pain and realisation came into her eyes, Sorore knew that she’d hit the mark.
The riders from the western mountains began to ride up the hill, gaining speed and lowering spears. The creatures outside the blackstone wall, no longer as numerous as they once were, twisted and screamed at the new opponents. The resulting clash was muffled by distance, but it was enough to tell Lillian that her time was up.
“Lillian, please,” said Sorore, “mage or no, I don’t think he’s evil. You don’t have to do anything, you don’t have to trust him. Let the commander choose what to do with him. Besides, he’s not of any harm right now, right?”
All three children nodded emphatically in agreement.
Lillian’s face was stricken, looking back and forth between the fresh host, and the party of five on the rooftop. Finally, her sword point lowered all the way to the roof, as she let out a heavy sigh.
“Are you serious?” said Niche, “we’ll never get a better chance.”
“We need…” she said, begrudging every word, “what do you want me to say, Niche? The man’s a threat, yes. He’s also unconscious. He might well be the commander’s charge, and he… he hasn’t harmed the children yet. Not directly. What am I supposed to- I don’t know what to do.”
The admission stunned Niche, enough to let Aya wriggle out of his grasp and run forward. She crouched by the body of the fallen mage, turning back to look with unbridled defiance at the paladins. Lillian’s shoulders sank and she passed a hand over her eyes, covering them in shadow.
“Niche…” she said, exhausted, “just… just take the children down.”
Niche’s face blurred between anger, disbelief, stolid determination, before finally relenting to his sister-in-arm’s request.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, drawing herself up, “I will not strike the mage, you have my word. But you are all going down into the church, and you are going to stay there, until we give you leave to go. Do you understand?”
Even Frare nodded, recognizing the concession made, but still backed by a steely undercurrent.
All three of them were led away by Niche, whose face had settled into an inscrutable mask. The last thing Sorore saw of Lillian before passing the doorway was her sheathing her blade. A couple of steps down, Sorore flinched at a distant yell of frustration. When Lillian joined them in the main hall of the church, none elected to comment on the bloody knuckles she held in her other hand.
The rest was almost routine, in an odd kind of way. The defenders, invigorated by the sudden reinforcement, began to hoot and holler as the last creatures were butchered. Ladders were thrown over the wall, make-shift, but well made enough to support the weight of armoured knights clambering up.
At the head of the company, fully dressed in gleaming armour, with the brass shoulder plate of command, Naia removed his helm. His dark hair shone with sweat, which he wiped from his forehead using a bare hand. The contingent came into the church, where Damafelce and several of the captains rushed forward to greet him. As the bodies of the slain were collected and laid out in the church grounds, villagers and soldiers alike began to crowd around the commander.
“You all did well,” he said, raising his voice, “and I must apologise for arriving late.”
His soldiers gave wry smiles in response, knowing that he’d ridden his troops as hard as he could. The smile Naia offered in response was stretched if knowing, Sorore noticing the bags under his eyes.
“Well then, ladies and gentlemen of Albion. You have carried yourselves with great dignity with bravery to match. Your homes still stand today because of it, and now you have the chance to return. I must confer with my captains.”
With that, the vast majority of villagers began to filter out toward the town, speaking words of praise and thanks as they did so. The paladins stood with characteristic dark expressions, perhaps anticipating another conflict in the near future. Damafelce gave a clipped report, mostly losses and a broad overview of how the battle had been resolved. Three dozen villagers, half that many knights, a significant blow to their force.
“I expected worse when I saw the fog,” he said, “your performance was exemplary.”
The captains nodded, a handful offering claps on the back to the Hebeenian knight. For a moment, Sorore thought that the great calamity brought by the mage might go impossibly unmentioned.
“Well, there is one person here that deserves more credit, I think,” she said, grown sheepish.
“Oh really?” Naia said, one eyebrow raised, “and where might he be, then?”
“Commander,” said Lillian, stepping into the circle, “we need to have a word with you. Now.”
At her glare, the rest of the villagers made excuses and scampered away, while the captains traded unfavourable looks at the pair.
“Ah,” said Naia, “I see we have quite the story to tell. Damafelce, you stay, the rest of you are dismissed to see to clean up and recover, as best you can. The knights of the Alonshaze will work with you to see this done. There will be a morning brief later.”
“Now,” he continued, after seeing them off, “you obviously have something that needs to be said. Out with it.”
Damafelce issued another report, of the mage’s project over the last few days. With the additions of Sorore’s lessons, and their experience down in the crypt, the picture became clearer. When Damafelce described how the battle came to a surprising and fiery end, Naia held up his hand.
“Well,” he said, eyes glittering with what looked like amusement, “he was certainly not lying about his power being dampened.”
“That’s all you have to take from this?” said an aghast Lillian.
“Oh, I perfectly understand your complaints,” he said, “you believe he’s a threat to the children. I would argue that his actions prove otherwise, at least so long as we hold his self-interest. Besides, any of us could harm the children if we were so inclined, that’s not unique.”
“Commander, you sound as if you’re suggesting we overlook this,” said Lillian, her eyes narrowing.
“Yes. Not forgetting, mind you. But ignoring it for the time being, anyhow,” he said.
“Absolutely not,” she said, “I will not let you-”
“You are not in the position to be making demands, paladin,” said Naia, with a surprising force.
He went on to explain how he had ridden west and up, past the foothills and into the mountain passes. It didn’t take him long to find the road leading to the mountain fortress of the Alonshaze. What he’d found when he’d finally reached it was dire.
Sorore had remembered the walls and towers of the outer wall, the monastery-style church and its library, and the keep, half-carved into the face of a sheer escarpment. She could not believe the commander’s account of its ruin, how the gate had been sundered, how the outerwall largely lay in rubble overflowing into the pass it guarded.
“What’s more,” he continued, “Ryzea is missing, whether dead, or gone on some hunt, none are sure, not even the other commanders.”
Lillian’s face fell at the news, and Sorore felt her heart ache in her chest. She’d only known the massive man with snow white locks for a short time. He’d been blunt, some would say almost crude, but his refreshing honesty and wisdom of ages had charmed her. What’s more, he’d seemed immovable, unshakable, due to his harsh experience and his physical bulk. And now he was dead? That was difficult to conceptualise, let alone believe.
“Half the knights rode to our aid, the others stayed behind to salvage and secure what they could,” Naia continued, “some will continue on to reinforce us on our way to Angorrah, a way of which I will choose.”
He sighed, and shook his head as he looked the two paladins dead in their faces.
“I have been lax over enforcing my rank, because, firstly, I respect the light lords a great deal, and secondly, I believed it was best for order. But there comes a point where I must remind you it was I who was chosen to supervise this mission. Lady Aya’s coming has been a surprise to us all, and complicated things, but that does not change who gives the orders. The next time I have to bring this up, it will be a formal reprimand. Do you understand?
Lillian’s face had gone from white to shame-filled red, though she said nothing. The air was thick with barely repressed outrage, held back by the presence of technical correctness, and two dozen knights standing behind their commander.
“Then,” Lillian said, forcing her voice to be calm, “what of the mage?”
“You will leave him to me,” said Naia, smiling a thin, humourless smile.
[←Chapter 51] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 53→]
submitted by The_Alloquist to redditserials [link] [comments]
Sorore’s current state could best be described as ‘alarmed’ with considerable regret for good measure. She had entrusted the mage with the knife that she had made, and found it had gone to disaster in short order.
Of course, no such rational analysis came through her mind as she lay on the floor of the church. The shaking and rattling had been so bad her mind had mostly been preoccupied by the grim vision of crushing stones. When the heat and quake had finally abated, she found herself among frightened children and shattered glass. Surprisingly, most of the injuries were fairly minor, given the immensity of what had just happened but still, people glanced up at the warped ceiling with fear.
People slowly staggered to their feet, Niche, having been thrown some ways away, joining them. Outside, there were still screams and the clash of battle, but it seemed smaller than before. Frare took her by the arm, looking around and trying to blink away the dizziness that had taken him to the ground. He began to tug her in the direction of the front door, much to her confusion.
“Not there!” she gasped, “why would we go out there?”
“That’s where…” he said, coughing violently, “that’s where she- where she is.”
“Who? What do you mean?”
“Aya went out, during the chaos,” he said, “Lillian too.”
“We can’t help them now,” she insisted, “did you hit your head? Think about what’s out there Frare! Who knows what the mage conjured up?”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, before peeling away from her and taking off down the centre aisle.
Sorore took one step forward to follow him, yet fear and disorientation held her back from taking another. It wasn’t long however before Frare returned, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what happened out there, it’s like…” he said, eyes crossed in confusion, “I dunno how to describe it. But she’s not out there, at least I don’t think she is.”
“Where else could she have gone?” cried Sorore.
“I don’t know,” said Frare, a little indignant, “I was knocked down. I could barely see.”
“Well, we need to find her,” said Sorore, gesturing at the church to drive the point home.
She looked around the church, trying to figure out where the girl might’ve gone.
“She couldn’t have gone out the window, they’re far too narrow, even for her,” she said, “and you just said she wasn’t anywhere near the front, so she must either be in the hospice or the roof.”
Frare was already moving behind her to examine what remained of the overturned beds and curtains. Many of the patients had been returned with much groans and protest to a prone position, but none of them had a young, dark haired girl attending. In under two minutes, it was clear that Aya was not in the alcove that housed the wounded.
Before the twins could make it to the side door, Niche managed to find them. He was covered with dust, and a significant cut on his head lent a stream of blood to coat his brow.
“What happened?” he said, words coming rather slowly.
“Aya’s gone,” said Sorore, moving towards the door without stopping to greet him.
“What?!” the formerly fuzzy quality of his eyes exploding with anxiety, “where?!”
“Not outside. I checked. Not in the hospice either,” said Frare.
His muddled eyes suddenly flashed bright.
“You did what?!” Niche spat, “you went outside?! How long have I been- don’t ever do that again. You could’ve been attacked! You could’ve been killed! How many close calls do you need before you realise that this is not some childish game?!”
Sorore drew back - Niche could get emotional at times, especially when he talked about duty, especially in the context of his faith. Genuine anger was rare, and a full-on fury like the one he was currently displaying was new. Before he could see much more however, Lillian drew near, having returned from the outside with a stony expression.
“Where is she?” she said, with a grim calm that spoke of devastating consequences should the information be withheld.
“She’s not outside,” repeated Frare, with a slight tremor to his voice, “not with the patients, so she must’ve gone to the catacombs.”
“Or the roof,” added Sorore quickly.
Lillian took off without a word, striding quickly towards the side door and throwing it open. Niche, stumbling a little, followed behind, gesturing for the two of them to follow. They did as much as they could with their shorter length, barely managing to keep their guardians in sight up the stairs.
The church roof was now plain in view, with the fog blowing away to reveal its ruined slates. The cloud banks were now breaking up over the distant trees and village outskirts. They could see the moon light illuminating the fighting below. To her surprise, it looked as if there were far, far less creatures than before.
Perhaps taking that as some token of good fortune, Lillian started forwards. At the far end of the roof, knelt Aya by a crumpled mass of black cloth. Sorore started as she recognized the uniform of the mage and the sleeping cat spirit curled in his lap. The sound of the wind whistling through the trees and over the roof was the only thing to break the silence.
Either the mage was in an exhausted stupor after doing… whatever it is he had done, or perhaps the process had killed him, for he lay motionless and without voice.
Aya at this point had noticed Lillian walking towards her, and perhaps unconsciously took a few steps back. The older woman grabbed at the girl’s wrist, eliciting a gasp from Aya.
“Do I need to put chains on you?” Lillian said without humour, “you were supposed to stay in the church, where it was safe.”
“It’s safe now,” Aya protested,” look, look out there!”
She swept her arm across the rest of the valley and the fighting below. Lillian’s brows were nit, her face crushed in anger, but she did gaze out toward the scene. Still, whatever she found there did little to quell her fury, and she did not release Aya.
The twins took the opportunity to make their way to the far wall and peer over the crenelations. The view yielded much the same as before, and indeed, it seemed like the soldiers were winning handedly. Sorore and Frare watched as the remaining flailing horrors were pinned to the ground with spear and stick, and hacked to death by cold steel. In addition, Sorore realised that the cold fear that had struck her to the core was now abated almost entirely.
“He did that,” she said, “I saw it, I know it. You did too, didn’t you? You were outside Lillian, you saw the fire. It killed the monsters, you saw it. He saved us.”
“It did not save us,” Lillian hissed, “look again, young lady. Do you think all the corpses down there are of the monsters?”
She pointed with her gauntlet down below, where great black marks had been gouged in the hillside. Sorore could make out the twisted remains of bodies, some horribly deformed, some still adorned in armour and clutching weapons. Her stomach turned, and Aya’s expression faltered as she stuttered a half-hearted response.
“We were lucky it didn’t burn down the church instead. Maybe it couldn’t control it, maybe it ran out of power before it could do so. All that I know is that we cannot trust it.”
“He has a name, Lillian,” Aya said, starring the paladin in the eyes.
With a sound of disgust, Lillian handed her over to Niche’s grip, and raised her sword.
“Stop!” Aya gasped, her face blanching as she realised what the paladin was about to do.
“This thing is dangerous, and so is this creature that wears the skin of an animal,” she said, “I will not tolerate his presence, for your safety and ours. Not only that, he’s infected you with corrupt ideas. Unacceptable.”
Sorore felt her breath still as she looked at the glinting edge of the blade. As much as she had her doubts about Efrain, as much as the words of Lillian comported with church teaching, she still had misgivings. The man had attempted to help them, perhaps out of self interest maybe, but so did merchants. Her father was a merchant, and so were many of her family and friends back in Erratz. And it didn’t seem right, to strike this man down when he was so obviously incapacitated.
She began to try and articulate these thoughts, to provide some defence, perhaps to seek some kind of alternative to execution. Lillian was in no mood to hear, however, and prepared a thrust to the heart of the black cloth. Then Frare was there, oh, so brave brother, stepping in between the mage and the paladin.
“No,” he said, planting his feet on the ground and squaring his shoulders, “you’re going to kill someone who isn’t even an enemy, and is unconscious besides?”
Lillian did bring the sword down in response, but only to grab his shoulder, and send him stumbling down the slope of the roof.
“He’s right,” said Sorore, seizing upon the moment, “what about your honour?”
“My task is to keep you safe,” said Lillian, “honour means nothing if it compromises my mission.”
The sword had reached the height of its arc, Sorore trying to think of any excuse to stay the blade. Aya pulled in breath and screamed at the paladin to stop. Frare peeled himself off from the slates and sprinted to catch the blade.
The thing that ultimately ended up stopping it, however, was no action from the children. Through the hills and village, came the sound of a long horn blast. Lillian, temporarily distracted from her grim task, looked out to the west. In the distance was a line of burning torches and glinting steel spears. Her frown deepened, the sword edge touching the roof as she craned her neck. With a final dawn of realisation in her eyes, her jaw tightened as she spoke words through clenched teeth.
“Two days,” she grunted in disgust, “the liar.”
All eyes on the roof of the church turned towards the new column of troops. Frare managed to put himself squarely before the paladin before her attention turned back to the mage at her feet.
“It needs to be done,” said Lillian, frustration audible in her voice, “you can either get out of the way, or I can move you. You do not have a say in this.”
Frare didn’t reply, only raised his fist and bent his knees, ready to spring or defend, whatever came first. Lillian reached out with her gauntlet, fully prepared to repeat the previous engagement. As another horn blast echoed off the mountains, Sorore finally found her answer in the minutiae of church hierarchy.
“Neither do you, Lillian,” she said, stumbling over her words in her haste, “nor Niche. You’re beneath the rank of commander, you’re not a full light-lord. Therefore, if you execute the mage, who is his charge, then you will have committed insubordination. He could use that as a pretext to… do all sorts of things.”
In truth, Sorore had very little idea of what kinds of punishments there were for insubordination, but they were probably quite nasty.
It seemed that assumption was correct, or at least enough to stay her blade for a moment longer. Lillian’s expression was one of confusion bordering on disbelief that Sorore had pulled rank on her. When pain and realisation came into her eyes, Sorore knew that she’d hit the mark.
The riders from the western mountains began to ride up the hill, gaining speed and lowering spears. The creatures outside the blackstone wall, no longer as numerous as they once were, twisted and screamed at the new opponents. The resulting clash was muffled by distance, but it was enough to tell Lillian that her time was up.
“Lillian, please,” said Sorore, “mage or no, I don’t think he’s evil. You don’t have to do anything, you don’t have to trust him. Let the commander choose what to do with him. Besides, he’s not of any harm right now, right?”
All three children nodded emphatically in agreement.
Lillian’s face was stricken, looking back and forth between the fresh host, and the party of five on the rooftop. Finally, her sword point lowered all the way to the roof, as she let out a heavy sigh.
“Are you serious?” said Niche, “we’ll never get a better chance.”
“We need…” she said, begrudging every word, “what do you want me to say, Niche? The man’s a threat, yes. He’s also unconscious. He might well be the commander’s charge, and he… he hasn’t harmed the children yet. Not directly. What am I supposed to- I don’t know what to do.”
The admission stunned Niche, enough to let Aya wriggle out of his grasp and run forward. She crouched by the body of the fallen mage, turning back to look with unbridled defiance at the paladins. Lillian’s shoulders sank and she passed a hand over her eyes, covering them in shadow.
“Niche…” she said, exhausted, “just… just take the children down.”
Niche’s face blurred between anger, disbelief, stolid determination, before finally relenting to his sister-in-arm’s request.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, drawing herself up, “I will not strike the mage, you have my word. But you are all going down into the church, and you are going to stay there, until we give you leave to go. Do you understand?”
Even Frare nodded, recognizing the concession made, but still backed by a steely undercurrent.
All three of them were led away by Niche, whose face had settled into an inscrutable mask. The last thing Sorore saw of Lillian before passing the doorway was her sheathing her blade. A couple of steps down, Sorore flinched at a distant yell of frustration. When Lillian joined them in the main hall of the church, none elected to comment on the bloody knuckles she held in her other hand.
The rest was almost routine, in an odd kind of way. The defenders, invigorated by the sudden reinforcement, began to hoot and holler as the last creatures were butchered. Ladders were thrown over the wall, make-shift, but well made enough to support the weight of armoured knights clambering up.
At the head of the company, fully dressed in gleaming armour, with the brass shoulder plate of command, Naia removed his helm. His dark hair shone with sweat, which he wiped from his forehead using a bare hand. The contingent came into the church, where Damafelce and several of the captains rushed forward to greet him. As the bodies of the slain were collected and laid out in the church grounds, villagers and soldiers alike began to crowd around the commander.
“You all did well,” he said, raising his voice, “and I must apologise for arriving late.”
His soldiers gave wry smiles in response, knowing that he’d ridden his troops as hard as he could. The smile Naia offered in response was stretched if knowing, Sorore noticing the bags under his eyes.
“Well then, ladies and gentlemen of Albion. You have carried yourselves with great dignity with bravery to match. Your homes still stand today because of it, and now you have the chance to return. I must confer with my captains.”
With that, the vast majority of villagers began to filter out toward the town, speaking words of praise and thanks as they did so. The paladins stood with characteristic dark expressions, perhaps anticipating another conflict in the near future. Damafelce gave a clipped report, mostly losses and a broad overview of how the battle had been resolved. Three dozen villagers, half that many knights, a significant blow to their force.
“I expected worse when I saw the fog,” he said, “your performance was exemplary.”
The captains nodded, a handful offering claps on the back to the Hebeenian knight. For a moment, Sorore thought that the great calamity brought by the mage might go impossibly unmentioned.
“Well, there is one person here that deserves more credit, I think,” she said, grown sheepish.
“Oh really?” Naia said, one eyebrow raised, “and where might he be, then?”
“Commander,” said Lillian, stepping into the circle, “we need to have a word with you. Now.”
At her glare, the rest of the villagers made excuses and scampered away, while the captains traded unfavourable looks at the pair.
“Ah,” said Naia, “I see we have quite the story to tell. Damafelce, you stay, the rest of you are dismissed to see to clean up and recover, as best you can. The knights of the Alonshaze will work with you to see this done. There will be a morning brief later.”
“Now,” he continued, after seeing them off, “you obviously have something that needs to be said. Out with it.”
Damafelce issued another report, of the mage’s project over the last few days. With the additions of Sorore’s lessons, and their experience down in the crypt, the picture became clearer. When Damafelce described how the battle came to a surprising and fiery end, Naia held up his hand.
“Well,” he said, eyes glittering with what looked like amusement, “he was certainly not lying about his power being dampened.”
“That’s all you have to take from this?” said an aghast Lillian.
“Oh, I perfectly understand your complaints,” he said, “you believe he’s a threat to the children. I would argue that his actions prove otherwise, at least so long as we hold his self-interest. Besides, any of us could harm the children if we were so inclined, that’s not unique.”
“Commander, you sound as if you’re suggesting we overlook this,” said Lillian, her eyes narrowing.
“Yes. Not forgetting, mind you. But ignoring it for the time being, anyhow,” he said.
“Absolutely not,” she said, “I will not let you-”
“You are not in the position to be making demands, paladin,” said Naia, with a surprising force.
He went on to explain how he had ridden west and up, past the foothills and into the mountain passes. It didn’t take him long to find the road leading to the mountain fortress of the Alonshaze. What he’d found when he’d finally reached it was dire.
Sorore had remembered the walls and towers of the outer wall, the monastery-style church and its library, and the keep, half-carved into the face of a sheer escarpment. She could not believe the commander’s account of its ruin, how the gate had been sundered, how the outerwall largely lay in rubble overflowing into the pass it guarded.
“What’s more,” he continued, “Ryzea is missing, whether dead, or gone on some hunt, none are sure, not even the other commanders.”
Lillian’s face fell at the news, and Sorore felt her heart ache in her chest. She’d only known the massive man with snow white locks for a short time. He’d been blunt, some would say almost crude, but his refreshing honesty and wisdom of ages had charmed her. What’s more, he’d seemed immovable, unshakable, due to his harsh experience and his physical bulk. And now he was dead? That was difficult to conceptualise, let alone believe.
“Half the knights rode to our aid, the others stayed behind to salvage and secure what they could,” Naia continued, “some will continue on to reinforce us on our way to Angorrah, a way of which I will choose.”
He sighed, and shook his head as he looked the two paladins dead in their faces.
“I have been lax over enforcing my rank, because, firstly, I respect the light lords a great deal, and secondly, I believed it was best for order. But there comes a point where I must remind you it was I who was chosen to supervise this mission. Lady Aya’s coming has been a surprise to us all, and complicated things, but that does not change who gives the orders. The next time I have to bring this up, it will be a formal reprimand. Do you understand?
Lillian’s face had gone from white to shame-filled red, though she said nothing. The air was thick with barely repressed outrage, held back by the presence of technical correctness, and two dozen knights standing behind their commander.
“Then,” Lillian said, forcing her voice to be calm, “what of the mage?”
“You will leave him to me,” said Naia, smiling a thin, humourless smile.
[←Chapter 51] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 53→]
2023.06.02 03:08 Affiliate1646 Restoring a late 1990s Ram - worth it?
Hi,
so I've been toying around with the idea of buying a 1990s half-ton RAM (prob. 1996-1999), restoring it, and possibly diesel swapping it (not the 5.9 or 3.9 Cummins).
As part of it, I want to fix most of the flaws that Dodge Ram trucks are known to have: the steering (how?), the cracking dash etc... Also protecting the frame and body from rust as much as I can. I might also get the interior detailed and upholstered. Hopefully it will be a rig that lasts a long time.
But before I do any of this, I have to ask: Is this worth doing on a Dodge Ram, or is there a better truck out there? I chose a Dodge Ram because it seems best looking for its time IMO. I don't hear a lot of good about these trucks though. Thanks in advance!
submitted by Affiliate1646 to ram_trucks [link] [comments]
so I've been toying around with the idea of buying a 1990s half-ton RAM (prob. 1996-1999), restoring it, and possibly diesel swapping it (not the 5.9 or 3.9 Cummins).
As part of it, I want to fix most of the flaws that Dodge Ram trucks are known to have: the steering (how?), the cracking dash etc... Also protecting the frame and body from rust as much as I can. I might also get the interior detailed and upholstered. Hopefully it will be a rig that lasts a long time.
But before I do any of this, I have to ask: Is this worth doing on a Dodge Ram, or is there a better truck out there? I chose a Dodge Ram because it seems best looking for its time IMO. I don't hear a lot of good about these trucks though. Thanks in advance!
2023.06.02 02:35 Vajrick_Buddha Is there Gnosis in the most anti-Gnostic strain of Christianity – the Latter-Day Saints (LDS)?
Latter-Day Saint Gnosis
What’s so gnostic about Latter-day Saints Christianity?
In a way, it’s the most anti-gnostic strand – not only does it have almost no separation between spirit and matter, but it’s also highly institutional.
2 years ago I inquired ChristianOccultism on whether they knew of anything relevant about Mormonism. The response wasn’t that great. But I now have my own answer!
Nathan Smith, on Medium, has been a rather influential writer and thinker in regards to a “Gnostic reformation” of Mormonism. He infuses his Christian heritage with non-dualistic theology and practice derived from the likes of Alan Watts, Zen and yoga.
So what’s so gnostically interesting about Latter-Day Saints (LDS)?
It’s the revolutionary theology of cosmo-humanism (or cosmic humanism)!
What is it based on? How does it compare to other confessions? And why does it matter?
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints
.
“All spirit is matter”
A revolutionary concept is Joseph Smiths’ proclamation that “all spirit is matter”!
Yet it’s also implicit in the premise that God became flesh. As Jesus reconciled within himself the heavens and the earths, the spiritual and the physical, the perfect and the fallen, eternal and temporal.
Which is why Eastern Orthodoxy (EO) reveres the Holy Communion, holy water and icons. The world of forms is not an illusion to evade, but the gate into the revelation of God. Much like it happened at the Transfiguration.
In this sense, LDS is quite anti-Gnostic.
But I’m fascinated to no end by the doctrine that the Heavenly Father, Elohim himself, has a physical body, of flesh, blood and bone.
Gnostic religions either consider the physical to be an illusion (Gospel of Truth, Advaita Vedanta) or something to be transcended and conquered (Gospel of John, Jainism, Pashupata Saivism). Yet Christians like LDS actually want to earn embodied existence!
Now you may say this is clearly a demiurgic trap. This religion couldn’t possibly be from anyone else but Yaldabaoth!
Alan Watts would disagree. He proposed that the ideas of “spirit” and “matter” are but mental labels. “Form” and “stuff” are outdated philosophical concepts. In truth, the physical world is beyond such limitations.
In light of Buddhism, the physical is: transient, impersonal, unsatisfactory, empty.
Yet, transience is the mark of life! That which is changeless (“eternal”) we consider to be dead… After all, even rocks flow, becoming pebbles, sand, clay and being molded back into stones and re-starting the process. Is this not lively? Like Watts said “If I knock on stone, it resonates.” Isn’t that the rocks answering you?
Furthermore, when Buddha spoke of impersonality (anatta), he pointed out how all particular things are informed and built up by each other. Nothing exists in isolation. And nothing is conditioned by the discursive label ascribed to it. Each particular derives its’ being from all other things.
Dissatisfaction (dukkha) arises from clinging to conditioned and transient phenomena.
Finally, to say all forms are empty (suññata) implies a variety of things:
Trika Saivism proposes pratyabhijna (self-recognition doctrine) derived from idealistic monism. It states that “All is Consciousness, Consciousness is all.” But it makes it clear that, unlike Shankaras’ Advaita Vedanta, it does not call the physical realm an “illusion.” It is very real, like the body of God. Although its’ nature is misapprehended.
LDS doctrine of physical resurrection and exaltation of the body into divine immortality borders on Yoga and Taoism, which venerate Immortals (like Nath Saivas and Neidan (Alchemical) Taoists).
Finally, this physicalism is closely linked to chaos theory.
Buddhist authors (especially Theravadins) have come to object to the modern misreading of Buddhist “oneness”. They say the physical inter-dependence of all things is not harmonious, but cannibalistic. We eat each other to survive. Plants smother each other for a place under the sun. But from a Chinese Zen perspective, Watts noted, what seems like chaos on one level, is blissful harmony on a higher level. Consider the germ wars going on inside your own organism right now! Microorganisms hunt and fight each other. But all this is what keeps your existence as an effortless process.
Similarly, from the Visnu Lila theology, all these conflicts and competitions are, in the end, a divine play or dance. Zooming out of the atoms that seem to play catch, through the wildlife playing hunter-prey, to cosmic bodies knocking on each other… All are Gods’ children on the playground.
In this way, the physical doesn’t need to be evaded or repudiated.
Zen master Foyan said that “realization obliterates the subject-object split. It’s not like there’s some mysterious principle besides. When you see forms, [...] hear sounds [...] eat and drink, this is an instance of realization.” Eastern Orthodox prayer engages all senses in facing God – uses icons (sight), prayer ropes (touch), holy water (taste), canticles (hearing) and incense (smell) to experience the Holy Spirit. Muslims also stress the need for physical prostrations and vocal recitation for proper worship of the ineffable God. And master Dogen, by expounding seated meditation, basically taught Zen through body language.
As such, in the words of Alan Watts, “the physical fulfils all the requirements of the spiritual” – both in function (practice) and essence (nature). Thus, “all spirit is matter.”
Joseph Smiths' prophetic vision
.
Creation ex materia
A distinctive feature of LDS physicalism is the eternal existence of matter. It poses that the Logos formed the world by re-arranging matter into the patterns we see now.
This leads us to “Christo-monotheism”, since Jesus is undoubtedly our God – the creator of our world.
The Heavenly Father, by having a body of flesh, blood and bone, is physically intertwined with the whole of existence. Originating Jesus, who begins re-arranging this matter to inspire it to experience its’ own existence. Their influence extends through the Holy Ghost (who has a body of spirit or perhaps energy).
Similarly, the Vajrayana concept of luminous emptiness, speaks of emptiness as the ineffable Absolute (Father Elohim), endowed with luminosity (self-arising awareness that creates the world of form) – Son Jehovah. Luminous emptiness is also endowed with inherent love and bliss (perhaps equal to the Holy Ghost).
When Jesus was accused of blasphemy for calling himself a Son of God (equating himself to God), he quoted the 82nd Psalm: “Is it not written in your law: I have said, ye are gods?” (Jn 10:34)
We are gods in the sense that we too create a world around ourselves (“as above, so below” meaning “as within, so without”). But these forms arise from something which was before us (luminous emptiness or Gods’ Spirit). And is manifest as the physical. Basically, God manifests through each of us, as we co-create the universe (world of form) with him. Re-arranging that which pre-existed.
On another level, we are the Logos (or Word) in that, by means of discourse, we shape the ineffable physical existence into temporary particulars. The Zen perspective points out how even the anxieties over life and death are delusions, as the tension between the two is the result of a dialectical duality. In truth they’re implied in one another. Life and death is the blink of Gods’ eye. It is only by selective perception that we cling to one against the other, not realizing they are both the Self.
Jesus Christ, Jehovah
.
Salvation: To return to God or to become God?
St. Athanasius of Alexandria said “God became Man so that Man may become god.” This derived from St Peter: “that [...] you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.” (1 Pe. 1:4)
The Saints essentially speak of theosis (divinization) – the restoration of our original divine image and likeness in union with Gods’ Grace.
LDS takes this a step further. Stating: “As Man is, God once was.” (Although I don’t endorse the Adam-God theory).
EO is focused on a return to our primordial being. Implying our genesis was more or less a mistake. But on a deeper level, Man simply ate the fruit ahead of time. In ecology, everything exists in interdependence, and all elements go through cycles of maturation. Perhaps neither Man nor the fruit had reached the maturity needed. A delicious fruit, if eaten off season, can turn intoxicating.
Further, when confronted by God, Man, instead of confessing and repenting for ones’ disobedience, sought to deceive God (lie), putting the blame on his other half (in a cunning manner). If the primordial man (Adam & Eve) were one, this represents the beginning of samsara in our consciousness, as we renounce parts of ourselves into the shadow, fracturing our psyche and growing deluded and estranged from reality. Buddhist texts (like Kuntuzangpos’ prayer) explain how in unawareness a sense of estrangement grows, this duality breeds lust, then aggressive competition, which generates a binding chaotic pattern of karma.
Regardless, our earthly existence has but one ultimate aim – to return to Heaven. But it’s not an empty handed return. We must outgrow our limitations. Ascension through the Cross implies letting go of that which binds us. The more we let go, the fuller we become, by attaining deeper union with God. Death (descent into Hell) and resurrection imply the integration of our Shadow.
Nathan Smith explains this by distinguishing Jehovah and Elohim. Elohim, the Heavenly Father, is in plural, implying the aggregation of the myriad things into a cohesive unity of being. Whereas Jehovah, as Jesus, is the reconciling effort that offers transcendence (descends from Heaven to Earth, then to Hades, and resurrects returning to Heaven). Jesus re-integrates the fragmented reality into the One Mind of the Cosmic Self.
In this salvific process, while we are to purify the heart by mortifying our sinful tendencies (path of the Cross), we’re also to unconditionally embrace the world (through love), integrating it into the one cosmic body of Christ.
Because Lucifer is Jesus’ brother (in LDS), they are the two paths and fruitions that arise from the same divine ground – the path of chaos (rejection, fall) and the path of reconciliation (re-integration, ascension). Lucifer reduces all things to ever shrinking particles. Jesus weaves all things back into one whole. To rule the world, we use dialectical systems that separate all particulars, as to exert influence over them (Lucifer). Whereas the ascetic path to God relies on renunciation of the self, embracing the world as a harmonious unity (Jesus).
EO places a greater focus on returning to the primordial state of image and likeness of God, in graceful union. Whereas LDS have a more linear conception, in which we become greater than we were. That our primordial potential is fulfilled through earthly existence beyond what we were in the beginning.
Although, some EO patriarchs have suggested that in the afterlife all souls still progress into the depth of Gods’ mystery.
Angel Moroni
.
The destiny of Man: becoming God
The LDS narrative gives us a story of cosmic proportions.
The spirit-children of God became embodied beings as to attain exaltation, becoming like our Father. After all, the Son grows into the Father.
So we too will have our “planets” and spirit-children. And the process will go on.
There’s something poetic about Jesus creating this world, and, as its’ Lord and God, plunging right into the midst of existence. And upon resurrection, pull all of his creation with him, as extensions of his body. Having previously created the world out of his Fathers’ body.
Children grow into being parents. We’ll attain the highest exaltation by means of reconciling the whole world as an extension of our being. And then will proceed to create another world to plunge ourselves into it, alongside our creation. Like Jesus did.
Some Mahayana doctrines also imply this. Buddhas that reign over Pure Lands were once yogis in the pursuit of awakening, generating great merit. Having become Celestial Buddhas, they then emanate themselves into samsaric worlds to guide people to their Pure Land, serving as a bridge between samsara and nibbãna.
This cycle would be the heartbeat of God, what Trika Saivas call pulsations of the universe. Whereby it expands, diversifies and begins to reunite into its’ original being. Only to do it again.
The Heavenly Mother would also fit in here. Although a controversial figure. It’s quite reminiscent of the Radha-Krisna theology of some Hindus. Who describe the cosmos as a divine interplay between the divine feminine and divine masculine in a romantic dance of pursuing each other. Together, they bring forth all souls. Like the Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother bringing forth all spirit-children.
Lord Jesus Christ
.
Christo-monotheism and Vaisnavism
Usually LDS attribute primacy to the Heavenly Father. But Nathan Smith noted that there were times when Christ was the head of the trinity in the Church. And why wouldn’t he be? Mormon theology leaves no doubt that the Logos, Christ, was the sole creator, redeemesaviour and judge of Earth.
Jesus created the world, inhabited it sacrificing himself for the salvation and redemption of all people. And he’ll be the final judge.
Vaishnavism also has this very idea, in the Gaudiya (Krishnait) and Ramavata (Ramaist) sects. Traditionally, Rama and Krishna are seen as avatars of Visnu, who incarnate to redeem the world. Visnu, being the sustainer of the world, is in trinity with Brahma (creator) and Siva (destroyer). But the mentioned sects consider their avatars “incarnate revelations of the full personality of the Godhead”. All other avatars are attributes and emanations. Even the trinity (Brahma, Visnu, Siva) is but a partial revelation of the functional aspects of the supreme Lord (Krishna or Rama).
In Christo-monotheism, the crucifixion is that much deeper. Since God himself was crucified by his own creation, forever changing his judgement and attitude towards us (becoming more merciful and compassionate). Quite reminiscent of the Manichean idea of Jesus the Suffering – that all of Gods’ souls suffer from ignorant existence.
Krisna-Visnus' myriad forms revealed to Arjuna
.
The Gnosis in Latter-day Saints spirituality
The mystical side of LDS includes understanding that “all spirit is matter”, creation ex materia, “as Man is, God once was” (eternal progression) and reverence for the Heavenly Father and Mother.
When propounding physicalism, Alan Watts argued that the stubborn division between “spirit” and “matter” culminates in a society that happily destroys the nature that feeds it, as to accumulate the symbols that represent the destroyed resources. Latter-Day Saints, Zen, Taoism, Eastern Orthodoxy, Islam and Saivism all point out, in various ways, that the physical reality is not the illusion. Our misapprehension of it, as a result of our habitual dualistic thoughts, is what’s illusory. Nathan Smith proposes spiritual growth through reconciliation by means of ritual. Temple ritual, prayer and meditation in which we reconcile our own physical and spiritual natures (integrating our fragmented aspects) and harmonize our relationships through acceptance of others, while keeping our material existence undefiled (through ritual purity).
Creation ex materia means that, in this very moment, we shape the world in our image. “As above, so below” means “as within, so without.” The physical world (world of forms/appearance) is a reflection of our heart-minds. Smith appeals to the Zen idea of the Unborn, whereby, a detached mind, settled in the present, can respond in a myriad of possibilities to what happens outwardly.
“As Man is, God once was.” I don’t believe in this literally, but I do think that, much like a seed grows into a tree, a son grows into his father, so we will ascend through the emanations of the One (in a Platonic sense). And, at each degree, we are deified, as we become expanding centres of the universe. More and more we weave together the universe through ourselves. The more fragmented dualities we reconcile and integrate within ourselves, the closer we come to God (this can include Jungian shadow work). Once deified, we will repeat the cosmic dance, creating worlds and emanating our own spirit-children to inhabit them, for our sparks to return to us.
Finally, there is the possibility of a divine feminine in the Heavenly Mother. If the Father is revealed in name (through the Son), the Mother is implied by concept. Much like the negative is implied in the positive (Ying-Yang theory). The female principle goes unmentioned, because its’ use must happen rather effortlessly, without any ideation or intention. As Lao Tzu said:
Heavenly Mother
.
Criticism
It’s interesting that strict dualistic traditions (like Manichaeism and Jainism) have the same propensity as some non-dualist traditions (LDS) towards puritanism. Albeit all spirit is matter, LDS has excessively puritanical tenets. It seems that, whether respecting matter or repudiating it, we may end up in the same place.
Any ex-Mormon will tell us that LDS is extremely institutionalized. Like a corporation. Far more than Catholic and Orthodox Churches. As such, it becomes an extremely political religion, at the whim of its’ presidents.
The prophet and founder, Joseph Smith, had a questionable career. With detractors accusing him of misappropriating freemasonic teachings and of con-artistry.
Protestants consider LDS completely lacking in the Grace element. Being very focused on ritualism and precepts, i.e. works of the law. Even Catholicism and Orthodoxy do not feel as temple-dependent as LDS.
When taken at face value, LDS is very anti-gnostic. While some Gnostics find embodied existence a prison to be transcended, LDS strive to attain eternal embodiment. And calling earthly existence a “Plan of Happiness” makes it sound somewhat suspicious (like saying "Ministry of Truth").
On the other hand, could the LDS view of the Holy Ghost, as a separate spirit-entity that abides on Earth, carrying out the Heavenly Fathers’ will, be closer to some Gnostic cosmologies and theologies?
.
I’ve always wanted to “figure out” this American religion gnostically. And, at the moment, I’m quite satisfied to have re-shaped my metaphysical outlook through it. Thanks to people like Nathan Smith, on Medium.
What’s you experience and attitude with the Latter-Day Saints faith? Do you trust it? Do you feel comfortable engaging with the organization, or are you cautious? Does it have any gnosis? Would you see it as the most anti-gnostic form of Christianity? And do you think the Holy Ghost notion is more Gnostic?
submitted by Vajrick_Buddha to Gnostic [link] [comments]
What’s so gnostic about Latter-day Saints Christianity?
In a way, it’s the most anti-gnostic strand – not only does it have almost no separation between spirit and matter, but it’s also highly institutional.
2 years ago I inquired ChristianOccultism on whether they knew of anything relevant about Mormonism. The response wasn’t that great. But I now have my own answer!
Nathan Smith, on Medium, has been a rather influential writer and thinker in regards to a “Gnostic reformation” of Mormonism. He infuses his Christian heritage with non-dualistic theology and practice derived from the likes of Alan Watts, Zen and yoga.
So what’s so gnostically interesting about Latter-Day Saints (LDS)?
It’s the revolutionary theology of cosmo-humanism (or cosmic humanism)!
What is it based on? How does it compare to other confessions? And why does it matter?
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints
.
“All spirit is matter”
A revolutionary concept is Joseph Smiths’ proclamation that “all spirit is matter”!
Yet it’s also implicit in the premise that God became flesh. As Jesus reconciled within himself the heavens and the earths, the spiritual and the physical, the perfect and the fallen, eternal and temporal.
Which is why Eastern Orthodoxy (EO) reveres the Holy Communion, holy water and icons. The world of forms is not an illusion to evade, but the gate into the revelation of God. Much like it happened at the Transfiguration.
In this sense, LDS is quite anti-Gnostic.
But I’m fascinated to no end by the doctrine that the Heavenly Father, Elohim himself, has a physical body, of flesh, blood and bone.
Gnostic religions either consider the physical to be an illusion (Gospel of Truth, Advaita Vedanta) or something to be transcended and conquered (Gospel of John, Jainism, Pashupata Saivism). Yet Christians like LDS actually want to earn embodied existence!
Now you may say this is clearly a demiurgic trap. This religion couldn’t possibly be from anyone else but Yaldabaoth!
Alan Watts would disagree. He proposed that the ideas of “spirit” and “matter” are but mental labels. “Form” and “stuff” are outdated philosophical concepts. In truth, the physical world is beyond such limitations.
In light of Buddhism, the physical is: transient, impersonal, unsatisfactory, empty.
Yet, transience is the mark of life! That which is changeless (“eternal”) we consider to be dead… After all, even rocks flow, becoming pebbles, sand, clay and being molded back into stones and re-starting the process. Is this not lively? Like Watts said “If I knock on stone, it resonates.” Isn’t that the rocks answering you?
Furthermore, when Buddha spoke of impersonality (anatta), he pointed out how all particular things are informed and built up by each other. Nothing exists in isolation. And nothing is conditioned by the discursive label ascribed to it. Each particular derives its’ being from all other things.
Dissatisfaction (dukkha) arises from clinging to conditioned and transient phenomena.
Finally, to say all forms are empty (suññata) implies a variety of things:
- empty of conceptualized nature (direct experience is beyond any possible dialectical expression);
- empty of subject-object distinction (non-duality);
- empty of self-essence (inter-existence, like Indras’ Web stating that you contain the whole cosmos in yourself, but the cosmos also contains you);
- empty of emptiness (there’s no adequate idea/word/form to conceive of the Eternal Truth).
Trika Saivism proposes pratyabhijna (self-recognition doctrine) derived from idealistic monism. It states that “All is Consciousness, Consciousness is all.” But it makes it clear that, unlike Shankaras’ Advaita Vedanta, it does not call the physical realm an “illusion.” It is very real, like the body of God. Although its’ nature is misapprehended.
LDS doctrine of physical resurrection and exaltation of the body into divine immortality borders on Yoga and Taoism, which venerate Immortals (like Nath Saivas and Neidan (Alchemical) Taoists).
Finally, this physicalism is closely linked to chaos theory.
Buddhist authors (especially Theravadins) have come to object to the modern misreading of Buddhist “oneness”. They say the physical inter-dependence of all things is not harmonious, but cannibalistic. We eat each other to survive. Plants smother each other for a place under the sun. But from a Chinese Zen perspective, Watts noted, what seems like chaos on one level, is blissful harmony on a higher level. Consider the germ wars going on inside your own organism right now! Microorganisms hunt and fight each other. But all this is what keeps your existence as an effortless process.
Similarly, from the Visnu Lila theology, all these conflicts and competitions are, in the end, a divine play or dance. Zooming out of the atoms that seem to play catch, through the wildlife playing hunter-prey, to cosmic bodies knocking on each other… All are Gods’ children on the playground.
In this way, the physical doesn’t need to be evaded or repudiated.
Zen master Foyan said that “realization obliterates the subject-object split. It’s not like there’s some mysterious principle besides. When you see forms, [...] hear sounds [...] eat and drink, this is an instance of realization.” Eastern Orthodox prayer engages all senses in facing God – uses icons (sight), prayer ropes (touch), holy water (taste), canticles (hearing) and incense (smell) to experience the Holy Spirit. Muslims also stress the need for physical prostrations and vocal recitation for proper worship of the ineffable God. And master Dogen, by expounding seated meditation, basically taught Zen through body language.
As such, in the words of Alan Watts, “the physical fulfils all the requirements of the spiritual” – both in function (practice) and essence (nature). Thus, “all spirit is matter.”
Joseph Smiths' prophetic vision
.
Creation ex materia
A distinctive feature of LDS physicalism is the eternal existence of matter. It poses that the Logos formed the world by re-arranging matter into the patterns we see now.
This leads us to “Christo-monotheism”, since Jesus is undoubtedly our God – the creator of our world.
The Heavenly Father, by having a body of flesh, blood and bone, is physically intertwined with the whole of existence. Originating Jesus, who begins re-arranging this matter to inspire it to experience its’ own existence. Their influence extends through the Holy Ghost (who has a body of spirit or perhaps energy).
Similarly, the Vajrayana concept of luminous emptiness, speaks of emptiness as the ineffable Absolute (Father Elohim), endowed with luminosity (self-arising awareness that creates the world of form) – Son Jehovah. Luminous emptiness is also endowed with inherent love and bliss (perhaps equal to the Holy Ghost).
When Jesus was accused of blasphemy for calling himself a Son of God (equating himself to God), he quoted the 82nd Psalm: “Is it not written in your law: I have said, ye are gods?” (Jn 10:34)
We are gods in the sense that we too create a world around ourselves (“as above, so below” meaning “as within, so without”). But these forms arise from something which was before us (luminous emptiness or Gods’ Spirit). And is manifest as the physical. Basically, God manifests through each of us, as we co-create the universe (world of form) with him. Re-arranging that which pre-existed.
On another level, we are the Logos (or Word) in that, by means of discourse, we shape the ineffable physical existence into temporary particulars. The Zen perspective points out how even the anxieties over life and death are delusions, as the tension between the two is the result of a dialectical duality. In truth they’re implied in one another. Life and death is the blink of Gods’ eye. It is only by selective perception that we cling to one against the other, not realizing they are both the Self.
Jesus Christ, Jehovah
.
Salvation: To return to God or to become God?
St. Athanasius of Alexandria said “God became Man so that Man may become god.” This derived from St Peter: “that [...] you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.” (1 Pe. 1:4)
The Saints essentially speak of theosis (divinization) – the restoration of our original divine image and likeness in union with Gods’ Grace.
LDS takes this a step further. Stating: “As Man is, God once was.” (Although I don’t endorse the Adam-God theory).
EO is focused on a return to our primordial being. Implying our genesis was more or less a mistake. But on a deeper level, Man simply ate the fruit ahead of time. In ecology, everything exists in interdependence, and all elements go through cycles of maturation. Perhaps neither Man nor the fruit had reached the maturity needed. A delicious fruit, if eaten off season, can turn intoxicating.
Further, when confronted by God, Man, instead of confessing and repenting for ones’ disobedience, sought to deceive God (lie), putting the blame on his other half (in a cunning manner). If the primordial man (Adam & Eve) were one, this represents the beginning of samsara in our consciousness, as we renounce parts of ourselves into the shadow, fracturing our psyche and growing deluded and estranged from reality. Buddhist texts (like Kuntuzangpos’ prayer) explain how in unawareness a sense of estrangement grows, this duality breeds lust, then aggressive competition, which generates a binding chaotic pattern of karma.
Regardless, our earthly existence has but one ultimate aim – to return to Heaven. But it’s not an empty handed return. We must outgrow our limitations. Ascension through the Cross implies letting go of that which binds us. The more we let go, the fuller we become, by attaining deeper union with God. Death (descent into Hell) and resurrection imply the integration of our Shadow.
Nathan Smith explains this by distinguishing Jehovah and Elohim. Elohim, the Heavenly Father, is in plural, implying the aggregation of the myriad things into a cohesive unity of being. Whereas Jehovah, as Jesus, is the reconciling effort that offers transcendence (descends from Heaven to Earth, then to Hades, and resurrects returning to Heaven). Jesus re-integrates the fragmented reality into the One Mind of the Cosmic Self.
In this salvific process, while we are to purify the heart by mortifying our sinful tendencies (path of the Cross), we’re also to unconditionally embrace the world (through love), integrating it into the one cosmic body of Christ.
Because Lucifer is Jesus’ brother (in LDS), they are the two paths and fruitions that arise from the same divine ground – the path of chaos (rejection, fall) and the path of reconciliation (re-integration, ascension). Lucifer reduces all things to ever shrinking particles. Jesus weaves all things back into one whole. To rule the world, we use dialectical systems that separate all particulars, as to exert influence over them (Lucifer). Whereas the ascetic path to God relies on renunciation of the self, embracing the world as a harmonious unity (Jesus).
EO places a greater focus on returning to the primordial state of image and likeness of God, in graceful union. Whereas LDS have a more linear conception, in which we become greater than we were. That our primordial potential is fulfilled through earthly existence beyond what we were in the beginning.
Although, some EO patriarchs have suggested that in the afterlife all souls still progress into the depth of Gods’ mystery.
Angel Moroni
.
The destiny of Man: becoming God
The LDS narrative gives us a story of cosmic proportions.
The spirit-children of God became embodied beings as to attain exaltation, becoming like our Father. After all, the Son grows into the Father.
So we too will have our “planets” and spirit-children. And the process will go on.
There’s something poetic about Jesus creating this world, and, as its’ Lord and God, plunging right into the midst of existence. And upon resurrection, pull all of his creation with him, as extensions of his body. Having previously created the world out of his Fathers’ body.
Children grow into being parents. We’ll attain the highest exaltation by means of reconciling the whole world as an extension of our being. And then will proceed to create another world to plunge ourselves into it, alongside our creation. Like Jesus did.
Some Mahayana doctrines also imply this. Buddhas that reign over Pure Lands were once yogis in the pursuit of awakening, generating great merit. Having become Celestial Buddhas, they then emanate themselves into samsaric worlds to guide people to their Pure Land, serving as a bridge between samsara and nibbãna.
This cycle would be the heartbeat of God, what Trika Saivas call pulsations of the universe. Whereby it expands, diversifies and begins to reunite into its’ original being. Only to do it again.
The Heavenly Mother would also fit in here. Although a controversial figure. It’s quite reminiscent of the Radha-Krisna theology of some Hindus. Who describe the cosmos as a divine interplay between the divine feminine and divine masculine in a romantic dance of pursuing each other. Together, they bring forth all souls. Like the Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother bringing forth all spirit-children.
Lord Jesus Christ
.
Christo-monotheism and Vaisnavism
Usually LDS attribute primacy to the Heavenly Father. But Nathan Smith noted that there were times when Christ was the head of the trinity in the Church. And why wouldn’t he be? Mormon theology leaves no doubt that the Logos, Christ, was the sole creator, redeemesaviour and judge of Earth.
Jesus created the world, inhabited it sacrificing himself for the salvation and redemption of all people. And he’ll be the final judge.
Vaishnavism also has this very idea, in the Gaudiya (Krishnait) and Ramavata (Ramaist) sects. Traditionally, Rama and Krishna are seen as avatars of Visnu, who incarnate to redeem the world. Visnu, being the sustainer of the world, is in trinity with Brahma (creator) and Siva (destroyer). But the mentioned sects consider their avatars “incarnate revelations of the full personality of the Godhead”. All other avatars are attributes and emanations. Even the trinity (Brahma, Visnu, Siva) is but a partial revelation of the functional aspects of the supreme Lord (Krishna or Rama).
In Christo-monotheism, the crucifixion is that much deeper. Since God himself was crucified by his own creation, forever changing his judgement and attitude towards us (becoming more merciful and compassionate). Quite reminiscent of the Manichean idea of Jesus the Suffering – that all of Gods’ souls suffer from ignorant existence.
Krisna-Visnus' myriad forms revealed to Arjuna
.
The Gnosis in Latter-day Saints spirituality
The mystical side of LDS includes understanding that “all spirit is matter”, creation ex materia, “as Man is, God once was” (eternal progression) and reverence for the Heavenly Father and Mother.
When propounding physicalism, Alan Watts argued that the stubborn division between “spirit” and “matter” culminates in a society that happily destroys the nature that feeds it, as to accumulate the symbols that represent the destroyed resources. Latter-Day Saints, Zen, Taoism, Eastern Orthodoxy, Islam and Saivism all point out, in various ways, that the physical reality is not the illusion. Our misapprehension of it, as a result of our habitual dualistic thoughts, is what’s illusory. Nathan Smith proposes spiritual growth through reconciliation by means of ritual. Temple ritual, prayer and meditation in which we reconcile our own physical and spiritual natures (integrating our fragmented aspects) and harmonize our relationships through acceptance of others, while keeping our material existence undefiled (through ritual purity).
Creation ex materia means that, in this very moment, we shape the world in our image. “As above, so below” means “as within, so without.” The physical world (world of forms/appearance) is a reflection of our heart-minds. Smith appeals to the Zen idea of the Unborn, whereby, a detached mind, settled in the present, can respond in a myriad of possibilities to what happens outwardly.
“As Man is, God once was.” I don’t believe in this literally, but I do think that, much like a seed grows into a tree, a son grows into his father, so we will ascend through the emanations of the One (in a Platonic sense). And, at each degree, we are deified, as we become expanding centres of the universe. More and more we weave together the universe through ourselves. The more fragmented dualities we reconcile and integrate within ourselves, the closer we come to God (this can include Jungian shadow work). Once deified, we will repeat the cosmic dance, creating worlds and emanating our own spirit-children to inhabit them, for our sparks to return to us.
Finally, there is the possibility of a divine feminine in the Heavenly Mother. If the Father is revealed in name (through the Son), the Mother is implied by concept. Much like the negative is implied in the positive (Ying-Yang theory). The female principle goes unmentioned, because its’ use must happen rather effortlessly, without any ideation or intention. As Lao Tzu said:
The more you use it, the more it produces;
the more you talk of it, the less you understand.
Hold on to the center.
The Tao is called the Great Mother: empty yet inexhaustible, it gives birth to infinite worlds.
It is always present within you.
Heavenly Mother
.
Criticism
It’s interesting that strict dualistic traditions (like Manichaeism and Jainism) have the same propensity as some non-dualist traditions (LDS) towards puritanism. Albeit all spirit is matter, LDS has excessively puritanical tenets. It seems that, whether respecting matter or repudiating it, we may end up in the same place.
Any ex-Mormon will tell us that LDS is extremely institutionalized. Like a corporation. Far more than Catholic and Orthodox Churches. As such, it becomes an extremely political religion, at the whim of its’ presidents.
The prophet and founder, Joseph Smith, had a questionable career. With detractors accusing him of misappropriating freemasonic teachings and of con-artistry.
Protestants consider LDS completely lacking in the Grace element. Being very focused on ritualism and precepts, i.e. works of the law. Even Catholicism and Orthodoxy do not feel as temple-dependent as LDS.
When taken at face value, LDS is very anti-gnostic. While some Gnostics find embodied existence a prison to be transcended, LDS strive to attain eternal embodiment. And calling earthly existence a “Plan of Happiness” makes it sound somewhat suspicious (like saying "Ministry of Truth").
On the other hand, could the LDS view of the Holy Ghost, as a separate spirit-entity that abides on Earth, carrying out the Heavenly Fathers’ will, be closer to some Gnostic cosmologies and theologies?
.
I’ve always wanted to “figure out” this American religion gnostically. And, at the moment, I’m quite satisfied to have re-shaped my metaphysical outlook through it. Thanks to people like Nathan Smith, on Medium.
What’s you experience and attitude with the Latter-Day Saints faith? Do you trust it? Do you feel comfortable engaging with the organization, or are you cautious? Does it have any gnosis? Would you see it as the most anti-gnostic form of Christianity? And do you think the Holy Ghost notion is more Gnostic?
2023.06.02 02:35 Alternativeself0 Theory of what can happen in the passage of time between S5 and S6
– Hector is still drinking at Castillo Escondido when the "dangerous man", the one Miguel first thought was his father, enters the place. The man tells Hector about Miguel and that he didn't think he would take the news so well that he was a father. Hector doesn't understand what the man is talking about and says that Miguel is not his son then he hears that Miguel was looking for his father Hector and said he was the son of a certain Carmen Díaz from Guayaquil. Hector is upset and goes to his house to see if Miguel was still there. He enters the room where the boy stayed and sees his backpack on top of the bed. Hector opens it and finds the road ticket that shows Miguel came from the San Fernando Valley and some clothes. He searches Miguel Díaz from the San Fernando Valley on Facebook to see photos of him with Carmen, Rosa and Johnny. His anger turns to euphoria when he learns that Miguel is a karate champion and that he has overcome a paralysis and starts planning to reunite with his son motivated by the desire to make him famous and be his successor in the fighting business.
– Hector pays bribes so that corrupt cops won't interfere with his shady dealings. The police ask for more money and the moment comes when payment becomes impossible and he starts to be threatened. Hector decides to run away. He gives money to Maria so that she can go away with her son. Hector flees to Los Angeles. Arriving in the city, he comes into contact with people linked to the underworld of fights to have somewhere to hide. He already knows some details of the Díaz's life, such as Carmen's pregnancy and that Miguel is dating the daughter of a successful businessman. He also knows that the Cobra Kai dojo that Miguel was champion for was closed after a scandal of corruption and violence. Hector intends will approach Miguel without revealing that he already knows the whole truth.
– Silver is sued for the attack on Stingray and for corrupting the refereeing and his own students. To mitigate the penalty, he reveals that he has leukemia and shows tests that are legitimate.
– Johnny accuses Silver of ordering him to be beaten to death. The complaint is not accepted and the blame lies entirely with Kim Da-Eun's senseis who are arrested. Silver hires lawyers to defend them and lies that Johnny knew about from him illness because they saw each other at the hospital and Carmen works in the radiotherapy space and that Johnny wanted to take advantage of the moment when he was weakened to attack him. Johnny is furious and attacks Silver in front of the authorities, which makes his situation worse with the justice system.
– Johnny and Chozen are sued by Sllver for trespassing and damaging his private property. He still accuses Daniel of inciting teenagers to invade his dojo, but the complaint is not accepted.
– Silver doesn't sue Mike Barnes and the senseis will question Mike about it. Barnes confesses that the mansion break-in was a trap by Silver that he was forced into in order to get his furniture store back. Mike says he regretted it when he saw that Johnny was about to be killed. Everyone gets mad but forgives Mike understanding he was under pressure.
– Silver is tried and his sentence is converted to house arrest due to his health. He secludes himself on his private island. Apparently with no intention of continuing to run a karate dojo.
– Johnny and Chozen are ordered to pay a fine. Chozen is able to pay but Johnny is not and he is detained. Daniel and Chozen later post Johnny's bail.
– Kim Da-Eun once again criticizes Silver for putting their rivalries above their goals and Silver gets angry and leaves her. She also cannot leave the country and tries to survive as a personal trainer even without authorization to practice the profession.
– As Silver's plan was thwarted, Miyagi-Do's popularity increased and the Crane Kick began to be imitated again. Ecstatic, Daniel lays out a marketing plan for his dojo and is indifferent to the idea of a joint dojo with Eagle Fang. For him that was the right moment to make the lessons and name of Mr. Miyagi known to everyone.
– Carmen takes a exam clinical that ends up detecting another baby. She is expecting twins, a boy and a girl. The names chosen for the children are Santiago, in honor of Santiago de Guayaquil, Díaz family's hometown, and Laura, the name of Johnny's mother.
– Eagle Fang is far from having the same credibility as Miyagi-Do and Johnny thinks about improving the structure of the place. But he needs the money to pay for the arrival of his babies. So he goes back to work in construction and tries to adjust the schedules as sensei and uber.
– Miguel plans to save for college and gets a temporary job selling ice cream at a kiosk. He also takes a job in construction as Johnny's helper.
– Robby and Shannon travel to Bainbridge Island to spend the rest of the summer at her parents' house.
– Samantha spends more time at LaRusso Auto as an internship for her future as a dealership manager.
– An attack on a US Army military convoy kills soldiers. Mr. Payne is hit.
– Shawn finally leaves juvie and struggles to get a job. He goes back to being the man of the house.
– The All Valley commission assesses Tory's title status and concludes that she was not at fault in Silver's corruption and therefore her title should be retained. Daniel and Samantha protest, the claim that the court found Silver guilty. Tory hands Sam the trophy and leaves the room. Samantha is declared champion.
– Tory is looking for a job but her face is famous as a troublemaker and even a crook and she is not hired.
– To make matters worse, your aunt Kandace shows up to say she's going to live with her.
– The LaRusso family and Chozen are going to relax and have fun at the Orlando parks.
– The rules of Sekai Taikai become known. There is a limited number of representatives from each dojo per category. Competitors with similar profiles must fight each other to decide who should be the titular dojo representative.
– Eli was excited to be Miyagi-Do's representative but Robby's presence and Daniel's predilection for his oldest student annoy him. Eli has yet to decide between karate and college.
– Kreese has been hiding the whole time in the space where his original Cobra Kai functioned. Patiently, he waits for his name to stop appearing in the news to come out of the woodwork.
– Sid dies of natural causes at his Encino mansion. All of his estate goes towards payment of debts he left.
– Aware of Miyagi-Do's fame and interested in learning more about Johnny and his dojo, the leader of the most influential dojo in Sekai Taikai opens a betting shop in the Valley where mixed martial arts are practiced. The identity of the owner and his relationship with Sekai Taikai are kept confidential. Korea's envoy to take care of business in the Valley is their young champion from senior Sekai Taikai, who is also your son.
– It is in this environment of clandestine fights that Hector will be able to reconnect with Miguel.
submitted by Alternativeself0 to cobrakai [link] [comments]
– Hector pays bribes so that corrupt cops won't interfere with his shady dealings. The police ask for more money and the moment comes when payment becomes impossible and he starts to be threatened. Hector decides to run away. He gives money to Maria so that she can go away with her son. Hector flees to Los Angeles. Arriving in the city, he comes into contact with people linked to the underworld of fights to have somewhere to hide. He already knows some details of the Díaz's life, such as Carmen's pregnancy and that Miguel is dating the daughter of a successful businessman. He also knows that the Cobra Kai dojo that Miguel was champion for was closed after a scandal of corruption and violence. Hector intends will approach Miguel without revealing that he already knows the whole truth.
– Silver is sued for the attack on Stingray and for corrupting the refereeing and his own students. To mitigate the penalty, he reveals that he has leukemia and shows tests that are legitimate.
– Johnny accuses Silver of ordering him to be beaten to death. The complaint is not accepted and the blame lies entirely with Kim Da-Eun's senseis who are arrested. Silver hires lawyers to defend them and lies that Johnny knew about from him illness because they saw each other at the hospital and Carmen works in the radiotherapy space and that Johnny wanted to take advantage of the moment when he was weakened to attack him. Johnny is furious and attacks Silver in front of the authorities, which makes his situation worse with the justice system.
– Johnny and Chozen are sued by Sllver for trespassing and damaging his private property. He still accuses Daniel of inciting teenagers to invade his dojo, but the complaint is not accepted.
– Silver doesn't sue Mike Barnes and the senseis will question Mike about it. Barnes confesses that the mansion break-in was a trap by Silver that he was forced into in order to get his furniture store back. Mike says he regretted it when he saw that Johnny was about to be killed. Everyone gets mad but forgives Mike understanding he was under pressure.
– Silver is tried and his sentence is converted to house arrest due to his health. He secludes himself on his private island. Apparently with no intention of continuing to run a karate dojo.
– Johnny and Chozen are ordered to pay a fine. Chozen is able to pay but Johnny is not and he is detained. Daniel and Chozen later post Johnny's bail.
– Kim Da-Eun once again criticizes Silver for putting their rivalries above their goals and Silver gets angry and leaves her. She also cannot leave the country and tries to survive as a personal trainer even without authorization to practice the profession.
– As Silver's plan was thwarted, Miyagi-Do's popularity increased and the Crane Kick began to be imitated again. Ecstatic, Daniel lays out a marketing plan for his dojo and is indifferent to the idea of a joint dojo with Eagle Fang. For him that was the right moment to make the lessons and name of Mr. Miyagi known to everyone.
– Carmen takes a exam clinical that ends up detecting another baby. She is expecting twins, a boy and a girl. The names chosen for the children are Santiago, in honor of Santiago de Guayaquil, Díaz family's hometown, and Laura, the name of Johnny's mother.
– Eagle Fang is far from having the same credibility as Miyagi-Do and Johnny thinks about improving the structure of the place. But he needs the money to pay for the arrival of his babies. So he goes back to work in construction and tries to adjust the schedules as sensei and uber.
– Miguel plans to save for college and gets a temporary job selling ice cream at a kiosk. He also takes a job in construction as Johnny's helper.
– Robby and Shannon travel to Bainbridge Island to spend the rest of the summer at her parents' house.
– Samantha spends more time at LaRusso Auto as an internship for her future as a dealership manager.
– An attack on a US Army military convoy kills soldiers. Mr. Payne is hit.
– Shawn finally leaves juvie and struggles to get a job. He goes back to being the man of the house.
– The All Valley commission assesses Tory's title status and concludes that she was not at fault in Silver's corruption and therefore her title should be retained. Daniel and Samantha protest, the claim that the court found Silver guilty. Tory hands Sam the trophy and leaves the room. Samantha is declared champion.
– Tory is looking for a job but her face is famous as a troublemaker and even a crook and she is not hired.
– To make matters worse, your aunt Kandace shows up to say she's going to live with her.
– The LaRusso family and Chozen are going to relax and have fun at the Orlando parks.
– The rules of Sekai Taikai become known. There is a limited number of representatives from each dojo per category. Competitors with similar profiles must fight each other to decide who should be the titular dojo representative.
– Eli was excited to be Miyagi-Do's representative but Robby's presence and Daniel's predilection for his oldest student annoy him. Eli has yet to decide between karate and college.
– Kreese has been hiding the whole time in the space where his original Cobra Kai functioned. Patiently, he waits for his name to stop appearing in the news to come out of the woodwork.
– Sid dies of natural causes at his Encino mansion. All of his estate goes towards payment of debts he left.
– Aware of Miyagi-Do's fame and interested in learning more about Johnny and his dojo, the leader of the most influential dojo in Sekai Taikai opens a betting shop in the Valley where mixed martial arts are practiced. The identity of the owner and his relationship with Sekai Taikai are kept confidential. Korea's envoy to take care of business in the Valley is their young champion from senior Sekai Taikai, who is also your son.
– It is in this environment of clandestine fights that Hector will be able to reconnect with Miguel.
2023.06.02 02:21 Drakolf Dragon Rising- 12. Silence Before:
I was not in a place to think about it, not at the time.
The response to the attack was universal, those of us with the power to fight, did. We lost many Kobolds, most of them who couldn't defend themselves, some who had Awakened in the midst of combat, desperate to survive.
The Humans I had engaged with were just one of many groups, we killed most of them, the rest fleeing.
It was hard to ignore the seething hatred I felt in my heart as I looked at the dead. We had build the catacombs such that, any other large-scale loss would be accommodated.
We lost 435 people- Humans included.
Children included.
The people were furious, of course. "What the hell were you doing, where you let this happen!?" An enraged screech was aimed at us.
"The best that I could, under these circumstances." Tudru stated. "Our enemy has guns and kevlar, are highly trained soldiers who have had far longer to train than most of us. We have had our Fighters and Berserkers for days."
His words mollified the anger, just a little. "We have had our Rangers scouting damn near every day, they are still out there, either dead, or holed up waiting for rescue. We do not have the manpower or the training to ensure our protection. We can only react accordingly."
Calm, collected, he was used to war, to casualties. This was an inevitability to him, something we could only mitigate the damage on, not control.
"Our Rogues have gone to great lengths to obtain as much intelligence on their movements, their plans. Even then, without access to the world beyond their wall, there is only so much we can learn." Nakk spoke. "Ruuk, we heard reports you successfully routed a large group of soldiers alone."
"Yes." I said. "Nineteen, three captured, and only one allowed to escape." I stated. "The prisoners I took will be held by the Temple and interrogated." I looked at everyone. "We are no longer a part of their country, this has been proven time and time again. We have done nothing against them, desiring only peace, yet because we are an inconvenience to them, because we are other, all of us, Human, Dragonborn, and Kobold, are nothing but vermin for them to exterminate."
I let my hatred and vitriol layer each word. "Kurtulmak and I have been working hard to ensure our unity, we have been working hard on enchanting armor to grant our warriors greater protection. It is a time-consuming and laborious process, three days of effort has earned us one completed set."
"It wasn't even one day when you got that armor." Kuvli interjected.
"This armor, he had made, he cut his palm and spread his blood upon it, as a mark of his favor." I said. "Unless it is the wish of the people, do devote their lives to him in service, in fealty, he will not make such a claiming mark upon them." I shook my head. "No, he works hard within my Tower, carving the runes necessary, granting them but the merest of arcane protection. This is as quickly as he can do this without claiming us as his followers."
"If it is your wish to be granted such instant protection, then it will either be under the auspices of Bahamut and his Temple, or the banner of Kurtulmak's Empire, not the democratic society we strive to maintain. I have always rejected the notion of theocracy, have railed against the country we had once loved for allowing the few to dictate such."
The people cheered at my words, more than a few shouted 'Freedom' and similar sentiments.
One of the Kobolds who had pledged themselves to me, Hagnar, spoke up among the din, I held my hand up to quiet the crowd. "You, the one so desperately trying to speak. What do you need to say?" I asked.
"What if that was what we did want?" He asked. "What if we wanted a strong leader, rather than a group who doesn't know what they're doing?"
"I'm sure Tudru or Galax would be flattered." I said. I looked at them.
"I will not lead a military dictatorship." Tudru stated tersely.
"If it was the will of the people who join together under the banner of the King of Dragons, it would be out of my hands." Galax replied. "Is that what you are asking?"
Hagnar shook his head. "No offense, but your Paladins didn't even bother engaging with the enemy. Yes, they used magic to shield us from the bullets, but it was the Fighters and the Barbarians who led the charge and fought for our lives and their's. It was Kurtulmak who Awoke them, it was him who gave us our first Warlock, who did not hesitate in the slightest to fire back with his magic gun like that, it was Ruuk who fearlessly charged into the line of fire, netting us our greatest victory in capturing enemies." He looked at me. "I would rather him lead us."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry." I said. "I would need a good reason to even consider that, even Kurtulmak suggesting I do it would not be enough. We would need to be in a truly desperate situation, I would have to be the only Councilor alive, even then, I doubt I would take that opportunity."
It hurt to lie to them like this.
"My fellow Councilors, do you agree with me?"
"Of course." Rekka said. "But you don't have to work alone on those armors, my Artificers will help in whatever way you need."
"Thank you." I said. "Galax."
"Yes?" Galax asked.
"Please do not let one man's displeasure with the Temple cause you grief. Your Paladins chose to preserve life over letting innocent people die needlessly. Without their aid, I could not have engaged our enemies."
He bowed his head in acknowledgement, but did not say anything in return.
"Let us mourn the ones we have lost, to say farewell for now, until the Temple can return them to us." Tallyn spoke. "Let us hope that the level we have received for our efforts to defend ourselves is a portent that this day will arrive sooner."
I debated whether or not to let it be known that I was a full level ahead of them, that the satisfaction I felt slaughtering our enemies came with that euphoric sense that I had grown stronger.
My need to detect magical auras was diminished, now that we knew what the Gate above us was, so I replaced it with something else that we needed, a means to sow discord among our enemies, which would complement my new ability to remotely spy on any place I was familiar with.
For the time being, I would wait.
We gathered among the dead, Humans and Kobolds alike, Not a single one, I noted, was from the Temple, nor among their faithful. Was I beginning to feel paranoid, or was there something to this? Galax's response to Hagnar's question.
'Sir.' I heard as Kalith approached me. He rested his hand on the body before him.
"What is it?" I asked.
'Don't speak. I am addressing you telepathically. A gift from our Master.' He knelt beside the corpse, lifted up her hand, and gently kissed it. 'I have found other prospective Warlocks, they wish to meet with our Master tonight. They are tired of being powerless to stop these horrors.'
I gently patted his shoulder, he looked up at me and I have him a single nod. He stood up and hugged me, his crying was genuine, as was my grief.
The dead were taken to the catacombs, and I returned to my Tower. I saw a small group of people stood outside of it, to my bemusement, they were prostrated while facing it.
"What are you-" I quickly counted them. "-five doing outside my home?" I asked.
They all looked up at me with reverence, surprised me by reaching out and touching my armor. Okay then.
"We wish to worship Kurtulmak." One of them, Igo, spoke. I had let them in, gave them some tea that had long gone cold. "We saved us from the very beginning, he held up the mine for us, and now, his Awakening of the Fighters, the Barbarians, and the Warlock have ensured our survival. What has Bahamut done for us, except make it rain? What has he done since, except consign you to death because you felt empathy?"
He gave a deep bow. "Please, Chosen Hero of our people, let us see him."
"Follow me, then." I said. I led them up the stairs, where Kurtulmak was still working.
"Another distraction?" He asked. He looked up from his work when he heard the thumps of the five prostrating themselves before him. "Ah, I was beginning to wonder when you showed up."
"You were expecting us?" Dren asked, his tone hopeful.
"Indeed. Approach, and kneel. Do not prostrate yourself, gaze upon me so that you see my glory."
They approached him and knelt, their eyes wide with joy as Kurtulmak's eyes glowed and he touched them. The familiar sight of Awakening made me smile.
"More Warlocks, Master?" I asked.
"Better." He replied. "Our first Clerics. A bit behind of our allies, yet I see absolutely zero issue with this. Sit and listen, my faithful, I shall tell you the truth of my ascension. It was in the midst of the Dawn Age, the Age of Dragons. I was the first Kobold, the first servant of the Dragonspawn, servant of the Goddess, Tiamat." His wistful expression darkened slightly. "I was born from the egg of my creator and mother, Caesinsjach, who bade me serve her Goddess."
The Clerics listened, one even began writing this down. I wondered where he got the pen, I'd thought we'd run out months ago.
He spoke of how he directed the construction of Darastrixhurthi, building a grand fortress in his mother's honor. He spoke with such love and adoration, it was clear that he had deeply loved and respected her.
"Caesinsjach, who was among the first Dragons created by Asgorath, saw my works and released me from the duty I was made for, and ruled the state in her honor."
He spoke of how our kind had once been charged with simply guarding the place, and was eventually raised to be higher than the servants of the Dragons.
"We first encountered the Gnomes when we came across a cavern full of glimmering gemstones. It was a full week before we met them. The Gnomes attacked us, they did not allow us even a moment to question what was happening. We fought them, and as was tradition in those times, we took them as slaves. It was only then did we learn, yet we were so angry, we refused to release them, refused to return them."
He paused, a look of bitter anger on his face. "It was during the first Rage of Dragons, that my mother was stricken mad. She and many others attacked the land they had once ruled, I was the one who was forced to end her life. Before her body had even begun to cool, the Gnome God chose then to take his people and their precious soul gems, and then he destroyed what remained of our home."
He set his tools aside and ran his finger over the etchings he had made. "Our people were scattered, and I was dead, as were so many of my people. Wise Asgorath sought restitution for us, when the other Gods refused to take action against Garl." He spoke that lone name with such hatred in his voice, I understood why he believed there was no victory in playing by the rules. "I still clung tightly to my body, undead, briefly, desiring vengeance, working tirelessly to free those of us trapped and alive under the rubble. Asgorath promised me, either life with the strength to rebuild, or divinity. As a God, I saved as many lives as I could."
He paused long enough to enchant the armor, and then started on the next.
"I entered into Tiamat's service, to claim the vengeance my people needed, to punish Garl for his heinous actions. If the Gods who professed to be good would not punish such an evil act, then I would. In my hunt, he lured me through a portal to this world, whereupon he collapsed the tunnels leading out, cursing this place such that I could never find my way out."
He spoke of the long years spent in his prison, excavating stone and rebuilding Darastrixhurthi, his reach was limited, his worshipers could not hear his voice clearly, Without proper guidance, the societies they strove to build simply failed to come into existence, the other Races either enslaving them or killing them.
"All that remains are the children of slaves." He spoke morosely. "And now that I am free, I will do everything within my power to restore us to that glory, to gaze upon the world, knowing they will never hunt us down. Our enemies will kneel before our mighty Empire."
The way he spoke, with such calm conviction, I felt that same sense of awe as when Bahamut had struck the ground with lightning.
"Question, Master." I said.
"You may ask." Kurtulmak stated.
"Where will we build your temple?"
He laughed. "I recount to you my tale, and you worry about such a thing?" He asked.
"Where else will it be shared?" I asked.
Kurtulmak nodded. "Ask your Council." He said. "After all, Clerics need a place to worship." He regarded the Clerics. "I suppose you will need a sign of your devotion to me. It should be one year and half since you became Kobolds, your new teeth should be coming in soon. When you shed them, gather them and collect them into a necklace, sew them into your clothes, show pride in our traditions."
"We shed teeth?" I asked.
"Yes. It takes around four to five days for the old ones to fall out and for the new ones to come in." He stood up and walked over to me before reaching in and painlessly pulling a tooth out. "See? Before you go to bed, check your teeth, ensure you have all of the loose ones removed. For you, I will need your teeth when you have finished."
I nodded. "As you command, Master." I replied.
He then explained to his Clerics what their vestments would look like...
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submitted by Drakolf to DrakolfsWritings [link] [comments]
The response to the attack was universal, those of us with the power to fight, did. We lost many Kobolds, most of them who couldn't defend themselves, some who had Awakened in the midst of combat, desperate to survive.
The Humans I had engaged with were just one of many groups, we killed most of them, the rest fleeing.
It was hard to ignore the seething hatred I felt in my heart as I looked at the dead. We had build the catacombs such that, any other large-scale loss would be accommodated.
We lost 435 people- Humans included.
Children included.
The people were furious, of course. "What the hell were you doing, where you let this happen!?" An enraged screech was aimed at us.
"The best that I could, under these circumstances." Tudru stated. "Our enemy has guns and kevlar, are highly trained soldiers who have had far longer to train than most of us. We have had our Fighters and Berserkers for days."
His words mollified the anger, just a little. "We have had our Rangers scouting damn near every day, they are still out there, either dead, or holed up waiting for rescue. We do not have the manpower or the training to ensure our protection. We can only react accordingly."
Calm, collected, he was used to war, to casualties. This was an inevitability to him, something we could only mitigate the damage on, not control.
"Our Rogues have gone to great lengths to obtain as much intelligence on their movements, their plans. Even then, without access to the world beyond their wall, there is only so much we can learn." Nakk spoke. "Ruuk, we heard reports you successfully routed a large group of soldiers alone."
"Yes." I said. "Nineteen, three captured, and only one allowed to escape." I stated. "The prisoners I took will be held by the Temple and interrogated." I looked at everyone. "We are no longer a part of their country, this has been proven time and time again. We have done nothing against them, desiring only peace, yet because we are an inconvenience to them, because we are other, all of us, Human, Dragonborn, and Kobold, are nothing but vermin for them to exterminate."
I let my hatred and vitriol layer each word. "Kurtulmak and I have been working hard to ensure our unity, we have been working hard on enchanting armor to grant our warriors greater protection. It is a time-consuming and laborious process, three days of effort has earned us one completed set."
"It wasn't even one day when you got that armor." Kuvli interjected.
"This armor, he had made, he cut his palm and spread his blood upon it, as a mark of his favor." I said. "Unless it is the wish of the people, do devote their lives to him in service, in fealty, he will not make such a claiming mark upon them." I shook my head. "No, he works hard within my Tower, carving the runes necessary, granting them but the merest of arcane protection. This is as quickly as he can do this without claiming us as his followers."
"If it is your wish to be granted such instant protection, then it will either be under the auspices of Bahamut and his Temple, or the banner of Kurtulmak's Empire, not the democratic society we strive to maintain. I have always rejected the notion of theocracy, have railed against the country we had once loved for allowing the few to dictate such."
The people cheered at my words, more than a few shouted 'Freedom' and similar sentiments.
One of the Kobolds who had pledged themselves to me, Hagnar, spoke up among the din, I held my hand up to quiet the crowd. "You, the one so desperately trying to speak. What do you need to say?" I asked.
"What if that was what we did want?" He asked. "What if we wanted a strong leader, rather than a group who doesn't know what they're doing?"
"I'm sure Tudru or Galax would be flattered." I said. I looked at them.
"I will not lead a military dictatorship." Tudru stated tersely.
"If it was the will of the people who join together under the banner of the King of Dragons, it would be out of my hands." Galax replied. "Is that what you are asking?"
Hagnar shook his head. "No offense, but your Paladins didn't even bother engaging with the enemy. Yes, they used magic to shield us from the bullets, but it was the Fighters and the Barbarians who led the charge and fought for our lives and their's. It was Kurtulmak who Awoke them, it was him who gave us our first Warlock, who did not hesitate in the slightest to fire back with his magic gun like that, it was Ruuk who fearlessly charged into the line of fire, netting us our greatest victory in capturing enemies." He looked at me. "I would rather him lead us."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry." I said. "I would need a good reason to even consider that, even Kurtulmak suggesting I do it would not be enough. We would need to be in a truly desperate situation, I would have to be the only Councilor alive, even then, I doubt I would take that opportunity."
It hurt to lie to them like this.
"My fellow Councilors, do you agree with me?"
"Of course." Rekka said. "But you don't have to work alone on those armors, my Artificers will help in whatever way you need."
"Thank you." I said. "Galax."
"Yes?" Galax asked.
"Please do not let one man's displeasure with the Temple cause you grief. Your Paladins chose to preserve life over letting innocent people die needlessly. Without their aid, I could not have engaged our enemies."
He bowed his head in acknowledgement, but did not say anything in return.
"Let us mourn the ones we have lost, to say farewell for now, until the Temple can return them to us." Tallyn spoke. "Let us hope that the level we have received for our efforts to defend ourselves is a portent that this day will arrive sooner."
I debated whether or not to let it be known that I was a full level ahead of them, that the satisfaction I felt slaughtering our enemies came with that euphoric sense that I had grown stronger.
My need to detect magical auras was diminished, now that we knew what the Gate above us was, so I replaced it with something else that we needed, a means to sow discord among our enemies, which would complement my new ability to remotely spy on any place I was familiar with.
For the time being, I would wait.
We gathered among the dead, Humans and Kobolds alike, Not a single one, I noted, was from the Temple, nor among their faithful. Was I beginning to feel paranoid, or was there something to this? Galax's response to Hagnar's question.
'Sir.' I heard as Kalith approached me. He rested his hand on the body before him.
"What is it?" I asked.
'Don't speak. I am addressing you telepathically. A gift from our Master.' He knelt beside the corpse, lifted up her hand, and gently kissed it. 'I have found other prospective Warlocks, they wish to meet with our Master tonight. They are tired of being powerless to stop these horrors.'
I gently patted his shoulder, he looked up at me and I have him a single nod. He stood up and hugged me, his crying was genuine, as was my grief.
The dead were taken to the catacombs, and I returned to my Tower. I saw a small group of people stood outside of it, to my bemusement, they were prostrated while facing it.
"What are you-" I quickly counted them. "-five doing outside my home?" I asked.
They all looked up at me with reverence, surprised me by reaching out and touching my armor. Okay then.
"We wish to worship Kurtulmak." One of them, Igo, spoke. I had let them in, gave them some tea that had long gone cold. "We saved us from the very beginning, he held up the mine for us, and now, his Awakening of the Fighters, the Barbarians, and the Warlock have ensured our survival. What has Bahamut done for us, except make it rain? What has he done since, except consign you to death because you felt empathy?"
He gave a deep bow. "Please, Chosen Hero of our people, let us see him."
"Follow me, then." I said. I led them up the stairs, where Kurtulmak was still working.
"Another distraction?" He asked. He looked up from his work when he heard the thumps of the five prostrating themselves before him. "Ah, I was beginning to wonder when you showed up."
"You were expecting us?" Dren asked, his tone hopeful.
"Indeed. Approach, and kneel. Do not prostrate yourself, gaze upon me so that you see my glory."
They approached him and knelt, their eyes wide with joy as Kurtulmak's eyes glowed and he touched them. The familiar sight of Awakening made me smile.
"More Warlocks, Master?" I asked.
"Better." He replied. "Our first Clerics. A bit behind of our allies, yet I see absolutely zero issue with this. Sit and listen, my faithful, I shall tell you the truth of my ascension. It was in the midst of the Dawn Age, the Age of Dragons. I was the first Kobold, the first servant of the Dragonspawn, servant of the Goddess, Tiamat." His wistful expression darkened slightly. "I was born from the egg of my creator and mother, Caesinsjach, who bade me serve her Goddess."
The Clerics listened, one even began writing this down. I wondered where he got the pen, I'd thought we'd run out months ago.
He spoke of how he directed the construction of Darastrixhurthi, building a grand fortress in his mother's honor. He spoke with such love and adoration, it was clear that he had deeply loved and respected her.
"Caesinsjach, who was among the first Dragons created by Asgorath, saw my works and released me from the duty I was made for, and ruled the state in her honor."
He spoke of how our kind had once been charged with simply guarding the place, and was eventually raised to be higher than the servants of the Dragons.
"We first encountered the Gnomes when we came across a cavern full of glimmering gemstones. It was a full week before we met them. The Gnomes attacked us, they did not allow us even a moment to question what was happening. We fought them, and as was tradition in those times, we took them as slaves. It was only then did we learn, yet we were so angry, we refused to release them, refused to return them."
He paused, a look of bitter anger on his face. "It was during the first Rage of Dragons, that my mother was stricken mad. She and many others attacked the land they had once ruled, I was the one who was forced to end her life. Before her body had even begun to cool, the Gnome God chose then to take his people and their precious soul gems, and then he destroyed what remained of our home."
He set his tools aside and ran his finger over the etchings he had made. "Our people were scattered, and I was dead, as were so many of my people. Wise Asgorath sought restitution for us, when the other Gods refused to take action against Garl." He spoke that lone name with such hatred in his voice, I understood why he believed there was no victory in playing by the rules. "I still clung tightly to my body, undead, briefly, desiring vengeance, working tirelessly to free those of us trapped and alive under the rubble. Asgorath promised me, either life with the strength to rebuild, or divinity. As a God, I saved as many lives as I could."
He paused long enough to enchant the armor, and then started on the next.
"I entered into Tiamat's service, to claim the vengeance my people needed, to punish Garl for his heinous actions. If the Gods who professed to be good would not punish such an evil act, then I would. In my hunt, he lured me through a portal to this world, whereupon he collapsed the tunnels leading out, cursing this place such that I could never find my way out."
He spoke of the long years spent in his prison, excavating stone and rebuilding Darastrixhurthi, his reach was limited, his worshipers could not hear his voice clearly, Without proper guidance, the societies they strove to build simply failed to come into existence, the other Races either enslaving them or killing them.
"All that remains are the children of slaves." He spoke morosely. "And now that I am free, I will do everything within my power to restore us to that glory, to gaze upon the world, knowing they will never hunt us down. Our enemies will kneel before our mighty Empire."
The way he spoke, with such calm conviction, I felt that same sense of awe as when Bahamut had struck the ground with lightning.
"Question, Master." I said.
"You may ask." Kurtulmak stated.
"Where will we build your temple?"
He laughed. "I recount to you my tale, and you worry about such a thing?" He asked.
"Where else will it be shared?" I asked.
Kurtulmak nodded. "Ask your Council." He said. "After all, Clerics need a place to worship." He regarded the Clerics. "I suppose you will need a sign of your devotion to me. It should be one year and half since you became Kobolds, your new teeth should be coming in soon. When you shed them, gather them and collect them into a necklace, sew them into your clothes, show pride in our traditions."
"We shed teeth?" I asked.
"Yes. It takes around four to five days for the old ones to fall out and for the new ones to come in." He stood up and walked over to me before reaching in and painlessly pulling a tooth out. "See? Before you go to bed, check your teeth, ensure you have all of the loose ones removed. For you, I will need your teeth when you have finished."
I nodded. "As you command, Master." I replied.
He then explained to his Clerics what their vestments would look like...
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2023.06.02 02:15 RagingNoodle42 The Golden Citadel Chapter 3 Part 1
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Chapter 3 Part 1
They always said that you never dreamed in cryogenic sleep. Which was true. It was \impossible to dream with your entire being frozen to negative temperatures, body flooded with preservation medications so ice crystals wouldn't form in the cell walls or a host of other complications that would otherwise kill a person. What they neglected to tell you was the dreams you had when thawing out and waking up.
The dreams a person experienced while undergoing this thawing process were always intense too. As vivid as reality as it was sometimes reported. No one knew why. Whatever it was; whether it was the combination of drugs, the brain trying to understand the trauma it had just experienced or even the soul catching up with the universe as some more spiritualist elements theorised, without fail the dreams were the most intense someone could experience. For her, this time, they were far more than just intense.
Her eyes darted under her eyelids as the ghosts of energy bolts from aeons past darted in her memory. She heard the screams at the shaking of each dust filled rumble in her head. Her ears barely registered the dulled hum of ancient machinery fulfilling vital life sustaining protocols and the silent clicks of her standardised survival suit undergoing restart checks. Her helmet blocked out everything else or she'd have also heard the murmurs of voices beyond her pod. The cries of the dying desperately making one last stand echoed in her ears, drowning out the dull sounds. Those dying to protect her.
In her dream her arms reached out painfully slow for her father. She ached for them to go faster. This time she would make it. She'd be able to block the lid from fully sealing, preventing the cryogenic pod from starting. She was millimetres away. And yet the pod sealed effortlessly with a resounding hiss. At that her limbs decided to move normally again and hammered on the inside of the pod as the reinforced armour glass door's magnetic locks clunked to activation.
A dull green light shone into her face. Glacial coolness washed over her body as she slowly succumbed to the sensation of drowning. In one last desperate attempt she tried again to reach for her father. He wouldn't even look at her. A woman in midnight black armour cloaked in ragged robes embraced him from behind.
She screamed herself hoarse, trying to use sheer force of will to make the glass melt away. For her fingers and hands to phase through the transparent barrier and wipe away the tears staining his white bearded face. To just touch him one last time, even through the haptic feedback of her suit. To get him away from the stranger caressing him and wiping away the tears that belonged to her. She screamed a guttural scream as his face became sallow at the stranger's touch. It was killing him. Eyes sunk into sockets and flesh peeled back at the rapid mummification. "Alas" said the midnight black armoured woman in the ragged robes, holding her father's grinning skull in a gentle caress on the tips of her fingers. "Poor girl. Time to wake up. Wake up, and smell the ashes"
Fear gripped at her heart in a vice. There was nothing she could do but watch. The only way out was the emergency release button embedded at her side. But it was already too late, she didn't get to try as the feeling of drowsiness drowned her out, pulling her deep into the depths of slumber.
Except this time the feeling didn't become a stifling cold malaise. Instead, it was getting warmer. The sensation of drowning was slowly dissipating. As if she suddenly remembered she needed to breathe, her chest gave a mighty heave and began to rise and fall. For the first time in both more than a millenia and less than a handful of minutes, a large gasping breath passed through her lips. The inside of her visor fogged from the condensation.
She still heard the residual echoes of screams and cries in her ears like a phantom pain. But they were fading. Being replaced by a newer, stranger sound. The murmuring of a language she couldn't understand filtered through the glass and barely perceptible inside her helmet. Voices crowded around her pod. She hadn't yet opened her eyes. She didn't want to. She wished she was still in the dream.
Revival was always a confusing process and this was no different than the fifty odd times she’d undergone it before. But each time she had woken up her father had been there. He had to be there. Like how he’d be there this time. After all, it had only been a bad thaw dream.
The urge to open her eyes and look was almost overwhelming but she had to keep them shut. It was imperative until the medical diagnosis beeped an all clear signal. Otherwise she risked retinal damage before they were fully thawed. Until then she was alone in the dark with her thoughts. It was comforting to have thoughts however. What’s more; it was an even greater comfort knowing that because she was even having thoughts, she wouldn't spend an eternity of limbo in her frozen tomb, lost to the universe.
Finally, after what felt like an aeon, a dull chime resounded inside her helmet. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open. Microsensors within her helmet immediately noticed the movement and activated her suit's display systems. A heads up display appeared in front of her face. Light teal transparent letters flickered as she read information being displayed.
CRYOGENIC REANIMATION COMPLETE.
PLEASE EXIT THE UNIT AT YOUR DISCRETION.
This was strange. If her father was monitoring he would have already opened the pod right as her eyes opened. At least the words were reassuring. If there was anything wrong with either the pod or herself it would have been indicated in bright red flashing letters. A flick of her eyes and a blink dismissed the notification from her visor and she laid there in a stupor. She needed to get out and find everyone, find out what had happened.
It had all been so fast. There was barely enough time to even put on her survival suit and rush to the lowest levels.
The guards escorting her, Sergeant Lockley and a subordinate of his she had never got the name of, had practically dragged her in their rush, the entire bunker wasn’t even bothering with security procedures anymore. Everywhere else had gone quiet days ago, as far as they had been aware they were the last ones left.
No matter how much she'd pestered Sergeant Lockley he'd never given her any details on what had happened beyond that they needed to hurry and were about to be under attack. He didn't need to say by who, especially that late into the war. If it could even be called a war by then. It was more like a genocide with the fleets falling from the sky burning the heavens. City after City had collapsed, less and less reports coming in until they were isolated. And then it had been their turn. The entire human race reduced from carving out their own territory in the wider community to a scant few fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of dirt in a few decades.
That pit in her stomach as she'd been unceremoniously thrown in the pod while her father had ran all the checks himself when it normally took an entire team, was returning. Or had it never gone and she was only now allowed to feel it once again?
But she had been woken up. If she was awake then someone knew she was here, which meant they must have won. Beat the terrible odds stacked against them and come out the other side. If it had only been a few hours, or even a few days, either way it didn’t matter. She needed to get out and help the survivors, an extra pair of hands would be absolutely invaluable.
Looking at the lid, there were unexpected layers of thick dust caked against the outside of the glass, all except where her head had been. Maybe the combat had been so heavy the cryo chamber had nearly collapsed and whoever had woken up had brushed that portion aside to check on her. Yes, that must have been it. Holographic displays floated in front of her beyond the glass, their brightness blinding her eyes as well as making it almost impossible to make out who stood beyond their glare. She tried squinting past them, the shapes of the people outside were hard to make out, the fuzzy outlines of their bodies blurred together. However, their heads were still identifiable in the darkness as her eyes still adjusted. And from the looks of it there were at least four people in front of her. There was only one way to definitively find out though.
She motioned her fingers to indicate she was awake to the internal sensors inlaid into the walls of her glass coffin. She didn’t know why they hadn’t used the external controls to let her out, maybe they had been broken.
A dull clunk sounded indicating the magnetic locks had been released and the holograms flickered off as the glass slowly slid upwards with a motorised hum. The metal brim passed over her face, her visor compensated automatically for the low light levels, revealing, at last, her rescuers.
Four definitely humanoid figures crowded around her in the dark room. If she hadn’t been wearing her helmet the light coming from their torches being shined directly in her face would have blinded her. Instead, the glare was automatically filtered, revealing the figures standing in the room with her. They wore strange plated purple armour, bulky in the fashion all military equipment tended to be. A metallic point descended in the middle of their faceplates giving them an appearance similar to angry owls. Maybe it had been a special prototype her father had kept in storage somewhere, something given to the few elite soldiers remaining that helped to turn the tide. All the guesswork and unanswered questions directly after the panicked scramble to get into the pod was beginning to agitate her.
As a result, even through her reasoning, something nagged at the back of her mind. Trying to tell her something was off. She slowly looked over the four people again with her eyes, studying them closely without turning her head and giving away what she was doing. The one to the far right of her had their weapon hovering vaguely in her direction, as if unsure of what to do suddenly. Why would people that knew about her be so scared of her? It looked like an odd combination between an ornate staff and a rifle yet not quite either and looked to be encased in the same dark purple material as their armour. No matter how it looked, a weapon was a weapon and these people were dangerous. But they had also just woken her up. Surely if they had done that they wouldn’t be here to harm her. If they were, they could have easily done that while she slept.
The one directly in front of her, however, had no weapon out that she could see. Instead they had paused with a hand pressed into what looked like a computer device embedded on their forearm armour. The glow of the screen was reflected in the strangely shaped visor.
She tried weakly reaching out of her pod for the one closest to her in an attempt for aid.
"Where’s my dad? Did we win? How many days has it been?" She asked in a rapid succession, her weak voice amplified by the speakers within her helmet. She had to know.
The strangers looked at each other. They seemed more shocked at her speaking than helping her get up in her weakened state. She gave up on reaching out and instead used her arms to adjust herself on her near vertical frozen bed. She could feel the strength slowly return to her limbs as she moved. It would take a little while longer until she felt she could make an attempt to stagger out of her cryo pod but until then she was essentially helpless.
The strangers simply kept staring at her, as if they didn’t even know what she was. Which meant they weren’t from her bunker. They truly were strangers in the truest sense. But even so, they were survivors. And if they had survived then perhaps others had as well. For now however she needed information, her feelings either way could wait until she knew more.
"Who are you, how did you get here?" She asked again.
One of the beings, the one she had been reaching out to, spoke. It was a strange, melodic language that she didn't understand. Almost haughty in tone. That it hadn’t been automatically translated meant it must have not been in the system. An oversight by the programmers no doubt. Either that or they were speaking in a form of code. She sighed, that would make this far harder in an already difficult situation. Her powerful in built computer would be able to eventually figure out and create a translation if it really was a language but until then she needed them to speak more to hurry the process. Or even better, if she could activate one of the embedded computers on the wall, it would be able to extrapolate from just a scant few words. A common frame of reference to start with would be the best option but she struggled to think of what to use.
She remembered reading back when she was younger; even under the best of circumstances experts would deliberate for months, even years, on the meanings and nuances of individual words to ensure the most accurate translations possible. Computers helped immensely with the process but without the subtleties of organic beings they could create embarrassing inaccuracies.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. But if you can understand me, please help me get to the computer over there I'll be able to understand you" she pleaded, pointing with her right hand at the dust covered screen mounted into the wall.
The second stranger on the left, standing behind the closest one she had been reaching for, said something in their still untranslated language and slowly walked over to the computer.
They must not be able to understand me either she thought.
The stranger pointed at the screen and said something. She had a feeling this time it was a question with the tonal inflection. That was good, if her hunch paid off it would help immensely.
Hoping what they had asked was something similar to "do you want me to turn this on" she nodded. The being said something that sounded harsher this time and the two she hadn't interacted with raised their weapons squarely on her. That message didn't need a translation. They obviously didn't trust her. The being cautiously reached out while looking at her, hesitating only for a moment, before wiping away a layer of dust and placing their hand on the touch sensitive glass. The machinery hummed to life as the screen registered the limb pressed against it and turned on.
Relieved by the fact that the fortress bunker's fusion core was still operational, she watched as the state of the art device cycled itself.
Yet another dull blue glow added to the room’s illumination as the main screen activated. Her own armour's holographic interface automatically synchronised to the system and displayed in front of her, adding to the blue light, its own illumination and brightening the room from a dull gloom to a faded glow.
The strangers still eyed her warily, fingers not on their triggers but hovering close enough to fire if she tried anything. This was more than not trusting her. They seemed scared of her.
Slowly and deliberately to show them she wasn't up to anything untoward, she lifted her right hand to tap on the translator option in front of her among the myriad of options. The haptic feedback in her glove gave her the sensation of resistance as she pressed and the computer gave a chime of recognition. Three concentric rings appeared on the screen, pulsating like a heartbeat. She spoke and the rings pulsed in time with her words.
"If you speak, that should be able to translate for us in real time" she said.
The one to her left lifted up her arm with the miniature screen and pointed it at the wall computer as the one who had touched the wall screen voiced more of their melodic speech.
"I think it's a translation programme, commander. I've managed to connect and uploaded our language to its database. They obviously designed it to be universal, it automatically reached out to my pad. It doesn’t seem like there aren't any defences or compatibility issues at the moment but this one will need to go through maintenance checks back on the ship" the being said, the software translating the language to her in real time. “But right now the risk is minima, I’m letting our systems access the programme now”
It was a wonder of coding, even managing to mimic vocal tones and cadences of the individual accurately. Although there was a slight disorienting disconnect in person when the sounds didn't quite match up to the mouth movements but that was something you got used to.
She smiled inside her helmet and relaxed, the tension that had been building easing out of her body. It was working and she'd be able to talk to them finally. And get some much needed answers.
"At least you’ll finally be able to understand me" she said.
The beings were confused for a second, each looking at each other like they'd been the ones to say it before it dawned on them that she had just spoken to them in their own language. They turned to stare at her from behind their owlish visors. It would have been almost predatory if their brief naive confusion hadn't been so amusing.
Immediately, the two with their weapons trained on her began to lean in, their fingers barely hovering over the triggers. The one who had placed their hand on the computer moved in front and motioned to them with a gesture. They lowered their weapons but did not appear to have calmed down.
"Who are you?" the person demanded.
The simple question confused her immensely. If they didn’t know who she was then why were they even down here in the first place? Even so, she needed their help to be able to get out of her pod. Let alone leaving the bunker and getting to the surface and finding any survivors. There was little choice, she needed to be careful. Secrecy protocols drilled into her by intelligence trainers until she’d had migraines were almost second nature at this point. Especially with what she should reveal and to who. But her name was something she shouldn't have to worry about.
"My name is.. Alice" she said with only the briefest hesitation.
Deciding that she could get further with these strangers by forcing a situation and getting out of the pod rather than just laying there, Alice leaned up and took a tentative shaky step forwards. She braced herself with her hands against the cushioned sides as she placed her weight on her dominant foot, stepping out warily. As soon as she lifted the weight off her back foot her leg buckled and she collapsed onto the ground in a heap.
The one who had been closest to her this entire time rushed forwards to help her.
"Are you alright?" they panicked as they helped Alice stand.
"I'm fine. Just a bit shaky after being asleep for so long." Alice replied calmly. "It's a side effect of the drugs for cryogenics. It'll take me a few more moments for it to get out of my system"
"Why would they keep you frozen for so long if it would have such deleterious effects?" asked her helper.
"What do you mean for so long? It’s just what’s used"
"Can you tell us why you were here? What happened? Why are there so many dead soldiers in this facility?" asked the demanding one.
Alice couldn’t let them see how such a casual line of questioning shook her. Taking all of her meagre strength to not simply collapse again from shock. She had to compose herself or she’d let something go by accident. At least she could be honest in this instance.
"I don't know any of that either. I was put in there before any of that happened or anything was explained to me" she said, indicating with a thumb over her shoulder. Her casual body language was key. Keep them off balanced, make sure they didn’t know how much she was internally panicking then.
he body language of the person asking her so many questions appeared incredulous at her hesitancy to be forthcoming.
Besides which, Alice had questions of her own.
“Not to be ungrateful, but who are you all?” she asked.
The one who had been demanding of her appeared to straighten up their back even further somehow.
“I am Commander Yurisa. The one kindly helping you stand at the moment is Second Rating Shand."
The latter term was unfamiliar to her but she perfectly understood the implications of there being a commander. There were enough survivors to field a well equipped and manned military. Tentative hope began to form as Alice looked at the person helping her. She gave them a nod of greeting.
"What about them?" asked Alice, indicating to the two who had been the tensest and most willing to point their weapons eagerly at her. They were still slightly hovering their weapons in her general direction.
"Conscripts Doane and Hedi. They do not need your attention, pay them no heed" said the commander curtly.
The lack of respect for the two subordinates caught Alice off guard. The two people, Doane and Hedi, may have been jumpy at her. But they didn't deserve to be dismissed so out of hand.
Even so, she could think about the ramifications of someone who would dismiss their underlings in such a manner later. Now her focus was changing as the strength returned to her limbs. She needed to find out about the rest of the bunker, what had happened after she had been frozen.
She untangled herself from Shand who had been helping her and stood straight on her own, albeit still slightly wobbling.
"Thank you for waking me up, all of you. But if it's alright, I'd like to know what happened. How many days has it been since I was locked in there?" she slightly chuckled nervously.
"Not until we know you won't pose a danger to my people or my ship" Yurisa replied sternly, a hand extended in front of her. They had evidently identified the weapon she carried.
This seemed like a hard line she shouldn’t push for the moment. She didn’t know these people and they in turn didn’t know about her it seemed. A rapport was more important for the moment, leaving her only one course of action if she didn’t want to be shot by the jumpy soldiers. Slowly reaching towards her thigh for the standard issue civilian sidearm clamped there. Making sure to deliberately grab it by the casing rather than the grip and placed the rugged weapon in the proffered commander’s hand.
Yurisa looked at her for a seeming eternity before hooking her gun on an armoured belt.
Stand down" she commanded.
Doane and Hedi once again relaxed, except this time they slung their weapons onto their backs in fluid motions.
Content they had relaxed and weren’t going to shoot her after all, Alice went to the computer she had indicated to Yurisa to turn on. She tapped the screen to change menus from the translation software to a full cultural database download. The computer chimed and began downloading the entire memory bank into her onboard storage. All the information amassed before and after her sleep. All public research and development. All scientific theories and art and literature. The entire sum of all human knowledge and culture. She'd carry it with her. The weight would be immense. The guilt of leaving it behind would be worse.
"I promise I'm not a threat commander" she said dejectedly. The energy rushed out of her as fast as it had returned, like a collapsing wave on a beach. She accessed the imaging network. Before there had been hundreds of cameras available, ranging from CCTV in the cities to satellites in orbit. Now it seemed none remained, not even static from severed connections. They were simply blank screens with error codes. She couldn't even see what had become of her home. She tried accessing previous recordings, hoping at least the final moments of the people who had protected her had been saved. The files listed themselves in front of her in a cascade of videos all dated and timestamped. She added them to the download, vowing to sort through them at the earliest opportunity.
"I just want to leave. I want to get out and see what’s survived. Who’s survived. I want to see the Earth and help rebuild, maybe even find anyone I know if I’m lucky."
She stared at the screen, willing the cameras to life. To show her the bustling streets and busy sky lanes. To see the grand ships hanging in low orbit above the urban centres, ever watchful sentinels of the heavens. But the screen defied her will and remained stubbornly black. Her rapt attention shielded her from the awkward glances the people seemed to be sharing behind her.
Shand nervously cleared her throat. “About that..”
She began but the commander furiously cut her off with a swift hand signal.
Frustration clawed at her as Alice repeatedly swiped horizontally through the vast list of camera nodes, the error codes stubbornly refusing to yield. A single flash of colour blurred past her frantic swiping. She swiftly backpedalled, searching for the frame that had zoomed by. With a tap, the swiping stopped. She had found it. A single camera she had overlooked. Tapping on the frame to enlarge the feed, she stood back. The image before her was severely cracked and pitted, barely feeding a picture let alone video. Static suffused almost the entire screen. But past it she could just about make it out. The ruins of the city. No fires flared or smoke dissipated into the sky as she expected. Or even rebuilt to its former splendour like she was hoping with these strangers being in her bunker. Instead, her eyes tried to process the rusted sharp jags of bare metal left to rot into nothing. The illusion her brain had imagined while she had been so desperate moments ago shattered at the reality in front of her.
It was gone. All of it. Just how long have I been frozen?
Grief and fear threatened to rear up in her before an entirely different sensation replaced them.
They destroyed it all. All of it. No mercy After all we had given them. Their very reason for being. If it hadn’t been for the human race they wouldn’t have even existed. HOW DARE THEY!
“HOW DARE THEY!” she screamed, punching the screen with unbridled rage.
Webs of cracks spread out from under her fist as she took deep breaths. She had to control herself. She didn’t want to turn and look at the people no doubt staring at her after her outburst. No clacks of weapons had sounded so at least they weren’t panicking even if they would be on edge yet again.
A warbling chime broke the spell around her. The download was complete. Everything that had been was now with her. The importance of it was undeniable before but now it was possibly the only record left in the galaxy. She had to guarantee its safety, as well as her own. The fallback option when she was woken up without the expected personnel. She typed in the final command she had been told to do when she had been briefed so long ago.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
Alice snorted to herself.
Of course it would be that, they always thought they had a sense of humour. What idiots.
And with those last letters, the fortress that had survived fathomless millenia protecting its charge shut down with barely a dulcet low whine. The ruined screen flickered as the fission reactors went off line. The dull blue light slowly dimmed, once again returning the room to darkness. The last thread of life that had lasted so long finally free. And the last man made structure died, its duty carried for so long fulfilled.
Alice turned from the console a final time. The only sources of light came from the torches of the people standing in the room with her. She reached up to the side of her own helmet and touched a small pad. An embedded LED just above her faceplate illuminated itself, adding a narrow cutting beam to the wide ones of these apparent soldiers.
Commander Yurisa appeared to become distracted for a moment, her head tilting slightly to one side as if someone were talking directly into her ear. Her reply to whoever was on the other end of the obvious communication was heard by Alice.
"No, nothing to worry about. Sit tight, we're on our way back" she said to whoever it was.
Judging by that context, Alice guessed they were heading back up to the surface. They had come down and discovered her and were now leaving with their prize in tow.
No matter, as long as she could get off the planet she didn’t care where they took her now. She didn’t think she could handle the ghosts if they left her here.
Commander Yurisa indicated towards Alice, gaining her attention.
“We will be taking you back to our ship in orbit. Standard procedure means you will be confined to quarantine until medical scans show you are clear of any pathogens or other such contaminants that may prove a risk to us. These scans are non invasive and barring any complications will last no longer than a single rotation” she said in a statement that sounded rehearsed more than sincere.
Alice’s brain scratched like a record at what she had just been so casually told. A ship in orbit. She could barely comprehend all the implications it raised, not least of all the biggest one of how. She had to find out, to see if they had found an intact ship or maybe were even from a separate colony that had been missed. Her mind raced as she simply nodded in return, keeping the facade.
“I understand. I wouldn’t want to cause any harm to any of you. Just please, can we leave.” she begged.
“Doane, take the lead back to the surface. Second Rating, follow him and map our way out” ordered the stern commander.
Doane performed an odd slamming across his torso and nodded before heading towards the doorway. Alice gave one last glimpse at the pod that had kept her safe. She didn’t know if she would miss it in time but for now she felt hollow. Everything was proceeding so quickly and sooner or later she would have confront being left behind for such a long time. At least soon she would be getting answers. Why they had never found or woken her before now. She didn’t even know when now was, that was something she’d have to look up in the records when she had time.
Her lamenting was interrupted by the form of the commander filling her vision. Arm extended, indicating it was her turn to leave. Passing through the once pristine doorway, she immediately noticed the state of sheer decay. Instead of an elevator, rubble and rust met her eyes. She looked up, trying to spot where these people had climbed down. The opposite doorway wasn’t far above her, barely two levels. Doane and Shand were already more than halfway up. More beams of light were cutting through the gloom back at her, revealing the individual that Yurisa must have been talking to over the radio earlier.
Crossing the debris strewn floor, Alice reached for the corroded ladder, grabbing the rung closest to her. With mighty heaves she brought herself up, step by step, her limited strength making the simple task a strained ordeal.Finally she reached the opening she had seen from the bottom. Reaching out with her left food to dismount she hopped the small gap. Her weakened muscles still building their stamina back up from her lengthy internment failed her. Her foot slipped off the rung as she overexerted her leg, her left foot buckling from beneath her. Arms waving in front of her, desperately scrabbling for purchase on anything before she would plunge back into the darkness. Gravity inevitably overcame her struggle and pulled her back into the black shaft. A hand shot out, yanking on her forearm and dragging her back from the brink of her overbalance and firmly out of the doorway.
Alice collapsed hard onto her hands and knees, panting at the loss of strength and exhaustion wracking her body. Desperately trying to catch her breath, she looked up at who had pulled her in. Shand stood over her, head cocked while watching her. Alice fought against a giggle from erupting, the helmet the being was wearing made it look like a curious bird caught red handed in a spotlight.
Were they concerned? she wondered to herself.
Shand extended their purple gloved hand to her as she gasped from exhaustion. Alice grabbed the proffered hand. With a mighty heave, and a grunt from Shand, she stood unsteadily on her feet. Two of the soldiers rushed to her aid as she swayed on the spot, their rough armoured forms propping her up between them. Which two had helped her Alice didn’t know but nevertheless she voiced her thanks to them.
One of the group took the lead and began to head towards where they must have entered from. That must have been Doane, and Shand was the one following. She was easier to tell apart due to the holographic map being displayed on her wrist.
As they walked she looked at the aged remains of the carnage around her. Bodies and weapons strewn about the wreckage, no one left to bury them but entombed all the same in this bunker.
My father could be in here Alice realised as she slowly walked past an armoured skeleton wearing the stripes of a Sergeant draped over the remains of a concrete barrier.
They had still clung onto their rifle in a literal death grip, defending her as she had been frozen and slept. Guilt flushed through her at the sight of so many who had given themselves. Especially the Sergeant.
"Commander Yurisa. Could we stop for a moment please" asked Alice
The commander walked up to her, seeing her staring at the remains around her in the chamber.
"I think we can spare a minute or two" said Yurisa.
Alice gently removed the support of the two people who had been helping her and knelt in front of the Sergeant. An unsettling grin stared back at her through the smashed face plate of the helmet that once fitted. The unsettling truth suffused her being as she knelt. Days, or even months wouldn’t leave such a bare skeleton. This was years, decades at least. Alice looked around her at the other bodies lying around her, as if looking for any scrap of evidence that what she was realising couldn’t be true. All were beached with age, their tooth filled smiles laughing at the cosmic joke being played on her by the universe.
Looking away from the grim audience, she reached past the neck, briefly rummaging for the chain necklace she hoped would still be there. Gently lifting it past the skull, she dangled the rugged jewellery in front of her visor and attempted to read the dog tag hanging in the air. The thin slice of treated metal was caked in rust but even then it wasn't so far gone as to be illegible. Wiping the plate with her thumb, she read the name she had suspected it would say since seeing the rank of the remains.
Lockley.
The man who had rushed her to her pod so she could be where she was now. Alice bowed her head at the man she once knew. The man's armour may have been corroded with age but tradition was still tradition.
She reached out and disconnected his bulky left shoulder armour, the magnetic clamps still keeping it secure in place after so long. Placing it on top of her own civilian suit's lightly armoured shoulder with a light click, the piece looked completely out of place compared to the rest of her suit. A large dent in the centre showed where something had struck the late Sergeant as he had fought, perhaps an energy bolt or shrapnel from the fight. She rotated her shoulder, ensuring the piece wasn't interfering with movement or cumbersome. Satisfied it wasn’t, she then placed the dog tags back around the man's neck. The last thing she needed to take was his identity. The final thing he could keep.
Her deed done, she stood back up, looking around at the people she didn't realise had been staring at her.
"It was a tradition that started during the war" she said sheepishly. "You take the pauldron of whoever saved you if they died, that way you can carry them with you out of respect"
"That's a nice tradition" one of the soldiers she didn't know the name of yet said from behind her. One of the pair who had helped her. One who had been there when she had woken up. Which meant this must have been Hedi.
Alice chuckled slightly to herself as a sudden absurdity came to her. "Yeah but unfortunately I don't have enough shoulders right now for all the rest" she indicated with a sweep of her arms.
The group gave a few quiet sounds of amusement of their own, looking down at the ground or up at the ceiling rather than meeting her faceplate.
With a heavy sigh Alice willed herself to move. If she stayed any longer she would begin to lament on the lives lost for her and if she began that she may never leave.
Catching up with the awaiting Shand and Mannad, the group were led to a narrow maintenance utility shaft embedded into the wall. The cramped spaces twisted and turned as they took a winding path directed by shand.
The soldier Alice had not yet learned the name of was revealed to her when Iftan annoyed Mannad with an attempt at humour commenting on how it appeared to take longer to return the way they had come and if Shand had gotten them lost. Apparently Mannad had acute claustrophobia, however it was swiftly eased with a thump on the back of Iftan's helmet.
Alice smiled to herself at the thought of how soldiers were soldiers no matter what time or part of the universe you were from.
submitted by RagingNoodle42 to HFY [link] [comments]
Chapter 3 Part 1
They always said that you never dreamed in cryogenic sleep. Which was true. It was \impossible to dream with your entire being frozen to negative temperatures, body flooded with preservation medications so ice crystals wouldn't form in the cell walls or a host of other complications that would otherwise kill a person. What they neglected to tell you was the dreams you had when thawing out and waking up.
The dreams a person experienced while undergoing this thawing process were always intense too. As vivid as reality as it was sometimes reported. No one knew why. Whatever it was; whether it was the combination of drugs, the brain trying to understand the trauma it had just experienced or even the soul catching up with the universe as some more spiritualist elements theorised, without fail the dreams were the most intense someone could experience. For her, this time, they were far more than just intense.
Her eyes darted under her eyelids as the ghosts of energy bolts from aeons past darted in her memory. She heard the screams at the shaking of each dust filled rumble in her head. Her ears barely registered the dulled hum of ancient machinery fulfilling vital life sustaining protocols and the silent clicks of her standardised survival suit undergoing restart checks. Her helmet blocked out everything else or she'd have also heard the murmurs of voices beyond her pod. The cries of the dying desperately making one last stand echoed in her ears, drowning out the dull sounds. Those dying to protect her.
In her dream her arms reached out painfully slow for her father. She ached for them to go faster. This time she would make it. She'd be able to block the lid from fully sealing, preventing the cryogenic pod from starting. She was millimetres away. And yet the pod sealed effortlessly with a resounding hiss. At that her limbs decided to move normally again and hammered on the inside of the pod as the reinforced armour glass door's magnetic locks clunked to activation.
A dull green light shone into her face. Glacial coolness washed over her body as she slowly succumbed to the sensation of drowning. In one last desperate attempt she tried again to reach for her father. He wouldn't even look at her. A woman in midnight black armour cloaked in ragged robes embraced him from behind.
She screamed herself hoarse, trying to use sheer force of will to make the glass melt away. For her fingers and hands to phase through the transparent barrier and wipe away the tears staining his white bearded face. To just touch him one last time, even through the haptic feedback of her suit. To get him away from the stranger caressing him and wiping away the tears that belonged to her. She screamed a guttural scream as his face became sallow at the stranger's touch. It was killing him. Eyes sunk into sockets and flesh peeled back at the rapid mummification. "Alas" said the midnight black armoured woman in the ragged robes, holding her father's grinning skull in a gentle caress on the tips of her fingers. "Poor girl. Time to wake up. Wake up, and smell the ashes"
Fear gripped at her heart in a vice. There was nothing she could do but watch. The only way out was the emergency release button embedded at her side. But it was already too late, she didn't get to try as the feeling of drowsiness drowned her out, pulling her deep into the depths of slumber.
Except this time the feeling didn't become a stifling cold malaise. Instead, it was getting warmer. The sensation of drowning was slowly dissipating. As if she suddenly remembered she needed to breathe, her chest gave a mighty heave and began to rise and fall. For the first time in both more than a millenia and less than a handful of minutes, a large gasping breath passed through her lips. The inside of her visor fogged from the condensation.
She still heard the residual echoes of screams and cries in her ears like a phantom pain. But they were fading. Being replaced by a newer, stranger sound. The murmuring of a language she couldn't understand filtered through the glass and barely perceptible inside her helmet. Voices crowded around her pod. She hadn't yet opened her eyes. She didn't want to. She wished she was still in the dream.
Revival was always a confusing process and this was no different than the fifty odd times she’d undergone it before. But each time she had woken up her father had been there. He had to be there. Like how he’d be there this time. After all, it had only been a bad thaw dream.
The urge to open her eyes and look was almost overwhelming but she had to keep them shut. It was imperative until the medical diagnosis beeped an all clear signal. Otherwise she risked retinal damage before they were fully thawed. Until then she was alone in the dark with her thoughts. It was comforting to have thoughts however. What’s more; it was an even greater comfort knowing that because she was even having thoughts, she wouldn't spend an eternity of limbo in her frozen tomb, lost to the universe.
Finally, after what felt like an aeon, a dull chime resounded inside her helmet. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open. Microsensors within her helmet immediately noticed the movement and activated her suit's display systems. A heads up display appeared in front of her face. Light teal transparent letters flickered as she read information being displayed.
CRYOGENIC REANIMATION COMPLETE.
PLEASE EXIT THE UNIT AT YOUR DISCRETION.
This was strange. If her father was monitoring he would have already opened the pod right as her eyes opened. At least the words were reassuring. If there was anything wrong with either the pod or herself it would have been indicated in bright red flashing letters. A flick of her eyes and a blink dismissed the notification from her visor and she laid there in a stupor. She needed to get out and find everyone, find out what had happened.
It had all been so fast. There was barely enough time to even put on her survival suit and rush to the lowest levels.
The guards escorting her, Sergeant Lockley and a subordinate of his she had never got the name of, had practically dragged her in their rush, the entire bunker wasn’t even bothering with security procedures anymore. Everywhere else had gone quiet days ago, as far as they had been aware they were the last ones left.
No matter how much she'd pestered Sergeant Lockley he'd never given her any details on what had happened beyond that they needed to hurry and were about to be under attack. He didn't need to say by who, especially that late into the war. If it could even be called a war by then. It was more like a genocide with the fleets falling from the sky burning the heavens. City after City had collapsed, less and less reports coming in until they were isolated. And then it had been their turn. The entire human race reduced from carving out their own territory in the wider community to a scant few fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of dirt in a few decades.
That pit in her stomach as she'd been unceremoniously thrown in the pod while her father had ran all the checks himself when it normally took an entire team, was returning. Or had it never gone and she was only now allowed to feel it once again?
But she had been woken up. If she was awake then someone knew she was here, which meant they must have won. Beat the terrible odds stacked against them and come out the other side. If it had only been a few hours, or even a few days, either way it didn’t matter. She needed to get out and help the survivors, an extra pair of hands would be absolutely invaluable.
Looking at the lid, there were unexpected layers of thick dust caked against the outside of the glass, all except where her head had been. Maybe the combat had been so heavy the cryo chamber had nearly collapsed and whoever had woken up had brushed that portion aside to check on her. Yes, that must have been it. Holographic displays floated in front of her beyond the glass, their brightness blinding her eyes as well as making it almost impossible to make out who stood beyond their glare. She tried squinting past them, the shapes of the people outside were hard to make out, the fuzzy outlines of their bodies blurred together. However, their heads were still identifiable in the darkness as her eyes still adjusted. And from the looks of it there were at least four people in front of her. There was only one way to definitively find out though.
She motioned her fingers to indicate she was awake to the internal sensors inlaid into the walls of her glass coffin. She didn’t know why they hadn’t used the external controls to let her out, maybe they had been broken.
A dull clunk sounded indicating the magnetic locks had been released and the holograms flickered off as the glass slowly slid upwards with a motorised hum. The metal brim passed over her face, her visor compensated automatically for the low light levels, revealing, at last, her rescuers.
Four definitely humanoid figures crowded around her in the dark room. If she hadn’t been wearing her helmet the light coming from their torches being shined directly in her face would have blinded her. Instead, the glare was automatically filtered, revealing the figures standing in the room with her. They wore strange plated purple armour, bulky in the fashion all military equipment tended to be. A metallic point descended in the middle of their faceplates giving them an appearance similar to angry owls. Maybe it had been a special prototype her father had kept in storage somewhere, something given to the few elite soldiers remaining that helped to turn the tide. All the guesswork and unanswered questions directly after the panicked scramble to get into the pod was beginning to agitate her.
As a result, even through her reasoning, something nagged at the back of her mind. Trying to tell her something was off. She slowly looked over the four people again with her eyes, studying them closely without turning her head and giving away what she was doing. The one to the far right of her had their weapon hovering vaguely in her direction, as if unsure of what to do suddenly. Why would people that knew about her be so scared of her? It looked like an odd combination between an ornate staff and a rifle yet not quite either and looked to be encased in the same dark purple material as their armour. No matter how it looked, a weapon was a weapon and these people were dangerous. But they had also just woken her up. Surely if they had done that they wouldn’t be here to harm her. If they were, they could have easily done that while she slept.
The one directly in front of her, however, had no weapon out that she could see. Instead they had paused with a hand pressed into what looked like a computer device embedded on their forearm armour. The glow of the screen was reflected in the strangely shaped visor.
She tried weakly reaching out of her pod for the one closest to her in an attempt for aid.
"Where’s my dad? Did we win? How many days has it been?" She asked in a rapid succession, her weak voice amplified by the speakers within her helmet. She had to know.
The strangers looked at each other. They seemed more shocked at her speaking than helping her get up in her weakened state. She gave up on reaching out and instead used her arms to adjust herself on her near vertical frozen bed. She could feel the strength slowly return to her limbs as she moved. It would take a little while longer until she felt she could make an attempt to stagger out of her cryo pod but until then she was essentially helpless.
The strangers simply kept staring at her, as if they didn’t even know what she was. Which meant they weren’t from her bunker. They truly were strangers in the truest sense. But even so, they were survivors. And if they had survived then perhaps others had as well. For now however she needed information, her feelings either way could wait until she knew more.
"Who are you, how did you get here?" She asked again.
One of the beings, the one she had been reaching out to, spoke. It was a strange, melodic language that she didn't understand. Almost haughty in tone. That it hadn’t been automatically translated meant it must have not been in the system. An oversight by the programmers no doubt. Either that or they were speaking in a form of code. She sighed, that would make this far harder in an already difficult situation. Her powerful in built computer would be able to eventually figure out and create a translation if it really was a language but until then she needed them to speak more to hurry the process. Or even better, if she could activate one of the embedded computers on the wall, it would be able to extrapolate from just a scant few words. A common frame of reference to start with would be the best option but she struggled to think of what to use.
She remembered reading back when she was younger; even under the best of circumstances experts would deliberate for months, even years, on the meanings and nuances of individual words to ensure the most accurate translations possible. Computers helped immensely with the process but without the subtleties of organic beings they could create embarrassing inaccuracies.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. But if you can understand me, please help me get to the computer over there I'll be able to understand you" she pleaded, pointing with her right hand at the dust covered screen mounted into the wall.
The second stranger on the left, standing behind the closest one she had been reaching for, said something in their still untranslated language and slowly walked over to the computer.
They must not be able to understand me either she thought.
The stranger pointed at the screen and said something. She had a feeling this time it was a question with the tonal inflection. That was good, if her hunch paid off it would help immensely.
Hoping what they had asked was something similar to "do you want me to turn this on" she nodded. The being said something that sounded harsher this time and the two she hadn't interacted with raised their weapons squarely on her. That message didn't need a translation. They obviously didn't trust her. The being cautiously reached out while looking at her, hesitating only for a moment, before wiping away a layer of dust and placing their hand on the touch sensitive glass. The machinery hummed to life as the screen registered the limb pressed against it and turned on.
Relieved by the fact that the fortress bunker's fusion core was still operational, she watched as the state of the art device cycled itself.
Yet another dull blue glow added to the room’s illumination as the main screen activated. Her own armour's holographic interface automatically synchronised to the system and displayed in front of her, adding to the blue light, its own illumination and brightening the room from a dull gloom to a faded glow.
The strangers still eyed her warily, fingers not on their triggers but hovering close enough to fire if she tried anything. This was more than not trusting her. They seemed scared of her.
Slowly and deliberately to show them she wasn't up to anything untoward, she lifted her right hand to tap on the translator option in front of her among the myriad of options. The haptic feedback in her glove gave her the sensation of resistance as she pressed and the computer gave a chime of recognition. Three concentric rings appeared on the screen, pulsating like a heartbeat. She spoke and the rings pulsed in time with her words.
"If you speak, that should be able to translate for us in real time" she said.
The one to her left lifted up her arm with the miniature screen and pointed it at the wall computer as the one who had touched the wall screen voiced more of their melodic speech.
"I think it's a translation programme, commander. I've managed to connect and uploaded our language to its database. They obviously designed it to be universal, it automatically reached out to my pad. It doesn’t seem like there aren't any defences or compatibility issues at the moment but this one will need to go through maintenance checks back on the ship" the being said, the software translating the language to her in real time. “But right now the risk is minima, I’m letting our systems access the programme now”
It was a wonder of coding, even managing to mimic vocal tones and cadences of the individual accurately. Although there was a slight disorienting disconnect in person when the sounds didn't quite match up to the mouth movements but that was something you got used to.
She smiled inside her helmet and relaxed, the tension that had been building easing out of her body. It was working and she'd be able to talk to them finally. And get some much needed answers.
"At least you’ll finally be able to understand me" she said.
The beings were confused for a second, each looking at each other like they'd been the ones to say it before it dawned on them that she had just spoken to them in their own language. They turned to stare at her from behind their owlish visors. It would have been almost predatory if their brief naive confusion hadn't been so amusing.
Immediately, the two with their weapons trained on her began to lean in, their fingers barely hovering over the triggers. The one who had placed their hand on the computer moved in front and motioned to them with a gesture. They lowered their weapons but did not appear to have calmed down.
"Who are you?" the person demanded.
The simple question confused her immensely. If they didn’t know who she was then why were they even down here in the first place? Even so, she needed their help to be able to get out of her pod. Let alone leaving the bunker and getting to the surface and finding any survivors. There was little choice, she needed to be careful. Secrecy protocols drilled into her by intelligence trainers until she’d had migraines were almost second nature at this point. Especially with what she should reveal and to who. But her name was something she shouldn't have to worry about.
"My name is.. Alice" she said with only the briefest hesitation.
Deciding that she could get further with these strangers by forcing a situation and getting out of the pod rather than just laying there, Alice leaned up and took a tentative shaky step forwards. She braced herself with her hands against the cushioned sides as she placed her weight on her dominant foot, stepping out warily. As soon as she lifted the weight off her back foot her leg buckled and she collapsed onto the ground in a heap.
The one who had been closest to her this entire time rushed forwards to help her.
"Are you alright?" they panicked as they helped Alice stand.
"I'm fine. Just a bit shaky after being asleep for so long." Alice replied calmly. "It's a side effect of the drugs for cryogenics. It'll take me a few more moments for it to get out of my system"
"Why would they keep you frozen for so long if it would have such deleterious effects?" asked her helper.
"What do you mean for so long? It’s just what’s used"
"Can you tell us why you were here? What happened? Why are there so many dead soldiers in this facility?" asked the demanding one.
Alice couldn’t let them see how such a casual line of questioning shook her. Taking all of her meagre strength to not simply collapse again from shock. She had to compose herself or she’d let something go by accident. At least she could be honest in this instance.
"I don't know any of that either. I was put in there before any of that happened or anything was explained to me" she said, indicating with a thumb over her shoulder. Her casual body language was key. Keep them off balanced, make sure they didn’t know how much she was internally panicking then.
he body language of the person asking her so many questions appeared incredulous at her hesitancy to be forthcoming.
Besides which, Alice had questions of her own.
“Not to be ungrateful, but who are you all?” she asked.
The one who had been demanding of her appeared to straighten up their back even further somehow.
“I am Commander Yurisa. The one kindly helping you stand at the moment is Second Rating Shand."
The latter term was unfamiliar to her but she perfectly understood the implications of there being a commander. There were enough survivors to field a well equipped and manned military. Tentative hope began to form as Alice looked at the person helping her. She gave them a nod of greeting.
"What about them?" asked Alice, indicating to the two who had been the tensest and most willing to point their weapons eagerly at her. They were still slightly hovering their weapons in her general direction.
"Conscripts Doane and Hedi. They do not need your attention, pay them no heed" said the commander curtly.
The lack of respect for the two subordinates caught Alice off guard. The two people, Doane and Hedi, may have been jumpy at her. But they didn't deserve to be dismissed so out of hand.
Even so, she could think about the ramifications of someone who would dismiss their underlings in such a manner later. Now her focus was changing as the strength returned to her limbs. She needed to find out about the rest of the bunker, what had happened after she had been frozen.
She untangled herself from Shand who had been helping her and stood straight on her own, albeit still slightly wobbling.
"Thank you for waking me up, all of you. But if it's alright, I'd like to know what happened. How many days has it been since I was locked in there?" she slightly chuckled nervously.
"Not until we know you won't pose a danger to my people or my ship" Yurisa replied sternly, a hand extended in front of her. They had evidently identified the weapon she carried.
This seemed like a hard line she shouldn’t push for the moment. She didn’t know these people and they in turn didn’t know about her it seemed. A rapport was more important for the moment, leaving her only one course of action if she didn’t want to be shot by the jumpy soldiers. Slowly reaching towards her thigh for the standard issue civilian sidearm clamped there. Making sure to deliberately grab it by the casing rather than the grip and placed the rugged weapon in the proffered commander’s hand.
Yurisa looked at her for a seeming eternity before hooking her gun on an armoured belt.
Stand down" she commanded.
Doane and Hedi once again relaxed, except this time they slung their weapons onto their backs in fluid motions.
Content they had relaxed and weren’t going to shoot her after all, Alice went to the computer she had indicated to Yurisa to turn on. She tapped the screen to change menus from the translation software to a full cultural database download. The computer chimed and began downloading the entire memory bank into her onboard storage. All the information amassed before and after her sleep. All public research and development. All scientific theories and art and literature. The entire sum of all human knowledge and culture. She'd carry it with her. The weight would be immense. The guilt of leaving it behind would be worse.
"I promise I'm not a threat commander" she said dejectedly. The energy rushed out of her as fast as it had returned, like a collapsing wave on a beach. She accessed the imaging network. Before there had been hundreds of cameras available, ranging from CCTV in the cities to satellites in orbit. Now it seemed none remained, not even static from severed connections. They were simply blank screens with error codes. She couldn't even see what had become of her home. She tried accessing previous recordings, hoping at least the final moments of the people who had protected her had been saved. The files listed themselves in front of her in a cascade of videos all dated and timestamped. She added them to the download, vowing to sort through them at the earliest opportunity.
"I just want to leave. I want to get out and see what’s survived. Who’s survived. I want to see the Earth and help rebuild, maybe even find anyone I know if I’m lucky."
She stared at the screen, willing the cameras to life. To show her the bustling streets and busy sky lanes. To see the grand ships hanging in low orbit above the urban centres, ever watchful sentinels of the heavens. But the screen defied her will and remained stubbornly black. Her rapt attention shielded her from the awkward glances the people seemed to be sharing behind her.
Shand nervously cleared her throat. “About that..”
She began but the commander furiously cut her off with a swift hand signal.
Frustration clawed at her as Alice repeatedly swiped horizontally through the vast list of camera nodes, the error codes stubbornly refusing to yield. A single flash of colour blurred past her frantic swiping. She swiftly backpedalled, searching for the frame that had zoomed by. With a tap, the swiping stopped. She had found it. A single camera she had overlooked. Tapping on the frame to enlarge the feed, she stood back. The image before her was severely cracked and pitted, barely feeding a picture let alone video. Static suffused almost the entire screen. But past it she could just about make it out. The ruins of the city. No fires flared or smoke dissipated into the sky as she expected. Or even rebuilt to its former splendour like she was hoping with these strangers being in her bunker. Instead, her eyes tried to process the rusted sharp jags of bare metal left to rot into nothing. The illusion her brain had imagined while she had been so desperate moments ago shattered at the reality in front of her.
It was gone. All of it. Just how long have I been frozen?
Grief and fear threatened to rear up in her before an entirely different sensation replaced them.
They destroyed it all. All of it. No mercy After all we had given them. Their very reason for being. If it hadn’t been for the human race they wouldn’t have even existed. HOW DARE THEY!
“HOW DARE THEY!” she screamed, punching the screen with unbridled rage.
Webs of cracks spread out from under her fist as she took deep breaths. She had to control herself. She didn’t want to turn and look at the people no doubt staring at her after her outburst. No clacks of weapons had sounded so at least they weren’t panicking even if they would be on edge yet again.
A warbling chime broke the spell around her. The download was complete. Everything that had been was now with her. The importance of it was undeniable before but now it was possibly the only record left in the galaxy. She had to guarantee its safety, as well as her own. The fallback option when she was woken up without the expected personnel. She typed in the final command she had been told to do when she had been briefed so long ago.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
Alice snorted to herself.
Of course it would be that, they always thought they had a sense of humour. What idiots.
And with those last letters, the fortress that had survived fathomless millenia protecting its charge shut down with barely a dulcet low whine. The ruined screen flickered as the fission reactors went off line. The dull blue light slowly dimmed, once again returning the room to darkness. The last thread of life that had lasted so long finally free. And the last man made structure died, its duty carried for so long fulfilled.
Alice turned from the console a final time. The only sources of light came from the torches of the people standing in the room with her. She reached up to the side of her own helmet and touched a small pad. An embedded LED just above her faceplate illuminated itself, adding a narrow cutting beam to the wide ones of these apparent soldiers.
Commander Yurisa appeared to become distracted for a moment, her head tilting slightly to one side as if someone were talking directly into her ear. Her reply to whoever was on the other end of the obvious communication was heard by Alice.
"No, nothing to worry about. Sit tight, we're on our way back" she said to whoever it was.
Judging by that context, Alice guessed they were heading back up to the surface. They had come down and discovered her and were now leaving with their prize in tow.
No matter, as long as she could get off the planet she didn’t care where they took her now. She didn’t think she could handle the ghosts if they left her here.
Commander Yurisa indicated towards Alice, gaining her attention.
“We will be taking you back to our ship in orbit. Standard procedure means you will be confined to quarantine until medical scans show you are clear of any pathogens or other such contaminants that may prove a risk to us. These scans are non invasive and barring any complications will last no longer than a single rotation” she said in a statement that sounded rehearsed more than sincere.
Alice’s brain scratched like a record at what she had just been so casually told. A ship in orbit. She could barely comprehend all the implications it raised, not least of all the biggest one of how. She had to find out, to see if they had found an intact ship or maybe were even from a separate colony that had been missed. Her mind raced as she simply nodded in return, keeping the facade.
“I understand. I wouldn’t want to cause any harm to any of you. Just please, can we leave.” she begged.
“Doane, take the lead back to the surface. Second Rating, follow him and map our way out” ordered the stern commander.
Doane performed an odd slamming across his torso and nodded before heading towards the doorway. Alice gave one last glimpse at the pod that had kept her safe. She didn’t know if she would miss it in time but for now she felt hollow. Everything was proceeding so quickly and sooner or later she would have confront being left behind for such a long time. At least soon she would be getting answers. Why they had never found or woken her before now. She didn’t even know when now was, that was something she’d have to look up in the records when she had time.
Her lamenting was interrupted by the form of the commander filling her vision. Arm extended, indicating it was her turn to leave. Passing through the once pristine doorway, she immediately noticed the state of sheer decay. Instead of an elevator, rubble and rust met her eyes. She looked up, trying to spot where these people had climbed down. The opposite doorway wasn’t far above her, barely two levels. Doane and Shand were already more than halfway up. More beams of light were cutting through the gloom back at her, revealing the individual that Yurisa must have been talking to over the radio earlier.
Crossing the debris strewn floor, Alice reached for the corroded ladder, grabbing the rung closest to her. With mighty heaves she brought herself up, step by step, her limited strength making the simple task a strained ordeal.Finally she reached the opening she had seen from the bottom. Reaching out with her left food to dismount she hopped the small gap. Her weakened muscles still building their stamina back up from her lengthy internment failed her. Her foot slipped off the rung as she overexerted her leg, her left foot buckling from beneath her. Arms waving in front of her, desperately scrabbling for purchase on anything before she would plunge back into the darkness. Gravity inevitably overcame her struggle and pulled her back into the black shaft. A hand shot out, yanking on her forearm and dragging her back from the brink of her overbalance and firmly out of the doorway.
Alice collapsed hard onto her hands and knees, panting at the loss of strength and exhaustion wracking her body. Desperately trying to catch her breath, she looked up at who had pulled her in. Shand stood over her, head cocked while watching her. Alice fought against a giggle from erupting, the helmet the being was wearing made it look like a curious bird caught red handed in a spotlight.
Were they concerned? she wondered to herself.
Shand extended their purple gloved hand to her as she gasped from exhaustion. Alice grabbed the proffered hand. With a mighty heave, and a grunt from Shand, she stood unsteadily on her feet. Two of the soldiers rushed to her aid as she swayed on the spot, their rough armoured forms propping her up between them. Which two had helped her Alice didn’t know but nevertheless she voiced her thanks to them.
One of the group took the lead and began to head towards where they must have entered from. That must have been Doane, and Shand was the one following. She was easier to tell apart due to the holographic map being displayed on her wrist.
As they walked she looked at the aged remains of the carnage around her. Bodies and weapons strewn about the wreckage, no one left to bury them but entombed all the same in this bunker.
My father could be in here Alice realised as she slowly walked past an armoured skeleton wearing the stripes of a Sergeant draped over the remains of a concrete barrier.
They had still clung onto their rifle in a literal death grip, defending her as she had been frozen and slept. Guilt flushed through her at the sight of so many who had given themselves. Especially the Sergeant.
"Commander Yurisa. Could we stop for a moment please" asked Alice
The commander walked up to her, seeing her staring at the remains around her in the chamber.
"I think we can spare a minute or two" said Yurisa.
Alice gently removed the support of the two people who had been helping her and knelt in front of the Sergeant. An unsettling grin stared back at her through the smashed face plate of the helmet that once fitted. The unsettling truth suffused her being as she knelt. Days, or even months wouldn’t leave such a bare skeleton. This was years, decades at least. Alice looked around her at the other bodies lying around her, as if looking for any scrap of evidence that what she was realising couldn’t be true. All were beached with age, their tooth filled smiles laughing at the cosmic joke being played on her by the universe.
Looking away from the grim audience, she reached past the neck, briefly rummaging for the chain necklace she hoped would still be there. Gently lifting it past the skull, she dangled the rugged jewellery in front of her visor and attempted to read the dog tag hanging in the air. The thin slice of treated metal was caked in rust but even then it wasn't so far gone as to be illegible. Wiping the plate with her thumb, she read the name she had suspected it would say since seeing the rank of the remains.
Lockley.
The man who had rushed her to her pod so she could be where she was now. Alice bowed her head at the man she once knew. The man's armour may have been corroded with age but tradition was still tradition.
She reached out and disconnected his bulky left shoulder armour, the magnetic clamps still keeping it secure in place after so long. Placing it on top of her own civilian suit's lightly armoured shoulder with a light click, the piece looked completely out of place compared to the rest of her suit. A large dent in the centre showed where something had struck the late Sergeant as he had fought, perhaps an energy bolt or shrapnel from the fight. She rotated her shoulder, ensuring the piece wasn't interfering with movement or cumbersome. Satisfied it wasn’t, she then placed the dog tags back around the man's neck. The last thing she needed to take was his identity. The final thing he could keep.
Her deed done, she stood back up, looking around at the people she didn't realise had been staring at her.
"It was a tradition that started during the war" she said sheepishly. "You take the pauldron of whoever saved you if they died, that way you can carry them with you out of respect"
"That's a nice tradition" one of the soldiers she didn't know the name of yet said from behind her. One of the pair who had helped her. One who had been there when she had woken up. Which meant this must have been Hedi.
Alice chuckled slightly to herself as a sudden absurdity came to her. "Yeah but unfortunately I don't have enough shoulders right now for all the rest" she indicated with a sweep of her arms.
The group gave a few quiet sounds of amusement of their own, looking down at the ground or up at the ceiling rather than meeting her faceplate.
With a heavy sigh Alice willed herself to move. If she stayed any longer she would begin to lament on the lives lost for her and if she began that she may never leave.
Catching up with the awaiting Shand and Mannad, the group were led to a narrow maintenance utility shaft embedded into the wall. The cramped spaces twisted and turned as they took a winding path directed by shand.
The soldier Alice had not yet learned the name of was revealed to her when Iftan annoyed Mannad with an attempt at humour commenting on how it appeared to take longer to return the way they had come and if Shand had gotten them lost. Apparently Mannad had acute claustrophobia, however it was swiftly eased with a thump on the back of Iftan's helmet.
Alice smiled to herself at the thought of how soldiers were soldiers no matter what time or part of the universe you were from.
2023.06.02 02:09 WeirdBryceGuy The Deathgrounds of Love
Time had barely passed, the memory of her presence was still so fresh as to be palpable, when I entered the Deathgrounds of Love. For many, unrequited love diminishes before it can mount further and poison the heart. It fades as life goes on, and infatuations are forgotten; paramours become little more than half-remembered follies. But my love for her grew even as we drifted apart, even as her disdain for me blossomed into a multi-thorned and blackly petaled flower. Almost ironically it grew, until it finally manifested as a material, tangible thing: a heart, which came to beat with malignant autonomy upon a veiny stalk, in the midst of that graven place where unchecked love evilly flourishes.
Unguarded—at its gates, at least—were the grounds when I arrived, doubly delirious with grief and wonderment. I had not known of the place beforehand. It was only with the impossible manifestation of that heart, born of my anguish, that I became suddenly and providentially aware of the the graveyard and its unwholesome, reality-defying contents.
Despite what had occurred—and what apparently always occurs among the worm-riddled, blood-sodden soil—the place was not a garden; life found itself thriving there, yes, but not any life born of God's design. And death was chief above all, no matter how many vital organs beat ceaselessly from stalk to arterial stalk.
I entered ignorant of what I may find, beyond that which I had been drawn to upon waking suddenly earlier that morning. The outer grounds were rank with an earthy and coppery smell, like the dank, pulpy earth of a fresh battlefield. I got the impression that lives had been spent upon the grey soil, hundreds if not thousands of them; and yet there was only the dismal land, overhanged by a subtle atmosphere of mist, and environed by old trees. Beyond this mist I could just barely discern the inner plots; and I knew that therein I'd find my second heart.
Further in I progressed, until I entered that sepulchral garden, with its rows upon rows of vegetative hearts, sprouted with unsettling plumpness from the soil like overly ripe fruits. The audibility of their beating was maddening; it was as if thousands of people had been stripped of their flesh, leaving only their still-animate hearts. Even worse, they beat not in unison, but in horrible discordance - no two hearts held the same rhythm.
And yet somehow through the tachycardiac chaos I sensed my own - that is to say the heart to which I'd been tirelessly drawn.
Like an automaton I trudged on, my shoes sinking into the blood-laden soil; my sight blurred by the newly emergent haze of crimson. My mind befogged by the increasingly humid air.
With an automatic gentleness I pushed through the rows of unfamiliar hearts until I came upon my own. There it was, visually indistinct among the others, and yet I knew without a shred of doubt that it was mine. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, bleeding from its valves as if there were arteries to carry away the blood; a vascular system through which it could circulate. Despite the morbidity of it, I found it beautiful, as if it was something I'd searched for my entire life; some long-sought treasure of my nightly dreams.
So marveled was I, that I didn't notice the approach of the stranger. It wasn't until he had placed a hand on my shoulder that I became aware of him. I recoiled, but was kept from jumping back by the firmness of his gloved grip. He was a tall old man, dressed in a long grey overcoat, at the waist of which sat some kind of multi-pocketed workman's belt. There were several pouches affixed to the belt, and all bore black splotches of some unidentifiable substance. He wore what I assumed had once been black boots, but were now stained a deep crimson - undoubtedly from having spent innumerable hours trudging through the blood-rich soil.
His face was old and severe, with a blackly stained beard that trailed thinly down to his chest. His coal-black eyes met my own, and for a brief moment I felt as if was being pulled from my own body and examined in some outré, incorporeal pocket of space. A moment later, the phantasmal feeling passed, and the man released his iron grip on me.
"You've come for the heart, that it?"
I nodded, not yet able to form words; the shock of his appearance still fresh.
He grunted, and his voice reminded me of a dying animal I'd once seen on the road: harsh and guttural, defiant against pity and death. In his other hand he held a pair of garden shears, and with these he gestured towards the heart.
"Ye can have it, it's yers. But I'll have to take the one ye got in ye. An exchange. Don't fret about the pain. Ye won't feel it."
This proposition reigned in my mind from the state of fantastical acceptance it had gone to. Suddenly I became acutely, frighteningly aware that I was standing in a cemetery full of human hearts, all of which had somehow grown from the ground; and that this caretaker had actually offered to cut out mine in exchange for the one beating before me. It was ludicrous, macabre beyond measure.... and yet it was real.
"Ye should know: that in taking this here heart, you'll be happy, happier than you've ever been. But you'll forget the person you're longing for. They'll be wiped from yer memory. That's the price. Or the relief, depending."
The thought of a future without the nightly anguish of having lost her—made doubly terrible by the fact that it had been my fault—seemed almost too good to be true. But the idea of losing her completely, of having her smile erased from my memory, her voice lost to the mental void....it was inconceivable. To have loved and lost, and all that.
As much as it pained me to, I denied the man's bizarre offer.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on my chest - my heart. He pointed his empty hand at me and said, "Are ye sure? If left unchecked, it could kill ye. The grief. The sorrow. I've seen it, time and time again."
Had I not come to my senses about the utter weirdness of the situation, I probably wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible changes in his demeanor and posture. There was a yearning in his stance, a predatory hunger. Given the circumstances, it felt vampiric.
I backed away from him, again reiterating that I'd like to keep my heart, no matter what trouble it could cause me down the line. The stranger sighed, exhaling a visible cloud of what appeared to be black smoke or vapor.
"Too bad. I'm damn hungry."
That was the final kick my brain needed to fully recognize and piece together all the little clues laid around me. The soil, whilst predominantly a deep red, also held clumps of black matter in places - almost always near the beating hearts. This was plainly not mulch or any kind of gardening substance; the clumps were fleshy, some slick with what was obviously blackened blood. And that led me to two other points of observation: the man's belt, with its stained pouches, and his darkly stained beard - as if he'd been eating something that leaked black juices.
"Ah. You've put it together, have ye? No matter."
His eyes must've followed mine as I surveyed the scene before me. Still, the truth, the horrid reality, hadn't yet come to me.
"I eat the hearts given to me. Turned black they've been, in their grief. Fat, poisoned things. Only the most terminal are drawn to this place. Ye have a sick heart, and are better off without it. Serves ye no purpose to keep it. Why not let me eat it? Keeps me full, and keeps me own inklings towards love at bay. Stamps em down, so I never feel a thing. Never have to love, and lose. Never again..."
He seemed to mentally close upon himself for a moment, so I took the opportunity to begin my retreat. With much less care than before I pushed through the rows of hearts, heedless of how much damage I dealt to the organs and their repulsive stalks. Quickly I returned to that barren terrain before the plots, where the soil was a much more tolerable grey, and where the atmosphere was free of that delirious scarlet haze and its stifling humidity.
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Just as I did so, a shriek echoed into the night, and a voice full of mad demonic fury tore through the trees, sending the nesting birds skyward.
"Give me your fucking heart!"
I should've continued onward, the gate was only a few yards away; but the Satanic magnitude of the voice was irresistibly attention-grabbing. I felt compelled to see what kind of odious creature could've projected such anger, even though I'd seen the man just moments before.
The ground began to shake, and the withered trees trembled, loosing half-dead leaves onto the ground. And that awful scarlet haze came rolling over the boughs, deeply tinting the atmosphere as if it were a living thing. A sentient cloud of evil.
And from amidst the malignant haze came a thing that might have once been a man, but had undergone a transformation so repugnantly profound that any remaining elements of humanity appeared as mockeries of the form. It towered above the feeble trees, even using their tops as points of stability as it lurched toward me. It's body was vaguely anthropomorphic, distantly human, but outwardly fish-like; the flesh of some selachian nightmare draped over the skeleton of a man.
A face, contorted abhorrently to fit an angular, newly mutated skull, bared a broad maw at me. The teeth shone like an assassin's daggers in the night, sending chills throughout my body. Even as it cleared the tree line and revealed itself fully to me, I could not move: I was so completely transfixed by the depravity of its body, by the unreality of its existence.
"Ye could've given me your heart, and all would've been well. But now...now you've gone and made me take off me coat. I don't like to take off me coat. I don't like having to work for me food. I'm all out of it, and I won't let the thoughts of love come back to me. I won't allow it. Now, c'mere and let me pull you apart."
Despite his hideous transformation, his voice was largely unchanged. Just deeper, more guttural, his ire made plain. The lack of any overt monstrous intonation only made the only whole ordeal more terrifying.
Wrenching control away from the panicked part of my mind, I forced my body to turn and move towards the gate. The thing bounded after me like some frenzied animal, shaking the ground with its every step. I pumped my legs to their absolute limits, reaching the gate just as the humidity of the haze tickled the back of my neck.
I threw it open, leapt through, and slammed it just as that colossal nightmare reached it. I wouldn't have thought the old gate any real match for its massive frame, but the rusted iron held against the horror's assault. The haze was also somehow kept at bay, not a single particle of the mysterious vapor breaching the bars despite how thickly it pressed upon it.
Before it could pull some trick or transform into something capable by bypassing the providentially sturdy gate, I turned away and ran back to my car. And while the creature didn't follow me, its hateful voice did.
"The heart! Bring back your heart!"
I drove away without looking back.
submitted by WeirdBryceGuy to libraryofshadows [link] [comments]
Unguarded—at its gates, at least—were the grounds when I arrived, doubly delirious with grief and wonderment. I had not known of the place beforehand. It was only with the impossible manifestation of that heart, born of my anguish, that I became suddenly and providentially aware of the the graveyard and its unwholesome, reality-defying contents.
Despite what had occurred—and what apparently always occurs among the worm-riddled, blood-sodden soil—the place was not a garden; life found itself thriving there, yes, but not any life born of God's design. And death was chief above all, no matter how many vital organs beat ceaselessly from stalk to arterial stalk.
I entered ignorant of what I may find, beyond that which I had been drawn to upon waking suddenly earlier that morning. The outer grounds were rank with an earthy and coppery smell, like the dank, pulpy earth of a fresh battlefield. I got the impression that lives had been spent upon the grey soil, hundreds if not thousands of them; and yet there was only the dismal land, overhanged by a subtle atmosphere of mist, and environed by old trees. Beyond this mist I could just barely discern the inner plots; and I knew that therein I'd find my second heart.
Further in I progressed, until I entered that sepulchral garden, with its rows upon rows of vegetative hearts, sprouted with unsettling plumpness from the soil like overly ripe fruits. The audibility of their beating was maddening; it was as if thousands of people had been stripped of their flesh, leaving only their still-animate hearts. Even worse, they beat not in unison, but in horrible discordance - no two hearts held the same rhythm.
And yet somehow through the tachycardiac chaos I sensed my own - that is to say the heart to which I'd been tirelessly drawn.
Like an automaton I trudged on, my shoes sinking into the blood-laden soil; my sight blurred by the newly emergent haze of crimson. My mind befogged by the increasingly humid air.
With an automatic gentleness I pushed through the rows of unfamiliar hearts until I came upon my own. There it was, visually indistinct among the others, and yet I knew without a shred of doubt that it was mine. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, bleeding from its valves as if there were arteries to carry away the blood; a vascular system through which it could circulate. Despite the morbidity of it, I found it beautiful, as if it was something I'd searched for my entire life; some long-sought treasure of my nightly dreams.
So marveled was I, that I didn't notice the approach of the stranger. It wasn't until he had placed a hand on my shoulder that I became aware of him. I recoiled, but was kept from jumping back by the firmness of his gloved grip. He was a tall old man, dressed in a long grey overcoat, at the waist of which sat some kind of multi-pocketed workman's belt. There were several pouches affixed to the belt, and all bore black splotches of some unidentifiable substance. He wore what I assumed had once been black boots, but were now stained a deep crimson - undoubtedly from having spent innumerable hours trudging through the blood-rich soil.
His face was old and severe, with a blackly stained beard that trailed thinly down to his chest. His coal-black eyes met my own, and for a brief moment I felt as if was being pulled from my own body and examined in some outré, incorporeal pocket of space. A moment later, the phantasmal feeling passed, and the man released his iron grip on me.
"You've come for the heart, that it?"
I nodded, not yet able to form words; the shock of his appearance still fresh.
He grunted, and his voice reminded me of a dying animal I'd once seen on the road: harsh and guttural, defiant against pity and death. In his other hand he held a pair of garden shears, and with these he gestured towards the heart.
"Ye can have it, it's yers. But I'll have to take the one ye got in ye. An exchange. Don't fret about the pain. Ye won't feel it."
This proposition reigned in my mind from the state of fantastical acceptance it had gone to. Suddenly I became acutely, frighteningly aware that I was standing in a cemetery full of human hearts, all of which had somehow grown from the ground; and that this caretaker had actually offered to cut out mine in exchange for the one beating before me. It was ludicrous, macabre beyond measure.... and yet it was real.
"Ye should know: that in taking this here heart, you'll be happy, happier than you've ever been. But you'll forget the person you're longing for. They'll be wiped from yer memory. That's the price. Or the relief, depending."
The thought of a future without the nightly anguish of having lost her—made doubly terrible by the fact that it had been my fault—seemed almost too good to be true. But the idea of losing her completely, of having her smile erased from my memory, her voice lost to the mental void....it was inconceivable. To have loved and lost, and all that.
As much as it pained me to, I denied the man's bizarre offer.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on my chest - my heart. He pointed his empty hand at me and said, "Are ye sure? If left unchecked, it could kill ye. The grief. The sorrow. I've seen it, time and time again."
Had I not come to my senses about the utter weirdness of the situation, I probably wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible changes in his demeanor and posture. There was a yearning in his stance, a predatory hunger. Given the circumstances, it felt vampiric.
I backed away from him, again reiterating that I'd like to keep my heart, no matter what trouble it could cause me down the line. The stranger sighed, exhaling a visible cloud of what appeared to be black smoke or vapor.
"Too bad. I'm damn hungry."
That was the final kick my brain needed to fully recognize and piece together all the little clues laid around me. The soil, whilst predominantly a deep red, also held clumps of black matter in places - almost always near the beating hearts. This was plainly not mulch or any kind of gardening substance; the clumps were fleshy, some slick with what was obviously blackened blood. And that led me to two other points of observation: the man's belt, with its stained pouches, and his darkly stained beard - as if he'd been eating something that leaked black juices.
"Ah. You've put it together, have ye? No matter."
His eyes must've followed mine as I surveyed the scene before me. Still, the truth, the horrid reality, hadn't yet come to me.
"I eat the hearts given to me. Turned black they've been, in their grief. Fat, poisoned things. Only the most terminal are drawn to this place. Ye have a sick heart, and are better off without it. Serves ye no purpose to keep it. Why not let me eat it? Keeps me full, and keeps me own inklings towards love at bay. Stamps em down, so I never feel a thing. Never have to love, and lose. Never again..."
He seemed to mentally close upon himself for a moment, so I took the opportunity to begin my retreat. With much less care than before I pushed through the rows of hearts, heedless of how much damage I dealt to the organs and their repulsive stalks. Quickly I returned to that barren terrain before the plots, where the soil was a much more tolerable grey, and where the atmosphere was free of that delirious scarlet haze and its stifling humidity.
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Just as I did so, a shriek echoed into the night, and a voice full of mad demonic fury tore through the trees, sending the nesting birds skyward.
"Give me your fucking heart!"
I should've continued onward, the gate was only a few yards away; but the Satanic magnitude of the voice was irresistibly attention-grabbing. I felt compelled to see what kind of odious creature could've projected such anger, even though I'd seen the man just moments before.
The ground began to shake, and the withered trees trembled, loosing half-dead leaves onto the ground. And that awful scarlet haze came rolling over the boughs, deeply tinting the atmosphere as if it were a living thing. A sentient cloud of evil.
And from amidst the malignant haze came a thing that might have once been a man, but had undergone a transformation so repugnantly profound that any remaining elements of humanity appeared as mockeries of the form. It towered above the feeble trees, even using their tops as points of stability as it lurched toward me. It's body was vaguely anthropomorphic, distantly human, but outwardly fish-like; the flesh of some selachian nightmare draped over the skeleton of a man.
A face, contorted abhorrently to fit an angular, newly mutated skull, bared a broad maw at me. The teeth shone like an assassin's daggers in the night, sending chills throughout my body. Even as it cleared the tree line and revealed itself fully to me, I could not move: I was so completely transfixed by the depravity of its body, by the unreality of its existence.
"Ye could've given me your heart, and all would've been well. But now...now you've gone and made me take off me coat. I don't like to take off me coat. I don't like having to work for me food. I'm all out of it, and I won't let the thoughts of love come back to me. I won't allow it. Now, c'mere and let me pull you apart."
Despite his hideous transformation, his voice was largely unchanged. Just deeper, more guttural, his ire made plain. The lack of any overt monstrous intonation only made the only whole ordeal more terrifying.
Wrenching control away from the panicked part of my mind, I forced my body to turn and move towards the gate. The thing bounded after me like some frenzied animal, shaking the ground with its every step. I pumped my legs to their absolute limits, reaching the gate just as the humidity of the haze tickled the back of my neck.
I threw it open, leapt through, and slammed it just as that colossal nightmare reached it. I wouldn't have thought the old gate any real match for its massive frame, but the rusted iron held against the horror's assault. The haze was also somehow kept at bay, not a single particle of the mysterious vapor breaching the bars despite how thickly it pressed upon it.
Before it could pull some trick or transform into something capable by bypassing the providentially sturdy gate, I turned away and ran back to my car. And while the creature didn't follow me, its hateful voice did.
"The heart! Bring back your heart!"
I drove away without looking back.
2023.06.02 02:08 WeirdBryceGuy The Deathgrounds of Love
Time had barely passed, the memory of her presence was still so fresh as to be palpable, when I entered the Deathgrounds of Love. For many, unrequited love diminishes before it can mount further and poison the heart. It fades as life goes on, and infatuations are forgotten; paramours become little more than half-remembered follies. But my love for her grew even as we drifted apart, even as her disdain for me blossomed into a multi-thorned and blackly petaled flower. Almost ironically it grew, until it finally manifested as a material, tangible thing: a heart, which came to beat with malignant autonomy upon a veiny stalk, in the midst of that graven place where unchecked love evilly flourishes.
Unguarded—at its gates, at least—were the grounds when I arrived, doubly delirious with grief and wonderment. I had not known of the place beforehand. It was only with the impossible manifestation of that heart, born of my anguish, that I became suddenly and providentially aware of the the graveyard and its unwholesome, reality-defying contents.
Despite what had occurred—and what apparently always occurs among the worm-riddled, blood-sodden soil—the place was not a garden; life found itself thriving there, yes, but not any life born of God's design. And death was chief above all, no matter how many vital organs beat ceaselessly from stalk to arterial stalk.
I entered ignorant of what I may find, beyond that which I had been drawn to upon waking suddenly earlier that morning. The outer grounds were rank with an earthy and coppery smell, like the dank, pulpy earth of a fresh battlefield. I got the impression that lives had been spent upon the grey soil, hundreds if not thousands of them; and yet there was only the dismal land, overhanged by a subtle atmosphere of mist, and environed by old trees. Beyond this mist I could just barely discern the inner plots; and I knew that therein I'd find my second heart.
Further in I progressed, until I entered that sepulchral garden, with its rows upon rows of vegetative hearts, sprouted with unsettling plumpness from the soil like overly ripe fruits. The audibility of their beating was maddening; it was as if thousands of people had been stripped of their flesh, leaving only their still-animate hearts. Even worse, they beat not in unison, but in horrible discordance - no two hearts held the same rhythm.
And yet somehow through the tachycardiac chaos I sensed my own - that is to say the heart to which I'd been tirelessly drawn.
Like an automaton I trudged on, my shoes sinking into the blood-laden soil; my sight blurred by the newly emergent haze of crimson. My mind befogged by the increasingly humid air.
With an automatic gentleness I pushed through the rows of unfamiliar hearts until I came upon my own. There it was, visually indistinct among the others, and yet I knew without a shred of doubt that it was mine. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, bleeding from its valves as if there were arteries to carry away the blood; a vascular system through which it could circulate. Despite the morbidity of it, I found it beautiful, as if it was something I'd searched for my entire life; some long-sought treasure of my nightly dreams.
So marveled was I, that I didn't notice the approach of the stranger. It wasn't until he had placed a hand on my shoulder that I became aware of him. I recoiled, but was kept from jumping back by the firmness of his gloved grip. He was a tall old man, dressed in a long grey overcoat, at the waist of which sat some kind of multi-pocketed workman's belt. There were several pouches affixed to the belt, and all bore black splotches of some unidentifiable substance. He wore what I assumed had once been black boots, but were now stained a deep crimson - undoubtedly from having spent innumerable hours trudging through the blood-rich soil.
His face was old and severe, with a blackly stained beard that trailed thinly down to his chest. His coal-black eyes met my own, and for a brief moment I felt as if was being pulled from my own body and examined in some outré, incorporeal pocket of space. A moment later, the phantasmal feeling passed, and the man released his iron grip on me.
"You've come for the heart, that it?"
I nodded, not yet able to form words; the shock of his appearance still fresh.
He grunted, and his voice reminded me of a dying animal I'd once seen on the road: harsh and guttural, defiant against pity and death. In his other hand he held a pair of garden shears, and with these he gestured towards the heart.
"Ye can have it, it's yers. But I'll have to take the one ye got in ye. An exchange. Don't fret about the pain. Ye won't feel it."
This proposition reigned in my mind from the state of fantastical acceptance it had gone to. Suddenly I became acutely, frighteningly aware that I was standing in a cemetery full of human hearts, all of which had somehow grown from the ground; and that this caretaker had actually offered to cut out mine in exchange for the one beating before me. It was ludicrous, macabre beyond measure.... and yet it was real.
"Ye should know: that in taking this here heart, you'll be happy, happier than you've ever been. But you'll forget the person you're longing for. They'll be wiped from yer memory. That's the price. Or the relief, depending."
The thought of a future without the nightly anguish of having lost her—made doubly terrible by the fact that it had been my fault—seemed almost too good to be true. But the idea of losing her completely, of having her smile erased from my memory, her voice lost to the mental void....it was inconceivable. To have loved and lost, and all that.
As much as it pained me to, I denied the man's bizarre offer.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on my chest - my heart. He pointed his empty hand at me and said, "Are ye sure? If left unchecked, it could kill ye. The grief. The sorrow. I've seen it, time and time again."
Had I not come to my senses about the utter weirdness of the situation, I probably wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible changes in his demeanor and posture. There was a yearning in his stance, a predatory hunger. Given the circumstances, it felt vampiric.
I backed away from him, again reiterating that I'd like to keep my heart, no matter what trouble it could cause me down the line. The stranger sighed, exhaling a visible cloud of what appeared to be black smoke or vapor.
"Too bad. I'm damn hungry."
That was the final kick my brain needed to fully recognize and piece together all the little clues laid around me. The soil, whilst predominantly a deep red, also held clumps of black matter in places - almost always near the beating hearts. This was plainly not mulch or any kind of gardening substance; the clumps were fleshy, some slick with what was obviously blackened blood. And that led me to two other points of observation: the man's belt, with its stained pouches, and his darkly stained beard - as if he'd been eating something that leaked black juices.
"Ah. You've put it together, have ye? No matter."
His eyes must've followed mine as I surveyed the scene before me. Still, the truth, the horrid reality, hadn't yet come to me.
"I eat the hearts given to me. Turned black they've been, in their grief. Fat, poisoned things. Only the most terminal are drawn to this place. Ye have a sick heart, and are better off without it. Serves ye no purpose to keep it. Why not let me eat it? Keeps me full, and keeps me own inklings towards love at bay. Stamps em down, so I never feel a thing. Never have to love, and lose. Never again..."
He seemed to mentally close upon himself for a moment, so I took the opportunity to begin my retreat. With much less care than before I pushed through the rows of hearts, heedless of how much damage I dealt to the organs and their repulsive stalks. Quickly I returned to that barren terrain before the plots, where the soil was a much more tolerable grey, and where the atmosphere was free of that delirious scarlet haze and its stifling humidity.
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Just as I did so, a shriek echoed into the night, and a voice full of mad demonic fury tore through the trees, sending the nesting birds skyward.
"Give me your goddamn heart!"
I should've continued onward, the gate was only a few yards away; but the Satanic magnitude of the voice was irresistibly attention-grabbing. I felt compelled to see what kind of odious creature could've projected such anger, even though I'd seen the man just moments before.
The ground began to shake, and the withered trees trembled, loosing half-dead leaves onto the ground. And that awful scarlet haze came rolling over the boughs, deeply tinting the atmosphere as if it were a living thing. A sentient cloud of evil.
And from amidst the malignant haze came a thing that might have once been a man, but had undergone a transformation so repugnantly profound that any remaining elements of humanity appeared as mockeries of the form. It towered above the feeble trees, even using their tops as points of stability as it lurched toward me. It's body was vaguely anthropomorphic, distantly human, but outwardly fish-like; the flesh of some selachian nightmare draped over the skeleton of a man.
A face, contorted abhorrently to fit an angular, newly mutated skull, bared a broad maw at me. The teeth shone like an assassin's daggers in the night, sending chills throughout my body. Even as it cleared the tree line and revealed itself fully to me, I could not move: I was so completely transfixed by the depravity of its body, by the unreality of its existence.
"Ye could've given me your heart, and all would've been well. But now...now you've gone and made me take off me coat. I don't like to take off me coat. I don't like having to work for me food. I'm all out of it, and I won't let the thoughts of love come back to me. I won't allow it. Now, c'mere and let me pull you apart."
Despite his hideous transformation, his voice was largely unchanged. Just deeper, more guttural, his ire made plain. The lack of any overt monstrous intonation only made the only whole ordeal more terrifying.
Wrenching control away from the panicked part of my mind, I forced my body to turn and move towards the gate. The thing bounded after me like some frenzied animal, shaking the ground with its every step. I pumped my legs to their absolute limits, reaching the gate just as the humidity of the haze tickled the back of my neck.
I threw it open, leapt through, and slammed it just as that colossal nightmare reached it. I wouldn't have thought the old gate any real match for its massive frame, but the rusted iron held against the horror's assault. The haze was also somehow kept at bay, not a single particle of the mysterious vapor breaching the bars despite how thickly it pressed upon it.
Before it could pull some trick or transform into something capable by bypassing the providentially sturdy gate, I turned away and ran back to my car. And while the creature didn't follow me, its hateful voice did.
"The heart! Bring back your heart!"
I drove away without looking back.
submitted by WeirdBryceGuy to ChillingApp [link] [comments]
Unguarded—at its gates, at least—were the grounds when I arrived, doubly delirious with grief and wonderment. I had not known of the place beforehand. It was only with the impossible manifestation of that heart, born of my anguish, that I became suddenly and providentially aware of the the graveyard and its unwholesome, reality-defying contents.
Despite what had occurred—and what apparently always occurs among the worm-riddled, blood-sodden soil—the place was not a garden; life found itself thriving there, yes, but not any life born of God's design. And death was chief above all, no matter how many vital organs beat ceaselessly from stalk to arterial stalk.
I entered ignorant of what I may find, beyond that which I had been drawn to upon waking suddenly earlier that morning. The outer grounds were rank with an earthy and coppery smell, like the dank, pulpy earth of a fresh battlefield. I got the impression that lives had been spent upon the grey soil, hundreds if not thousands of them; and yet there was only the dismal land, overhanged by a subtle atmosphere of mist, and environed by old trees. Beyond this mist I could just barely discern the inner plots; and I knew that therein I'd find my second heart.
Further in I progressed, until I entered that sepulchral garden, with its rows upon rows of vegetative hearts, sprouted with unsettling plumpness from the soil like overly ripe fruits. The audibility of their beating was maddening; it was as if thousands of people had been stripped of their flesh, leaving only their still-animate hearts. Even worse, they beat not in unison, but in horrible discordance - no two hearts held the same rhythm.
And yet somehow through the tachycardiac chaos I sensed my own - that is to say the heart to which I'd been tirelessly drawn.
Like an automaton I trudged on, my shoes sinking into the blood-laden soil; my sight blurred by the newly emergent haze of crimson. My mind befogged by the increasingly humid air.
With an automatic gentleness I pushed through the rows of unfamiliar hearts until I came upon my own. There it was, visually indistinct among the others, and yet I knew without a shred of doubt that it was mine. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, bleeding from its valves as if there were arteries to carry away the blood; a vascular system through which it could circulate. Despite the morbidity of it, I found it beautiful, as if it was something I'd searched for my entire life; some long-sought treasure of my nightly dreams.
So marveled was I, that I didn't notice the approach of the stranger. It wasn't until he had placed a hand on my shoulder that I became aware of him. I recoiled, but was kept from jumping back by the firmness of his gloved grip. He was a tall old man, dressed in a long grey overcoat, at the waist of which sat some kind of multi-pocketed workman's belt. There were several pouches affixed to the belt, and all bore black splotches of some unidentifiable substance. He wore what I assumed had once been black boots, but were now stained a deep crimson - undoubtedly from having spent innumerable hours trudging through the blood-rich soil.
His face was old and severe, with a blackly stained beard that trailed thinly down to his chest. His coal-black eyes met my own, and for a brief moment I felt as if was being pulled from my own body and examined in some outré, incorporeal pocket of space. A moment later, the phantasmal feeling passed, and the man released his iron grip on me.
"You've come for the heart, that it?"
I nodded, not yet able to form words; the shock of his appearance still fresh.
He grunted, and his voice reminded me of a dying animal I'd once seen on the road: harsh and guttural, defiant against pity and death. In his other hand he held a pair of garden shears, and with these he gestured towards the heart.
"Ye can have it, it's yers. But I'll have to take the one ye got in ye. An exchange. Don't fret about the pain. Ye won't feel it."
This proposition reigned in my mind from the state of fantastical acceptance it had gone to. Suddenly I became acutely, frighteningly aware that I was standing in a cemetery full of human hearts, all of which had somehow grown from the ground; and that this caretaker had actually offered to cut out mine in exchange for the one beating before me. It was ludicrous, macabre beyond measure.... and yet it was real.
"Ye should know: that in taking this here heart, you'll be happy, happier than you've ever been. But you'll forget the person you're longing for. They'll be wiped from yer memory. That's the price. Or the relief, depending."
The thought of a future without the nightly anguish of having lost her—made doubly terrible by the fact that it had been my fault—seemed almost too good to be true. But the idea of losing her completely, of having her smile erased from my memory, her voice lost to the mental void....it was inconceivable. To have loved and lost, and all that.
As much as it pained me to, I denied the man's bizarre offer.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on my chest - my heart. He pointed his empty hand at me and said, "Are ye sure? If left unchecked, it could kill ye. The grief. The sorrow. I've seen it, time and time again."
Had I not come to my senses about the utter weirdness of the situation, I probably wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible changes in his demeanor and posture. There was a yearning in his stance, a predatory hunger. Given the circumstances, it felt vampiric.
I backed away from him, again reiterating that I'd like to keep my heart, no matter what trouble it could cause me down the line. The stranger sighed, exhaling a visible cloud of what appeared to be black smoke or vapor.
"Too bad. I'm damn hungry."
That was the final kick my brain needed to fully recognize and piece together all the little clues laid around me. The soil, whilst predominantly a deep red, also held clumps of black matter in places - almost always near the beating hearts. This was plainly not mulch or any kind of gardening substance; the clumps were fleshy, some slick with what was obviously blackened blood. And that led me to two other points of observation: the man's belt, with its stained pouches, and his darkly stained beard - as if he'd been eating something that leaked black juices.
"Ah. You've put it together, have ye? No matter."
His eyes must've followed mine as I surveyed the scene before me. Still, the truth, the horrid reality, hadn't yet come to me.
"I eat the hearts given to me. Turned black they've been, in their grief. Fat, poisoned things. Only the most terminal are drawn to this place. Ye have a sick heart, and are better off without it. Serves ye no purpose to keep it. Why not let me eat it? Keeps me full, and keeps me own inklings towards love at bay. Stamps em down, so I never feel a thing. Never have to love, and lose. Never again..."
He seemed to mentally close upon himself for a moment, so I took the opportunity to begin my retreat. With much less care than before I pushed through the rows of hearts, heedless of how much damage I dealt to the organs and their repulsive stalks. Quickly I returned to that barren terrain before the plots, where the soil was a much more tolerable grey, and where the atmosphere was free of that delirious scarlet haze and its stifling humidity.
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Just as I did so, a shriek echoed into the night, and a voice full of mad demonic fury tore through the trees, sending the nesting birds skyward.
"Give me your goddamn heart!"
I should've continued onward, the gate was only a few yards away; but the Satanic magnitude of the voice was irresistibly attention-grabbing. I felt compelled to see what kind of odious creature could've projected such anger, even though I'd seen the man just moments before.
The ground began to shake, and the withered trees trembled, loosing half-dead leaves onto the ground. And that awful scarlet haze came rolling over the boughs, deeply tinting the atmosphere as if it were a living thing. A sentient cloud of evil.
And from amidst the malignant haze came a thing that might have once been a man, but had undergone a transformation so repugnantly profound that any remaining elements of humanity appeared as mockeries of the form. It towered above the feeble trees, even using their tops as points of stability as it lurched toward me. It's body was vaguely anthropomorphic, distantly human, but outwardly fish-like; the flesh of some selachian nightmare draped over the skeleton of a man.
A face, contorted abhorrently to fit an angular, newly mutated skull, bared a broad maw at me. The teeth shone like an assassin's daggers in the night, sending chills throughout my body. Even as it cleared the tree line and revealed itself fully to me, I could not move: I was so completely transfixed by the depravity of its body, by the unreality of its existence.
"Ye could've given me your heart, and all would've been well. But now...now you've gone and made me take off me coat. I don't like to take off me coat. I don't like having to work for me food. I'm all out of it, and I won't let the thoughts of love come back to me. I won't allow it. Now, c'mere and let me pull you apart."
Despite his hideous transformation, his voice was largely unchanged. Just deeper, more guttural, his ire made plain. The lack of any overt monstrous intonation only made the only whole ordeal more terrifying.
Wrenching control away from the panicked part of my mind, I forced my body to turn and move towards the gate. The thing bounded after me like some frenzied animal, shaking the ground with its every step. I pumped my legs to their absolute limits, reaching the gate just as the humidity of the haze tickled the back of my neck.
I threw it open, leapt through, and slammed it just as that colossal nightmare reached it. I wouldn't have thought the old gate any real match for its massive frame, but the rusted iron held against the horror's assault. The haze was also somehow kept at bay, not a single particle of the mysterious vapor breaching the bars despite how thickly it pressed upon it.
Before it could pull some trick or transform into something capable by bypassing the providentially sturdy gate, I turned away and ran back to my car. And while the creature didn't follow me, its hateful voice did.
"The heart! Bring back your heart!"
I drove away without looking back.
2023.06.02 02:03 WeirdBryceGuy The Deathgrounds of Love
Time had barely passed, the memory of her presence was still so fresh as to be palpable, when I entered the Deathgrounds of Love. For many, unrequited love diminishes before it can mount further and poison the heart. It fades as life goes on, and infatuations are forgotten; paramours become little more than half-remembered follies. But my love for her grew even as we drifted apart, even as her disdain for me blossomed into a multi-thorned and blackly petaled flower. Almost ironically it grew, until it finally manifested as a material, tangible thing: a heart, which came to beat with malignant autonomy upon a veiny stalk, in the midst of that graven place where unchecked love evilly flourishes.
Unguarded—at its gates, at least—were the grounds when I arrived, doubly delirious with grief and wonderment. I had not known of the place beforehand. It was only with the impossible manifestation of that heart, born of my anguish, that I became suddenly and providentially aware of the the graveyard and its unwholesome, reality-defying contents.
Despite what had occurred—and what apparently always occurs among the worm-riddled, blood-sodden soil—the place was not a garden; life found itself thriving there, yes, but not any life born of God's design. And death was chief above all, no matter how many vital organs beat ceaselessly from stalk to arterial stalk.
I entered ignorant of what I may find, beyond that which I had been drawn to upon waking suddenly earlier that morning. The outer grounds were rank with an earthy and coppery smell, like the dank, pulpy earth of a fresh battlefield. I got the impression that lives had been spent upon the grey soil, hundreds if not thousands of them; and yet there was only the dismal land, overhanged by a subtle atmosphere of mist, and environed by old trees. Beyond this mist I could just barely discern the inner plots; and I knew that therein I'd find my second heart.
Further in I progressed, until I entered that sepulchral garden, with its rows upon rows of vegetative hearts, sprouted with unsettling plumpness from the soil like overly ripe fruits. The audibility of their beating was maddening; it was as if thousands of people had been stripped of their flesh, leaving only their still-animate hearts. Even worse, they beat not in unison, but in horrible discordance - no two hearts held the same rhythm.
And yet somehow through the tachycardiac chaos I sensed my own - that is to say the heart to which I'd been tirelessly drawn.
Like an automaton I trudged on, my shoes sinking into the blood-laden soil; my sight blurred by the newly emergent haze of crimson. My mind befogged by the increasingly humid air.
With an automatic gentleness I pushed through the rows of unfamiliar hearts until I came upon my own. There it was, visually indistinct among the others, and yet I knew without a shred of doubt that it was mine. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, bleeding from its valves as if there were arteries to carry away the blood; a vascular system through which it could circulate. Despite the morbidity of it, I found it beautiful, as if it was something I'd searched for my entire life; some long-sought treasure of my nightly dreams.
So marveled was I, that I didn't notice the approach of the stranger. It wasn't until he had placed a hand on my shoulder that I became aware of him. I recoiled, but was kept from jumping back by the firmness of his gloved grip. He was a tall old man, dressed in a long grey overcoat, at the waist of which sat some kind of multi-pocketed workman's belt. There were several pouches affixed to the belt, and all bore black splotches of some unidentifiable substance. He wore what I assumed had once been black boots, but were now stained a deep crimson - undoubtedly from having spent innumerable hours trudging through the blood-rich soil.
His face was old and severe, with a blackly stained beard that trailed thinly down to his chest. His coal-black eyes met my own, and for a brief moment I felt as if was being pulled from my own body and examined in some outré, incorporeal pocket of space. A moment later, the phantasmal feeling passed, and the man released his iron grip on me.
"You've come for the heart, that it?"
I nodded, not yet able to form words; the shock of his appearance still fresh.
He grunted, and his voice reminded me of a dying animal I'd once seen on the road: harsh and guttural, defiant against pity and death. In his other hand he held a pair of garden shears, and with these he gestured towards the heart.
"Ye can have it, it's yers. But I'll have to take the one ye got in ye. An exchange. Don't fret about the pain. Ye won't feel it."
This proposition reigned in my mind from the state of fantastical acceptance it had gone to. Suddenly I became acutely, frighteningly aware that I was standing in a cemetery full of human hearts, all of which had somehow grown from the ground; and that this caretaker had actually offered to cut out mine in exchange for the one beating before me. It was ludicrous, macabre beyond measure.... and yet it was real.
"Ye should know: that in taking this here heart, you'll be happy, happier than you've ever been. But you'll forget the person you're longing for. They'll be wiped from yer memory. That's the price. Or the relief, depending."
The thought of a future without the nightly anguish of having lost her—made doubly terrible by the fact that it had been my fault—seemed almost too good to be true. But the idea of losing her completely, of having her smile erased from my memory, her voice lost to the mental void....it was inconceivable. To have loved and lost, and all that.
As much as it pained me to, I denied the man's bizarre offer.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on my chest - my heart. He pointed his empty hand at me and said, "Are ye sure? If left unchecked, it could kill ye. The grief. The sorrow. I've seen it, time and time again."
Had I not come to my senses about the utter weirdness of the situation, I probably wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible changes in his demeanor and posture. There was a yearning in his stance, a predatory hunger. Given the circumstances, it felt vampiric.
I backed away from him, again reiterating that I'd like to keep my heart, no matter what trouble it could cause me down the line. The stranger sighed, exhaling a visible cloud of what appeared to be black smoke or vapor.
"Too bad. I'm damn hungry."
That was the final kick my brain needed to fully recognize and piece together all the little clues laid around me. The soil, whilst predominantly a deep red, also held clumps of black matter in places - almost always near the beating hearts. This was plainly not mulch or any kind of gardening substance; the clumps were fleshy, some slick with what was obviously blackened blood. And that led me to two other points of observation: the man's belt, with its stained pouches, and his darkly stained beard - as if he'd been eating something that leaked black juices.
"Ah. You've put it together, have ye? No matter."
His eyes must've followed mine as I surveyed the scene before me. Still, the truth, the horrid reality, hadn't yet come to me.
"I eat the hearts given to me. Turned black they've been, in their grief. Fat, poisoned things. Only the most terminal are drawn to this place. Ye have a sick heart, and are better off without it. Serves ye no purpose to keep it. Why not let me eat it? Keeps me full, and keeps me own inklings towards love at bay. Stamps em down, so I never feel a thing. Never have to love, and lose. Never again..."
He seemed to mentally close upon himself for a moment, so I took the opportunity to begin my retreat. With much less care than before I pushed through the rows of hearts, heedless of how much damage I dealt to the organs and their repulsive stalks. Quickly I returned to that barren terrain before the plots, where the soil was a much more tolerable grey, and where the atmosphere was free of that delirious scarlet haze and its stifling humidity.
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Just as I did so, a shriek echoed into the night, and a voice full of mad demonic fury tore through the trees, sending the nesting birds skyward.
"Give me your fucking heart!"
I should've continued onward, the gate was only a few yards away; but the Satanic magnitude of the voice was irresistibly attention-grabbing. I felt compelled to see what kind of odious creature could've projected such anger, even though I'd seen the man just moments before.
The ground began to shake, and the withered trees trembled, loosing half-dead leaves onto the ground. And that awful scarlet haze came rolling over the boughs, deeply tinting the atmosphere as if it were a living thing. A sentient cloud of evil.
And from amidst the malignant haze came a thing that might have once been a man, but had undergone a transformation so repugnantly profound that any remaining elements of humanity appeared as mockeries of the form. It towered above the feeble trees, even using their tops as points of stability as it lurched toward me. It's body was vaguely anthropomorphic, distantly human, but outwardly fish-like; the flesh of some selachian nightmare draped over the skeleton of a man.
A face, contorted abhorrently to fit an angular, newly mutated skull, bared a broad maw at me. The teeth shone like an assassin's daggers in the night, sending chills throughout my body. Even as it cleared the tree line and revealed itself fully to me, I could not move: I was so completely transfixed by the depravity of its body, by the unreality of its existence.
"Ye could've given me your heart, and all would've been well. But now...now you've gone and made me take off me coat. I don't like to take off me coat. I don't like having to work for me food. I'm all out of it, and I won't let the thoughts of love come back to me. I won't allow it. Now, c'mere and let me pull you apart."
Despite his hideous transformation, his voice was largely unchanged. Just deeper, more guttural, his ire made plain. The lack of any overt monstrous intonation only made the only whole ordeal more terrifying.
Wrenching control away from the panicked part of my mind, I forced my body to turn and move towards the gate. The thing bounded after me like some frenzied animal, shaking the ground with its every step. I pumped my legs to their absolute limits, reaching the gate just as the humidity of the haze tickled the back of my neck.
I threw it open, leapt through, and slammed it just as that colossal nightmare reached it. I wouldn't have thought the old gate any real match for its massive frame, but the rusted iron held against the horror's assault. The haze was also somehow kept at bay, not a single particle of the mysterious vapor breaching the bars despite how thickly it pressed upon it.
Before it could pull some trick or transform into something capable by bypassing the providentially sturdy gate, I turned away and ran back to my car. And while the creature didn't follow me, its hateful voice did.
"The heart! Bring back your heart!"
I drove away without looking back.
submitted by WeirdBryceGuy to TheCrypticCompendium [link] [comments]
Unguarded—at its gates, at least—were the grounds when I arrived, doubly delirious with grief and wonderment. I had not known of the place beforehand. It was only with the impossible manifestation of that heart, born of my anguish, that I became suddenly and providentially aware of the the graveyard and its unwholesome, reality-defying contents.
Despite what had occurred—and what apparently always occurs among the worm-riddled, blood-sodden soil—the place was not a garden; life found itself thriving there, yes, but not any life born of God's design. And death was chief above all, no matter how many vital organs beat ceaselessly from stalk to arterial stalk.
I entered ignorant of what I may find, beyond that which I had been drawn to upon waking suddenly earlier that morning. The outer grounds were rank with an earthy and coppery smell, like the dank, pulpy earth of a fresh battlefield. I got the impression that lives had been spent upon the grey soil, hundreds if not thousands of them; and yet there was only the dismal land, overhanged by a subtle atmosphere of mist, and environed by old trees. Beyond this mist I could just barely discern the inner plots; and I knew that therein I'd find my second heart.
Further in I progressed, until I entered that sepulchral garden, with its rows upon rows of vegetative hearts, sprouted with unsettling plumpness from the soil like overly ripe fruits. The audibility of their beating was maddening; it was as if thousands of people had been stripped of their flesh, leaving only their still-animate hearts. Even worse, they beat not in unison, but in horrible discordance - no two hearts held the same rhythm.
And yet somehow through the tachycardiac chaos I sensed my own - that is to say the heart to which I'd been tirelessly drawn.
Like an automaton I trudged on, my shoes sinking into the blood-laden soil; my sight blurred by the newly emergent haze of crimson. My mind befogged by the increasingly humid air.
With an automatic gentleness I pushed through the rows of unfamiliar hearts until I came upon my own. There it was, visually indistinct among the others, and yet I knew without a shred of doubt that it was mine. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, bleeding from its valves as if there were arteries to carry away the blood; a vascular system through which it could circulate. Despite the morbidity of it, I found it beautiful, as if it was something I'd searched for my entire life; some long-sought treasure of my nightly dreams.
So marveled was I, that I didn't notice the approach of the stranger. It wasn't until he had placed a hand on my shoulder that I became aware of him. I recoiled, but was kept from jumping back by the firmness of his gloved grip. He was a tall old man, dressed in a long grey overcoat, at the waist of which sat some kind of multi-pocketed workman's belt. There were several pouches affixed to the belt, and all bore black splotches of some unidentifiable substance. He wore what I assumed had once been black boots, but were now stained a deep crimson - undoubtedly from having spent innumerable hours trudging through the blood-rich soil.
His face was old and severe, with a blackly stained beard that trailed thinly down to his chest. His coal-black eyes met my own, and for a brief moment I felt as if was being pulled from my own body and examined in some outré, incorporeal pocket of space. A moment later, the phantasmal feeling passed, and the man released his iron grip on me.
"You've come for the heart, that it?"
I nodded, not yet able to form words; the shock of his appearance still fresh.
He grunted, and his voice reminded me of a dying animal I'd once seen on the road: harsh and guttural, defiant against pity and death. In his other hand he held a pair of garden shears, and with these he gestured towards the heart.
"Ye can have it, it's yers. But I'll have to take the one ye got in ye. An exchange. Don't fret about the pain. Ye won't feel it."
This proposition reigned in my mind from the state of fantastical acceptance it had gone to. Suddenly I became acutely, frighteningly aware that I was standing in a cemetery full of human hearts, all of which had somehow grown from the ground; and that this caretaker had actually offered to cut out mine in exchange for the one beating before me. It was ludicrous, macabre beyond measure.... and yet it was real.
"Ye should know: that in taking this here heart, you'll be happy, happier than you've ever been. But you'll forget the person you're longing for. They'll be wiped from yer memory. That's the price. Or the relief, depending."
The thought of a future without the nightly anguish of having lost her—made doubly terrible by the fact that it had been my fault—seemed almost too good to be true. But the idea of losing her completely, of having her smile erased from my memory, her voice lost to the mental void....it was inconceivable. To have loved and lost, and all that.
As much as it pained me to, I denied the man's bizarre offer.
His eyes narrowed, focusing on my chest - my heart. He pointed his empty hand at me and said, "Are ye sure? If left unchecked, it could kill ye. The grief. The sorrow. I've seen it, time and time again."
Had I not come to my senses about the utter weirdness of the situation, I probably wouldn't have noticed the almost imperceptible changes in his demeanor and posture. There was a yearning in his stance, a predatory hunger. Given the circumstances, it felt vampiric.
I backed away from him, again reiterating that I'd like to keep my heart, no matter what trouble it could cause me down the line. The stranger sighed, exhaling a visible cloud of what appeared to be black smoke or vapor.
"Too bad. I'm damn hungry."
That was the final kick my brain needed to fully recognize and piece together all the little clues laid around me. The soil, whilst predominantly a deep red, also held clumps of black matter in places - almost always near the beating hearts. This was plainly not mulch or any kind of gardening substance; the clumps were fleshy, some slick with what was obviously blackened blood. And that led me to two other points of observation: the man's belt, with its stained pouches, and his darkly stained beard - as if he'd been eating something that leaked black juices.
"Ah. You've put it together, have ye? No matter."
His eyes must've followed mine as I surveyed the scene before me. Still, the truth, the horrid reality, hadn't yet come to me.
"I eat the hearts given to me. Turned black they've been, in their grief. Fat, poisoned things. Only the most terminal are drawn to this place. Ye have a sick heart, and are better off without it. Serves ye no purpose to keep it. Why not let me eat it? Keeps me full, and keeps me own inklings towards love at bay. Stamps em down, so I never feel a thing. Never have to love, and lose. Never again..."
He seemed to mentally close upon himself for a moment, so I took the opportunity to begin my retreat. With much less care than before I pushed through the rows of hearts, heedless of how much damage I dealt to the organs and their repulsive stalks. Quickly I returned to that barren terrain before the plots, where the soil was a much more tolerable grey, and where the atmosphere was free of that delirious scarlet haze and its stifling humidity.
I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Just as I did so, a shriek echoed into the night, and a voice full of mad demonic fury tore through the trees, sending the nesting birds skyward.
"Give me your fucking heart!"
I should've continued onward, the gate was only a few yards away; but the Satanic magnitude of the voice was irresistibly attention-grabbing. I felt compelled to see what kind of odious creature could've projected such anger, even though I'd seen the man just moments before.
The ground began to shake, and the withered trees trembled, loosing half-dead leaves onto the ground. And that awful scarlet haze came rolling over the boughs, deeply tinting the atmosphere as if it were a living thing. A sentient cloud of evil.
And from amidst the malignant haze came a thing that might have once been a man, but had undergone a transformation so repugnantly profound that any remaining elements of humanity appeared as mockeries of the form. It towered above the feeble trees, even using their tops as points of stability as it lurched toward me. It's body was vaguely anthropomorphic, distantly human, but outwardly fish-like; the flesh of some selachian nightmare draped over the skeleton of a man.
A face, contorted abhorrently to fit an angular, newly mutated skull, bared a broad maw at me. The teeth shone like an assassin's daggers in the night, sending chills throughout my body. Even as it cleared the tree line and revealed itself fully to me, I could not move: I was so completely transfixed by the depravity of its body, by the unreality of its existence.
"Ye could've given me your heart, and all would've been well. But now...now you've gone and made me take off me coat. I don't like to take off me coat. I don't like having to work for me food. I'm all out of it, and I won't let the thoughts of love come back to me. I won't allow it. Now, c'mere and let me pull you apart."
Despite his hideous transformation, his voice was largely unchanged. Just deeper, more guttural, his ire made plain. The lack of any overt monstrous intonation only made the only whole ordeal more terrifying.
Wrenching control away from the panicked part of my mind, I forced my body to turn and move towards the gate. The thing bounded after me like some frenzied animal, shaking the ground with its every step. I pumped my legs to their absolute limits, reaching the gate just as the humidity of the haze tickled the back of my neck.
I threw it open, leapt through, and slammed it just as that colossal nightmare reached it. I wouldn't have thought the old gate any real match for its massive frame, but the rusted iron held against the horror's assault. The haze was also somehow kept at bay, not a single particle of the mysterious vapor breaching the bars despite how thickly it pressed upon it.
Before it could pull some trick or transform into something capable by bypassing the providentially sturdy gate, I turned away and ran back to my car. And while the creature didn't follow me, its hateful voice did.
"The heart! Bring back your heart!"
I drove away without looking back.