Thundering affix weakaura

How does the community view the new affixes?

2023.05.31 20:23 TweakerTheGreat How does the community view the new affixes?

With the third new affix finally in the rotation I've been curious about the general communities thoughts on the new affixes. And I included my thoughts on them. I know its early for Afflicted, but it only took a single Brackenhide to know it is currently going against what blizzard wanted to accomplish with affixes going into season 2 and I'll explain my opinion on it later.
Entangling- Going into the season I thought entangling was going to be tragic, but for me ended up being an absolute banger affix. Even when paired with spiteful(which I thought was going to be a horrible combination) turned out to be just fine and not too bad. It's punishing enough to make you do the affix, but not too much to make you feel like you're dead if you fail.
Incorporeal- I want to like this affix. It's engaging for the group, and isn't overwhelming mechanically. My problem with this affix is the punishment is too severe and reminds me a lot of thundering in that you can expect to wipe if it goes off. It becomes a matter of playing the affix and not the dungeon. The things I'd like to see changed with this one is get rid of the healing reduction. The damage reduction portion is already detrimental enough in how much it slows you down if you fail. The damage reduction per cast should be closer to 20%. I do think all classes should have some form of counter for this one, especially since DK and warriors that have no counterplay to this affix, also have no counterplay to afflicted as well. I believe this affix also spawns off of spiteful mobs, and in my opinion affixes shouldn't work off each other in that way similar to how spitefuls dying wouldn't drop sanguine or burst.
Afflicted- I feel like I should give this affix more of a chance, but after doing a Brackenhide I decided it doesn't get one. This affix in my opinion is straight dogwater. It's comp requirement is too limiting with 5 classes(warrior, DK, DH, warlock and hunter) that can do literally nothing to counter it. The punishment of 100% haste reduction is an obsurd punishment for failure(blizzard whats with the massive reductions for a single failure?) 30% reduction per stack would have been sufficient. It increases the amount of dispels you need in your group by 2, making composition incredibly difficult in dungeons that require any sort of priority dispel and will create an environment where people wont invite classes without them, which is over a quarter of overall classes. Doing the affix correctly can feel counter intuitive, if a party member dies because you used your dispel on the afflicted and not a heavy hitting dot. Yes in theory you could have dispelled the dot and not the afflicted, and/or healed the afflicted, but the amount of healing on the afflicted is about 30% too high in my opinion and should stop scaling at 20 if it doesn't already.
T.L.D.R: Entangling is a banger affix, incorporeal has serious potential with minor changes, afflicted is dogwater and needs some major changes
submitted by TweakerTheGreat to wow [link] [comments]

2023.05.31 13:13 dauntaun Shapeshifting weapon guide

Shapeshifting weapon guide

Everyone recognizes Windhammer as a good shapeshifting weapon, but did you know that an even better weapon drops in normal difficulty, or that Buriza is a viable alternative? If not then this is the guide for you! I've compared 600 configurations of weapons and made a list of the best options for shapeshifting druids and barbarians.

Shapeshifted attack speed

Attack speed is one of the few damage multipliers available for physical builds. In addition, attack speed plays a role in defense as it allows you to recover from hitstun and start leeching faster. While shapeshifted there are three parameters that determine your attack speed:
  1. The werewolf weapon threshold (WWT) breakpoint
  2. The weapon type
  3. The total attack speed (TAS) breakpoint
WWT is influenced by the weapon speed modifier (WSM), which ranges from -20 to 20 for twohanded weapons, and the weapon IAS (wIAS). No other sources of IAS, through auras, skills or gear will change the maximum reachable attack speed. The WWT is simply calculated as: WWT = wIAS - WSM.
The WWT breakpoint in turn determines the highest reachable attack speed depending on the weapon type. Classes have different thresholds for different weapons. Druids are more proficient in twohanded polearms, maces and axes, and less proficient in twohanded swords and spears, while barbarians are most proficient in swords. For the same weapon type, if a weapon has a WSM of 20 (Thunder maul), it means it will always require 20% more wIAS to reach the same breakpoint as a weapon with a WSM of 0 (Ogre axe).
There may be several attack speed breakpoints for the same WWT, these are the TAS breakpoints. Note that the maximum speed is determined by the WWT itself, that is the fastest TAS breakpoint belonging to the particular WWT breakpoint. Effective IAS (EIAS), and skill IAS (SIAS) factor into TAS. The formula is: TAS = EIAS + SIAS - WSM. All of your combined attack speed from weapon and equipment go through diminishing returns to reach some EIAS. SIAS from skills, such as werewolf, and auras such as fanaticism are added directly without diminishing returns. For werewolf, the source of SIAS is very high, and together with the EIAS coming from the weapon you will almost always reach the highest TAS breakpoint. For werebear, which lacks SIAS, or for wolfbarbs which have a low level skill it may be useful to gain TAS from fanaticism on a merc, or to have some additional IAS from gear to reach the highest breakpoint. To learn more on attack speed breakpoints see the wiki. To calculate IAS breakpoints conveniently, use a calculator.
Breakpoints - Project Diablo 2
Path of Diablo Attack Speed Calculator

Ranking the best weapons

Each build gets two separate tier lists. The best list contains weapons that have the highest damage output. These weapons are ethereal, corrupted for 120 %ED / 20%IAS and puzzleboxed for maximum sockets. The budget list contains weapons that have only been corrupted for maximum sockets. All weapons are rolled at their maximum potential with regards to their %ED and +min/max damages. The best list continues until it reaches a weapon with a score that is less than the highest in the budget list.
(Note, although I call it a budget list since it's relatively easier to acquire, some of the weapons are expensive and can be very hard to find.)
EDIT: The fury fpa's listed on the calculators are wrong. In PD2 fury attacks with 3 instead of 5 hits making the average attack speed slightly slower, the tables and spreadsheet now reflect this. Thanks to 2literpopcorn for pointing this out.
Note for werebear: This is the fastest breakpoint for this particular wIAS, but it may require fanaticism and/or additional IAS from gear to reach it
The ranking represent the maximum sheet dps, not necessarily the best weapons as there are other parameters to consider. You may want to use a different fpa breakpoint for playstyle, or defensive reasons, and you may want to consider weapons for their stats, proc effects and damage consistency. The desirable stats also depend on the shapeshifting form. Werewolves do not gain critical strike which makes deadly strike very desirable, whereas werebears and barbarians do gain critical strike naturally making deadly strike redundant. Werewolves attack several times with fury which gives a consistent damage output, whereas werebears may want a higher minimum damage to oneshot enemies and improve clearspeed. Whether you are mapping or bossing, you may prioritize certain proc effects or defensive stats.
Lastly, note that only Shael, Ohm and Zod runes were considered for sockets. There are more optimal combinations using 15/40 jewels.

The weapon spreadsheet

You can view and download the spreadsheet to look at all the possible combinations, and to filter the parameters according to your needs. I have included most unique and set twohanders with decent damage potentials and IAS, but not every possible item. The corrupt column means the weapon is corrupted (120%ED / 20% IAS). The eth column means the weapon is ethereal (1.25x damage bonus). The difficulty column is:
Big thanks to BetweenWalls and korben66 for providing and testing the wolfbarb fury breakpoints!
View spreadsheet
Download spreadsheet

Fury best

Item Avg FPA Score Runes
Hellslayer 990 4.67 5.3 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Earth Shifter 939 5 4.7 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Steeldriver 906 5 4.5 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Tomb Reaver 844 4.67 4.5 ShaelOhmOhmZod
The Cranium Basher 820 4.67 4.4 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Odium 869 5 4.3 ShaelOhmOhmZod
Messerschmidt's Reaver 800 4.67 4.3 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Ribcracker 853 5 4.3 ShaelOhmZod
Bonehew 790 4.67 4.2 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Executioner's Justice 841 5 4.2 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Windhammer 777 4.67 4.2 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Warlord’s Trust 549 3.33 4.1 ShaelShaelShaelShael
Ethereal Edge 540 3.33 4 ShaelShaelShaelShael
Athena’s Wrath 772 5 3.9 OhmOhmOhmZod

Fury budget

Item Avg FPA Score Runes
Hellslayer 706 4.67 3.8 ShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
Messerschmidt's Reaver 482 3.33 3.6 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
Earth Shifter 712 5 3.6 ShaelShaelShaelOhmOhmOhm
Steeldriver 685 5 3.4 ShaelShaelShaelOhmOhmOhm
The Cranium Basher 621 4.67 3.3 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
Windhammer 433 3.33 3.2 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
Executioner's Justice 638 5 3.2 ShaelShaelShaelOhmOhmOhm
Odium 613 5 3.1 ShaelShaelOhmOhmOhm
Buriza 406 3.33 3 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
Athena’s Wrath 389 3.33 2.9 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShael

Maul best

Item Avg FPA Score Runes
Hellslayer 990 5 4.95 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Tomb Reaver 715 4 4.47 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Earth Shifter 865 5 4.32 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Athena's Wrath 665 4 4.16 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Steeldriver 831 5 4.16 ShaelShaelShaelZod
The Cranium Basher 821 5 4.1 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Warlord's Trust 653 4 4.08 ShaelShaelOhmOhm
Odium 805 5 4.02 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Messerschmidt's Reaver 800 5 4 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Ribcracker 640 4 4 ShaelShaelShael
Bonehew 790 5 3.95 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Windhammer 777 5 3.88 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Executioner's Justice 776 5 3.88 ShaelShaelShaelZod

Maul budget

Item Avg FPA Score Runes
Hellslayer 602 4 3.76 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
Earth Shifter 592 4 3.7 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm
Steeldriver 565 4 3.53 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm
Executioner's Justice 535 4 3.34 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm
Messerschmidt's Reaver 525 4 3.28 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm
The Cranium Basher 501 4 3.13 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
Windhammer 485 4 3.03 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm
Athena's Wrath 475 4 2.97 ShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
Odium 460 4 2.88 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
IK's Stone Crusher 445 4 2.79 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
Buriza 444 4 2.79 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm

Wolfbarb best

Item Avg FPA Score Runes
Odium 741 3.33 5.6 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Hellslayer 925 5 4.6 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Earth Shifter 864 5 4.3 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Steeldriver 831 5 4.2 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Doombringer 718 4.33 4.1 ShaelShaelShaelShael
The Grandfather 802 5 4 ShaelShaelShaelZod
Ribcracker 788 5 3.9 ShaelShaelZod
Tomb Reaver 780 5 3.9 ShaelShaelOhmZod
Executioner's Justice 776 5 3.9 ShaelShaelShaelZod

Wolfbarb budget

Item Avg FPA Score Runes
Odium 511 3.33 3.8 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm
Hellslayer 654 5 3.3 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm
Earth Shifter 652 5 3.3 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
The Grandfather 633 5 3.2 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
Steeldriver 625 5 3.1 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
Buriza 406 3.33 3 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
Executioner's Justice 586 5 2.9 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
BK Sacred Charge 380 3.33 2.9 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelShael
Messerschmidt's Reaver 568 5 2.8 ShaelShaelShaelShaelOhmOhm
The Cranium Basher 561 5 2.8 ShaelShaelShaelShaelShaelOhm

Axes

Hellslayer

This weapon consistently tops the charts. The 200% base ED is unassuming, but the 300% max ED, combined with a base that's top heavy makes this weapon scale out of control. The large damage range lends itself to fury which has a natural averaging effect being a multihit attack.

Messerschmidt's Reaver

Has the same max ED property as Hellslayer making it top heavy.

Executioner's Justice

Ethereal Edge

I always thought the ethereal and indestructible combo was too good to be true, but it performs well with an ED/IAS corruption. Lacks any noteworthy stats.

Warlord's Trust

A good defensive weapon.

Humongous

Underperforms in damage, but it's worth mentioning as it has a unique affix. Fortified maps and the recent splash range changes to fury has further dropped its utility.

Maces

The Cranium Basher

The Earth Shifter

Windhammer

This used to be a top tier weapon, but has fallen out of favor after nerfs to its attack speed.

Steeldriver

This can drop as early as act 5 normal and then be upgraded twice to a thunder maul.

IK's Sacred Charge

The Gavel of Pain

Does not make it to the dps list, but it has amplify damage and is relatively easy to acquire. A good budget option.

Swords

Odium

One of the new uniques in PD2. Best for wolfbarbs, but can be surprisingly good for druids.

The Grandfather

Despite having no innate IAS, this is one of the strongest weapons in the game due to the massive +max damage.

Doombringer

Another good defensive weapon.

Bing Sz Wang

Who even knew this thing existed?

BK's Swords

These can be good if you hit max sockets. Sacred charge comes with crushing blow and all res, Tribal Guardian has deadly strike, strength and cold res. If you wear it with the BK ring you also get cannot be frozen.

The Vile Husk

Not on the list, but has amplify damage. Could be useful on a wolfbarb.

Polearms

Tomb Reaver

Very good for werebear.

Bonehew

A common weapon that can become very strong with the right corruption.

Athena's Wrath

Reaper's Wrath

Not on the list, but can be useful as it has amplify damage, and its not too hard to find.

Stormspire

Despite not having a great sheet dps, this weapon can cast static field which instantly lowers the enemies max %HP.

Staves

Ribcracker

This was one of the best LoD shapeshifting weapons, and it remains very capable in PD2. The best werebear version is non eth, and only requires 3 sockets which makes it somewhat easier to acquire.

Ranged

Cliffkiller

Worth mentioning as it is the only weapon that can reach the fastest 3 fpa maul breakpoint. It's not actually good though.

Buriza

Since missile weapons do not splash inherently, you need to wear Bloodfist, Steelrend or The Hand of Broc. You can get crushing blow and deadly strike from bolts.
submitted by dauntaun to ProjectDiablo2 [link] [comments]

2023.05.29 06:23 charistas M+ Talent Reminders (WeakAura)

Ever since Blizzard introduced the Dragonflight talent system many of the previously core talents are no longer useful for every situation, and so players do not always select them.
As I don't want to forget Shackle Undead when going to run a M+ during an Incorporeal week or Remove Curse when going to run a Neltharus, I have created a WeakAura that reminds me to select a particular talent based on the dungeon or affix requirements: https://wago.io/RCVtPLUrF
In the future, I plan to expand this to monitor the talents of all party members as some are really important to have and it should help with PUGs a lot.
Feel free to give suggestions about missing must-have talents, misconfigured talents, or any other features that you believe could be useful.
submitted by charistas to CompetitiveWoW [link] [comments]

2023.05.28 21:32 Bootravsky2 [Sigil - the Hive] The Sways

“Only the Cage would have a vertical slum.” Notary Hardeck Alembeck, stationed in the Clerks’ Ward near the Hive.
Residential structures generally do not make the list of monuments in the Cage, and definitely not those in the Hive. But, as the Opposers would say, to every rule is an exception, and the Sways is the Cage’s monumental residence.
Occupying a 700-foot by 1,000-foot quasi-rectangular space and standing some 200-feet in height, the Sways is gigantic – literally, in fact (see below). Dozens of buildings are crammed against each other, with narrow alleys snaking between the buildings, upper story windows enclosed to make bridges and walkways, floors extended and walls removed haphazardly to combine the buildings, and lower level roofs completely covered in garbage and trash. Save for a central temple square dedicated to numerous thunder deities, very few opportunities exist for light or air to enter the building. The outer walls form a cacophonous array of windows, razorvine, balconies, staircases, and business entries.
Hanging above the sways, bound by an enormous chain snaking upward out of the temple courtyar, are the remnants of a cloud giant sky castle – half of a slanted tower, a portion of wall, and a roof – hanging together by dint of a spiders web of chains, over and across which are planks and building materials. The massive central chain moves slowly but occasionally enough activity will cause it jostle the nearest buildings, giving rise to the complex’s name.
The Sways’ inhabitants are constantly refining and repairing the structure, with larger inhabitants removing entire buildings, and smaller inhabitants building floors (and floors, and floors, and on down). In order to guide visitors, walls are scrawled with color coded insignia: yellow (or gold) for market areas; white for healing, apothecary, and alchemist; red for vice dens; grey for halls taken by the undead; black for gang areas (in these halls the symbol itself becomes really important); green for areas contaminated due to sewage or garbage; and blue for fresh water holdings.
History:
“Each Castle in the Sky presupposes that the thingness of air makes those bound to the air as light as air. We did not account for the thingness of Sigil’s air mostly being smog, and therefore having a thingness bound to stone and weighing in excess of air…” – Axaerios, Cloud Giant Philosopher, Arborea
“There is nothing in this multiverse that cannot use improvement. Is the fault with the work or with the assumption? Change the latter and improve the former.” – Ramashasva, Cloud Giant Architect, Sigil
Started some thirty years ago, a band of cloud giants sought to dominate aerial trade in the Cage by building one of their signature Sky Castles. Bringing on a small tribe of stone giant masons, the cloud giants purchased several hundred domiciles in a small area of the Hive near the Clerks Ward (at cut rate prices, no less) and commenced importing stone. The masons initially erected scaffolding totaling six stone giant stories in height, from which they painstaking crafted a 300-foot square keep (a relatively small structure for the giants), with four towers on its four corners.
Upon completion, the cloud giants enacted the runes necessary to send the castle aloft. As the grey clouds gathered and the structure rose, the stone giants affixed the chain to keep it bound to a single location. For a matter of days, the castle hung motionless in the sky, an apparent success. Until, that is, a flaw in the design of the cloud bindings reasserted gravity over its stones. Suddenly, tons of stone came raining down on the underlying portion of the Cage, in an event known as the Thunderfall. After three days of near endlessly falling stones, a few remnants of the sky castle remained aloft, and the only remaining structures below were the stone giants great scaffolds.
In a fit of pique, the cloud giants largely returned to their home in Arborea, considering Sigil a place of failure. Only the prime architect, a Believer in the Source named Ramashasva remained in the remaining segments of the castle, trying to identify the flaws and correct the flaws in the binding formula. Good real estate being what it was, a flock of Aarakockra took residence, followed by a clan of urds and gaggle of mephits ruled over by a manticore, and the “Sky Mages,” a group of Akadi worshipping prime magicians who used most of their magic to fly everywhere.
“And unto the small folk, I give over dominion to my scaffold. Build your floors out, but hold the walls back: for that way, no larger folk can intrude your spaces, but that you may continue to have light and air.”
The stone giants, meanwhile, returned to their own home in the Outlands. However, seeing that the giant scaled scaffolding was starting to attract a crop of hill giants (“Dese halls is narrow, but more spacious den a hut!”), one stone giant dedicated the remaining scaffolding structure to a large clan of halflings and gnomes, who commenced dividing each section into three – five (halfling) stories worth of domiciles. Slowly but surely, the stone scaffolding was built up and outward to fill the space purchased by the cloud giants.
Inhabitants:
In addition to the aforementioned inhabitants of the sky castle and the halfling’s outer halls, the Sways has over forty-thousand occupants of a wide variety of different sentient species. Humans and tieflings live throughout; a three member clan of half-giants (who maintain a single large hallway into the central courtyard); a large clan of duergar occupy the deepest hallways; otyugh and moldmen roam the green halls; the Dead wander around trying to find spirits and other undead in the deeper environs; and summoned succubi and priests of Loviatar inhabit the red halls.
submitted by Bootravsky2 to planescapesetting [link] [comments]

2023.05.28 01:48 Upper-Meal-9056 How do you feel about new affixes?

Personally I love how entangling and incorporeal are straight up utility checks. Way more interesting than something like spiteful or sanguine. Forces you to consider your class tree before a key, picking up different utility based on the needs of the dungeon as well as the affix.
Hoping we see more of this design in future if affixes are hear to stay.
I will say I kind of miss the seasonal affixes that were GOOD. Not thundering but like encrypted, tormented or awakened.
submitted by Upper-Meal-9056 to wow [link] [comments]

2023.05.27 23:22 Exiledtyrant Storm Werewolf Starter Build

So I've seen a lot of werewolf builds focused around the storm skill modifiers but they all seem loaded with uniques. I just wanted to post a build I theory crafted that uses all commonly found dungeon aspects. I feel it still preserves the theme of lightning werewolf (which I am psyched to play) without being too unrealistic for the early game. The build can be found here:
Storm Werewolf Starter
The build itself heavily focuses on pumping your claw and shred, while trying to have as much cataclysm and hurricane uptime as possible. If the affixes scale anywhere near as well as D3 Basic gear should have you sitting at 50-60% crit chance so there will be plenty of lightning shreds and storm procs. The only thing to really watch out for gearing-wise is you want to avoid resource reduction and focus on resource generation.
Ancestral guidance from the paragon board gives 30% to all damage for 5 seconds after spending 75 spirit. Combine this with the passive that increases spirit cost by 9% and you can proc this ability every 2 shreds instead of 3( 76 spirits spent every 2 shreds instead of 70).
As for the paragon board itself. It only has one inefficient node on the Starting board. In order to hit 25 dex you need to spec into that one extra dex node on the right. Every other node I planned out seems to be as efficient as possible. Every glyph section is pathed to gain exactly 40 will power or 25 dex (29 due to how the bonus nodes work out) without wasting pathing to the next section. Each route to the next board is also the shortest possible route. The only real wiggle room is healing received / potion healing vs maximum spirit nodes. There are a few magic nodes you can sub out for the other if you value one or the other. I would say max spirit is worthless simply because the build is only concerned with burning 75 spirit and then recouping it. Lastly, no all the stat caps aren't met. You should have enough stats for the first 2 boards, but 3+ isn't happening without stats on gear. The nice part is you can just focus on willpower and Dex, while dumping Int. All the important int rare nodes will be activated.
If you manage to get the storm crone staff early you would simply respect out of all the core abilities passives and shred and put those points back into storm strike and the lightning passives. The aspects would be the same as I specifically put the core ability aspects on the weapons to avoid confusion. The paragon board would have to be swapped to Thunder Strike > Lust for Carnage(don't grab the legendary power) > Constricting Tendrils ( or whatever other side board you want as you will most likely only glyph the last one). Crone turns Claw into a very strong basic attack build so you basically just convert any core damage bonuses in your power budget to lightning and basic attack bonuses. If you want storm wolves you'll probably wind up sacrificing some defense passives.
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With all that said I would just like to note that anyone struggling with lightning werewolf should probably just start full poison. Poison claw + poison shred + poison creeper + rabies is just nuts early game. Lightning wolf is a scaling build that needs a decent chunk of base crit. Poison starts off good and scales just as hard from the start. I was literally killing things 3x as fast with poison during the server slam when I tested it versus bosses. I would say level poison until level 30 or so where you should be able to maintain about 25% crit chance and then decide if storm wolf feels smooth enough yet
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** 5/31/23 Small change for the last glyph from exploiter to spirit glyph.
submitted by Exiledtyrant to D4Druid [link] [comments]

2023.05.27 01:06 KillerOrangeCat Three True Never Told Scary Stories VOL 1

Three True Never Told Scary Stories VOL 1
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Number One: The Backyard
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This happened to me when I was a pre teenagers ( I would say tween, but I kinda hate that word). I was still very interested in things like scouting and camping and getting all muddy with by friends. I hadn’t quite gotten to girls yet but I that a coming along pretty soon.
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But at the time, I loved any kind of camping. And although this wasn’t an official scouting get together, I wanted to do a camping out in my parents’ backyard.
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Now, I wouldn’t say we lived out in the country, because we really didn’t. But we had an enormous backyard. Hell, with all of the places I have lived since, I am still in awe of how big that yard was. It was great for playing with the dogs, playing baseball with my buddies. It was just great altogether.
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So this was in mid summer when we were beginning to get somewhat bored of the time off from school. The days were long and monotonous. So I asked my parents if we could have the campout in the backyard. We were all scouts and had done this before and my parents had no problem with it.
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Now, one thing we did was that everyone had their own tent. I sort of preferred sleeping alone in mine anyway. But anyway, this is pretty important to tell the story.
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We did all the usual camping things. We indeed had a small fire, as we had little stoned off area that my family used to make fires. We had smores. That is really what made me decide to tell this story, seeing someone buying things to make them in the store today. And, then eventually, after talking about all of the things that 12 year boys find important, we went to bed.
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I didn’t know what time it was. I read a little bit my flashlight before finally going to sleep. And I fell asleep pretty easily. The fire had been small and we put it out before getting into our tents, so there wasn’t light to keep me awake.
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I am not sure what woke me up at the time, although nowadays I think it was the sound of the zipper on my tent being lowered. My head was foggy and I couldn’t see much of anything. But I noticed that there was a figure at the entryway to my tent. I immediately guessed that it was either one of the other boys, or maybe my dad had come outside for some reason. So I immediately grabbed my flashlight in flashed it over at them to see who it was. I was good enough with the light to shine under their head so the light wouldn’t completely blind them in the darkness.
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It took me less of than a second to realize that the man who was coming into my tent was absolutely not my dad and way too old to be any of my scout mates. He was, up to that point, the scariest looking person I had ever seen in my life. He had long hair, the most insane eyes I had ever seen and a look on his face that I can simply describe as crazy.
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The man was on his hands and knees and he took one crawl toward me. He then put one of his fingers up to his lips, as if to indicate to me to not talk or make any noise. For nearly a moment, I didn’t. But it had everything to do with fear, not that I was listening to his advice.
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He made another crawl toward me and that was all that it took. I began yelling and screaming bloody murder like you couldn’t imagine. I faced the other wall and of the tent and did everything I could to get out of there.
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But of course I wasn’t going to get out of there and I didn’t see any lights in the house go on right away. Fortunately, however, my scout mates all woke up right away. I began screaming at them, “There’s someone in my tent! There’s someone in my tent!”
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Now, I didn’t know exactly what had happened right away. I could see light through the tent but it was too opaque for me to make out exactly what was going on outside. But one of my friends went running to the house to get my parents.
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But what I quickly became aware of were the other kids who quickly came to my rescue. They all attacked the guy who was trying to get to me in the tent and who had actually gotten to my foot. However, he quickly let go of that when the kids attacked him.
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I couldn’t tell if the kids pulled him out of the tent, or he tried to force himself out of there despite what they were doing. But the only thing I was happy about was the fact that he was out of my tent.
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Next thing, I heard a gunshot though. And there was a lot of commotion and even some yelling from some of the other boys. I still didn’t come out of the tent though, until it was my older brother coming in to get me. He rushed me and the other boys back to the house while my dad held the guy to the ground with his rifle.
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The police came and arrested the guy. He was found guilty of attempted kidnapping before being extradited to another state where he was put on trial for a completed kidnapping. I don’t know what happened to him, but if he died in prison, I wouldn’t mind so much.
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I didn’t go camping ever again. I just can’t be in a tent after that.
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Number Two: Sleepover
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I had a really frightening experience with a friend of mine when I was really young. I recall being around him a lot younger when he had an imaginary friend that he used to get teased about by other boys. They saw having an imaginary friend as something that only little girls did or really young boys. So at even a very young age for a boy to give up an imaginary friend, he took quite a bit of torment about it from the other boys.
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I kept being his friend because I liked him. I never had an imaginary friend of my own. I never held it against him though. In fact, I sometimes wished I had the imagination to have had one at any time during my life. We liked a lot of the same toys as each other and things like that, so we got along fine.
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But during the whole period of teasing, I do remember it getting a little bit too much for him, I suppose. And it was then that he quit talking about his imaginary friend. I got to mention earlier that my friend’s name was Brian and his imaginary friend was named Billy.
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So, I guess we were maybe seven years old when Brian just stopped talking about Billy. And after that, I stopped thinking about it. That is, until around the time that we were 11 years old.
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I remember playing over and Brian’s house that day and he seemed a little upset about something. I never thought to ask him what was wrong. I don’t recall really doing that back when I was that young. But we were playing with his Nintendo and he kept dying really easily when it was his turn to play. That was just really unusual for him. But I don’t remember mentioning it.
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Brian, on the other hand, asked me if I wanted to spend the night over at his place that night. This was something I was always up for, actually. I liked his house a lot more than mine and my own parents would never allow anything like a sleepover. So I readily accepted.
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The evening went pretty well. I always enjoyed Brian’s family. Plus his video games were in his bedroom, so we could play them as much as they want to. He seemed to be a whole lot in a better mood than he had been before.
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When bedtime came around, we got ready for bed. Brian had twin beds in his bedroom. I never quite understood why, unless it was for sleepovers. He never had another brother and I know that none of his sisters slept in hs room. They both had their own rooms.
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So while we were talking, I was surprised that Brian if I remembered Billy. Although I had not thought about him in a long time, I immediately knew who Brian was talking about. I knew he meant the imaginary friend and not anyone we actually knew.
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I let him know that I did. But I didn’t say much more about him.
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Then Brian told me, “He started visiting me again.”
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I think I was quiet for a few moments before I uttered out an “Oh?”
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“Yeah, but he’s not like how I remembered him,” Brian explained. “Before, he was nice. He played with me a whole lot and he was pretty cool.”
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Brian was quiet for a few moments. I have to admit to being a little afraid for the few moments of quiet. But I didn’t let on that I was scared at all.
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“Now, he just hangs out under the bed at night,” Brian said, sending a chill down my spine. “He keeps telling me that he’s going to grab me and pull me under the bed when I fall asleep.”
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I paused again before asking the question that frightened me most. “Under your bed or mine?”
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“Mine,” Brian responded.
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I thought I would feel relieved that it wasn’t mine. I didn’t. I was simply terrified. So I responded, “Why don’t we both sleep in this bed then?”
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I barely had the word out of my mouth before my friend had jumped over to the bed I was in. It was just a twin, but we were small and scared so it worked.
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We didn’t get a whole lot of sleep that night. We talked through our fear until we fell asleep.
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Here is the weird thing, he never ever mentioned Billy again. It was somehow like that one night exorcised the entire fear from him.
The House on Chicot Road (Final)
Pronounced: Chee-Ko Road
Cat B
April 11, 2023
For all our differences, my elder sister and I were very adventurous. Anything out of the ordinary called to our souls. We were both into horror and scary stories. We'd read Edgar Allen Poe, Ambrose Bierce, HP Lovecraft, Alfred Hitchcock, Algernon Blackwood, Daphne Du Maurier, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle among others. At the time of our adventure, I was all of 13 and my sister (whom I'll henceforth refer to as "J") was 16.
That day, our mother had gone out, with a gay friend, and the warm spring afternoon soon allowed us to delve into a mischievous and somewhat dangerous excursion into the home of a recently deceased widow. Her husband had died some years earlier and any children she'd had lived out of state. She died alone.
I was close to my elder sister in those early years so when she asked:
"Hey cat, let's go check out that empty house," I was all for it. We presumed the house was empty of at least any living occupants. Long before the demise of the widow, the house had a reputation for being haunted by the widow's deceased husband.
Still, any chance to get out and go exploring was something we could not pass up. Besides, the widow was also known to have never locked her front doors, so it was a perfect invitation to get in without having to break in which we were loath to do.
Whenever I looked deeply into my sister's baby doll blue eyes, I saw her usual undying mischievousness shine through. This time, she was serious and so was I.
"Okay. I said. Let's go."
And without another word, we headed out the front door and into the woods of the 60 acres my uncle owned in Little Rock, AR. Just before we let out, "J" grabbed my wrist and said grinning:
"Wait a minute stupid, we need a flashlight."
"Oh yeah," I mouthed absent-mindedly. In my haste, I'd nearly forgotten. But then, she was older so she was supposed to have remembered anyway.
When my mind began to work instead of being on autopilot, I realized that "J" was right, there would be no electricity. Her family we'd learned from our aunt, would only see her on occasion, so we knew they would probably not show up anyway if they showed up at all.
As we walked the mile and a half to the house, we first had to traverse a long dirt road that would take us further away from the paved road but get us to the old house sooner.
We heard birds of all sorts: Mockingbirds, Blue Jays, Scarlet Tanagers, and Ravens. In the ditch along the way, we saw a family of Kildeer, both mother and father with chicks running along beside with their quick steps and thin legs that carried them from one end of a culvert to the other, their nest somewhere along the ground. I smiled at their inventiveness, the father acting like he was wounded, hopping along with a feigned broken wing, to distract and draw us away from the nest area. "J" didn't appreciate nature the way I did.
Following along, I already missed my Shilo; a chocolate cream tortoiseshell cat. She was asleep now but would be awaiting me on velvet paws upon my return. That cat owned me. Everything was about her until that is, my sister "J" said those magic words that would take me from her for at least a few hours.
After our little adventure, we planned on rewarding ourselves by walking another half mile or so to the little run-down mom-and-pop store (MacMillans) for a cold soda. We always called them cold drinks no matter what the drink was. And no matter what kind of cola, we always called them "Coke." That was just what we Southerners called it back then. I never liked Coke so I always got something else.
The warmth of the sun shone down on us as we made our way off the dirt road which in a few years would have a few horrors of its own for Shilo and me, but that's another story.
"J" drew me away from my thoughts of "Shilo" which they were never far from when she said:
"Gotta' go this way." She turned to the left onto the narrow treelined Chicot Road. Dense woods lined the concrete paved two-lane road leading to the widow's house. A scattering of homes littered the landscape along the way as we moved enjoying the blooming bushes, wildflowers, and trees.
Breathing deep the richness of early summer, lost in my thoughts of what we might find, and taking in the shapes of the clouds that blended with a robin's egg blue sky, I barely noticed when the wind picked up; a portent of a storm later in the day.
Marching along, flashlight in hand, "J" told me and herself, she too was lost in thought, that we would be going into a dark house and some dark places and thus, the reason for the flashlight. She was more scared than I thought.
It seemed like it took forever when I finally recognized the slight turn that preceded the front of the house. Before we rounded the corner, I asked "J" if we should take the woods to cut across the yard instead of walking in front of the house. She paused and thought about that for a moment and then finally made up her mind with:
"No cat." She said. "It's all right. No one knows we are here anyway. No one ever comes here." Immediately, I looked into her eyes. They appeared a little clouded indicating she was afraid.
"It's just cause you're scared of the woods," I teased.
"Just shut up and come on." I dismissed that as, big sister syndrome. Then, I smiled adding:
"Okay dummy!" a face-saving jab at her earlier calling me "stupid." She just glared.
We moved on almost directly in front of the huge two-story house.
Finally, we stepped off the road, thankful for the cool of the grass. It was pretty warm. In those days, that far out in the country, there were few sidewalks and little to no shoulders on Chicot Road.
A second later, a car swerved a bit too close reminding us that if we didn't pay more attention we could become permanent residents of the house on Chicot Road too. I saw an image of both of us face-planted in the road.
As we moved swiftly onto the property, we looked at one another with nervous laughs. We stood for a moment to take in the excitingly ominous sight of the house. It looked like something out of a horror movie.
Gnarled, grotesque, and twisted shapes that would haunt your nightmares, moved with a sudden wind. It was as if they moved of their own accord, sometimes taking the shape of creepy dark human figures. The sounds they made were just as strange as if they were inhabited by the spirits of the dead. Their eerie and sad howlings rose and fell as they were stretched and bent by the wind into long drawn-out moans. Suddenly, it dawned on me where the musical category "woodwinds" probably came from. I always loved the sound made by Pan's reed flute. Pan was a Satyr in Greek Mythology.
As we moved carefully across the huge unkempt yard, twigs and sticks of old fallen branches snapped and popped under our feet, hidden by the long grass, giving us away to anything that lurked there. If the spirits were uncertain about our presence before, they were certain of it now.
"J" shivered. I sure as hell know I did. Of course, I didn't say the word "hell" out loud, just in my head. Cursing was strictly forbidden. But of course, "J" did. Following her lead, I echoed the forbidden word out loud as well. I felt a bit nervous yet liberated doing it.
The house stood completely alone surrounded by woods. Interestingly, only around the house were all the trees dead. Further back, it was lush and green. Upon closer inspection, we had only ever seen it from the road and realized that it was more run down, and dilapidated, than we'd thought.
Grabbing my shoulder again, "J" startled me with a perfunctory:
"Come on! Let's go!" Her left hand was firmly on my shoulder almost pushing me ahead of her. Naturally, I resisted and she quipped that she was sorry and loosened her grip. I don't think I had ever seen her this nervous.
The house seemed to yawn at our presence as a sudden gust of warm air came seemingly from within the house. It gave our young faces a fresh scare as our excited fright whisked our blonde hair high into the air with unseen fingers while another wind seemed to gently usher us to the stairs that led up onto the porch.
Stopping momentarily, we gazed out across the tree-strewn ravine and lake, when another sudden gust of wind blew across us and seemingly through us accompanied by a sudden noise behind. The sound caught us both completely off guard, unnerving and hastening us onto the porch. It seem the spirits were impatient at our hesitance, we'd come this far...
Carefully, we moved up the creaking stairs; the old wood too, moaning an invitation as we mounted the porch. An old porch swing hanging from one anchor still affixed to the ceiling squeaked out a half-tempting 'SIT, IF YOU DARE!' Our heads jerked at the sudden sound and then back to the door.
"J" moved ahead of me letting go of my shoulder just long enough to grasp the knob and slowly turn. More groans of creaking wood amid disquieting squeaks and desperate scratchings entered our young fertile imaginations and settled there as a strong musty smell of old furniture, clothes, and dust invaded our nostrils.
Still, it must have been a quite lovely house, I thought. Even at my age, I could appreciate the once-fine architecture of this old house. It certainly must have been grand, in its day. Glancing around the huge living area, I could see even in the gloom the still solidly built floor that rose on one side to a low mezzanine upon which sat a small table and 4 chairs in the corner of which sat a white baby grand piano covered in thin dust.
The aged ivory keys were partially exposed, turning them a lighter shade of grey. I was then and now a music lover. The thought of the elephants it took to make them turned my stomach. Before my sister punched me softly on my arm, I too spied the stairs on my left that led to a second story and from there a third, or so we were told.
"C'mon, let's go." Cautiously, I agreed.
Tiptoeing across the broad hardwood floor, Black Oak, I assumed, we again heard the squeaks and saw a few fearless mice run across the floor, somehow knowing they were safe in our presence. One came so close that its twitching nose sniffed the toe of my shoe while in mid-stride. Slowly, I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a treat I had intended on giving to Shilo but had forgotten in my rush to get there.
The little grey mouse knew my intentions and took it eagerly from my thumb and forefinger and ran halfway across the floor and then, as if to say thank you, stopped and turned to look at me, its little black eyes glistening. It winked in approval. I smiled as it squeaked and ran hurriedly with its prize to its lair under the musty dust-covered couch.
I reflected that it was probably a good thing that my cat Shilo wasn't with me after all because she would have had all the mice presented to me as gifts in a matter of just a few days depending on how many there were. And hearing quite a few squeaks and seeing quite a few tiny fuzzy gray bodies scatter as we entered the house, she would have certainly had her paws full. There was no way I would ever bring her here just to kill mice, even if she was the best mouser ever known to Catdom.
Before I knew it, "J" was already at the piano. She just had to touch everything, she simply could not resist doing so. I shook my head:
"Oh come on "J" really?" She stopped just for an instant and looked at me with that huge mischievous smile of hers. Tucking the faded white key cover further back into the piano exposing the dust-free keys, I joined her just as the felt hammer struck a single string and rang out an off-key tang into the quiet solitude of the room. She giggled softly and then moved towards the single door in the middle of the far wall that we thought was another room. It turned out to be the balcony. She opened it slowly.
As soon as we retreated outside, we heard footsteps moving down what sounded like the stairs. The dark gloom of the house suddenly seemed to close in tighter around us. I now held the flashlight as instructed by "J" whipping it in the direction of the sound. First, up and then down and then widely about the room itself as if expecting to catch a glimpse of... something.
Instead, the light caught "J's" widened and very frightened eyes, her pupils shrinking to tiny pinpoints. Quickly, her hand came up grabbing the flashlight whispering harshly:
"Get it out of my eyes dumbell!" And with that, wrenched it out of my hands turning it off at the same time. Then, the door to the balcony slammed shut. Standing perfectly still, I looked toward "J" and she back at me, our eyes wide trying to figure out how? The wind couldn't have done that, could it?
They say there is a fine line between a genius and an idiot. My sister "J" was brilliant at times but I quickly deduced that her decision to hang out on the balcony with only one exit clearly put her on the complete and absolute idiot side of the equation. Of course, there was still the bedroom window, except it would be quite a drop should we need to escape that way.
My mind told me it couldn't have been a ghost. But I was the first to move to the door because we, in our suddenly clouded state of mind, were decidedly screwed in this situation should it be anything worse. We could not drop from the balcony, the incline of the hill it was built on proved to be too steep and the small black water lake was a little too close for comfort. Taking the lead I whispered:
"C'mon "J" There's nowhere else to go." Meekly, she nodded.
Slowly, I twisted the knob, and suddenly "J" was right next to me as if in a protective state. Or she just wanted to get back into the room first. She stood at the opened end of the door. It creaked slightly. We expected it to do as it had done when "J" opened the door before. But this time, instead of drawing it out long and slow, she swung it open so quickly, it hit the side of the wall with a slight thud.
After quickly surveying the threshold and the surrounding area, we both sighed in relief. There was nothing there. Emboldened, "J" grabbed my left wrist, and with her right, pulled the door completely closed. She always had to do everything first. We were back inside again. Some moments later, our eyes having accustomed to the dark, she again got up the nerve to move at first towards the stairs and then towards another door on the far end of the mezzanine.
"C'mon", she ordered. Rolling my eyes in vague protest as if: make up your mind I nonetheless followed.
Taking a sharp left, we marched right up to the door closed firmly against our entrance. Hurriedly, yet stealthily, she opened the massive oak door and then entered the room. It seemed darker and more ominous than the living room outside. It was the Master Bedroom. We both almost lost our nerve and backed out, as the gloom seemed to envelop us in a strangely thick murk. It was suddenly harder to breathe as if something or someone had painted the walls with mildew that tainted the air.
Directly to the left was the walk-in closet our aunt told "J" about. It housed hundreds of very old dolls. It was the real reason my sister wanted to come here in the first place and was determined to stay, despite the growing warnings to get out. "J" however, was still not so easily convinced.
Entering the closet while holding the flashlight, "J" turned it back on again and started scanning past the old hung clothes and onto the dolls above that were in a jumble on the shelves stacked to the ceiling. Our aunt had been there previously and had gone through them. It was then that we heard something in the direction of the stairs again. "J" turned off the flashlight waiting.
After some moments of hearing nothing further, she shoved the flashlight into my hands and instructed me to shine the light on the dolls so she could go through them. The moment the flashlight was in my hand, we heard a sudden thud somewhere in front of us. Turning the light back on, swinging it wildly in search of the source of the noise, and seeing nothing, "J" said matter of factly:
"It was the wind."
I swear, she must have thought I was the most brainless younger sister on the freaking planet to have tried to convince me and herself that the wind had suddenly materialized in the closet and caused the noise. What she didn't know, was that I had seen a doll earlier when she was scanning the closet, that had been hanging from the shelf and was now lying on the floor. It had been hanging by a thread of its hair and had decided at the most inopportune moment to fall. Either that or... Why it, or whatever it was, chose for it to fall at exactly that moment was anyone's guess. When I told her 'whatever', she just glared.
After all, being the older sister, she was supposed to be the one to make that discovery, not me. But then, I was the one that read a lot of Sherlock Holmes so I fancied myself to be the detective who would notice those finer things during an adventure and she, like the pompous Inspector Lestrade, would usually characteristically miss them.
Satisfied at the cause, I slowly scanned the vast collection of dolls with their many shades of colored glass eyes staring eerily back at us. One, in particular with a single sapphire blue eye, caught my attention. Long auburn hair covered it, making it seem almost alive. Some of the older dolls were known to have actual human hair. I wondered if any had actual human skin. I would have sworn it blinked at me.
Holding the flashlight while keeping an eye out "J" used the single-step step ladder and began searching the collection of dolls. Hearing the noise, I shook my head, my eyes blinking incredulously in disbelief because here we were again, blocked from escape; one way in, one way out. Again, I was distracted by the growing apprehension I felt standing in this claustrophobic place while seriously trying to decide if I was going to stay with her or run like hell out of there. The answer would have come swiftly enough if "J" hadn't grabbed my arm again.
At the same time, she grabbed me, she grabbed the doll that she'd all along come to get. I suspected then that I was just someone she needed for backup. That was when we both again heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs moving up to where we were. Slow and methodical, stopping on each riser as if whoever or whatever was intently listening between the steps.
We made not a sound, we were frozen in fear. I silently shut off the flashlight. The small amount of light that spilled in through the open door was coming through the waning sunlight of the window. What little light that could seep through, afforded us just enough to look out through the open door.
"J" and I suddenly got the same idea at the same moment. Moving swiftly, yet silently, she reached out with trembling outstretched fingers and closed the closet door. Both now of the same volition and in perfect unison moved back deeper into the inkiness of the walk-in closet until our backs touched the wall.
All the dolls in there with us made it even spookier. I felt like a cat, in the position of knowing there was only one way out. "J" took my right hand in hers and held it tightly as if holding on for dear life. Either that or she knew that if anything happened to me, Mother would probably kill her. I could feel the already almost unendurable tension building. The waiting turned out to be both terrifying and exhilarating.
The footsteps moved from the stairs to the floor and were now moving slowly in our direction, still stopping occasionally as if listening for the slightest sound. The only other sound I heard was my own ragged breathing. Reflexively, I put my hand across my mouth and breathed through my nose. After a few moments, I noticed that it helped to calm me down.
"J" took notice and did the same thing. Still, my heart thundered in my chest. I could feel each beat move my body. We were rooted to the spot but mostly hidden in the darkness at the very back of the closet as the steps moved closer nearly unhinging our minds in terror and anticipation.
Barely resisting the fight or flight reflex, we knew we must remain still and quiet, becoming like the dolls themselves. Time disappeared completely as our breathing slowed and our thoughts languished in an almost torpid state of indifference and fear until we both heard the doorknob of the closet starting to turn.
Involuntarily I gasped, and it was then that the door was flung open so violently, it banged against the opposite wall and very nearly closed in on itself. Then it was suddenly and even more violently flung open again.
A scream caught in my throat leaving me speechless. "J" threw up her hands to cover her eyes and stifle her own but it was clear, that whatever it was, knew we were in the closet and was only yet, toying with us. We stood there in near complete darkness, frozen in place, and hypnotically watched the door after it banged off the wall for the second time, almost close, and then slowly open again to reveal... nothing. There was nothing there. No gut-wrenching, mind-numbing horror. No bowel loosening half decomposed papa zombie freshly arisen from the grave coughing out a: "Honey, I'm home." Not even some urban legend cryptid proving once and for all that they really do exist just before they eviscerate and then decapitate you. Nothing.
"J" her prize doll in hand, (she got what she came for) decided that it was time to finally get herself the "hell" out of there. She bolted. At first, I was still cautious expecting at any minute that we would come face to face with some other-worldly terror, like in the movies, but there was, thank God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, Muhammad, Buddha, Yahweh or any other God, Godesses or Gods you can think of, or if you're an atheist: the void, nothing there.
Feeling emboldened, and now free from "J"s vice-like grip on my wrist, her hand drenched in sweat, we ran for the steps. I, however, being much more agile, chose a shorter route. I turned a sharp left and leaped from the mezzanine, just missing an overstuffed chair, and landed with a solid thud, on the hardwood floor like a thoroughbred finishing first place at the breeder's cup steeple chase tournament in Foxfield, MD.
Not only had I the nerve to take the shorter way, but I was much faster than "J" ever was. I grabbed the doorknob, turned it and swung the door open in one smooth movement and hit the ground running before even hearing "J" behind me running down the steps yelling:
"Cat, slow down!" Yeah right, I told myself, as I sped across the yard jumping over and zig-zagging around fallen branches, dead Privett Hedges, and broken picket fencing. Hell, I'd already reached the road and was doing my victory lap when "J" was just exiting the front porch steps.
As I was bent over catching my breath, she finally arrived bitching about how I'd abandoned her when she knew she was the one that left me. Projecting again. It was then that the front door to the house suddenly slammed violently shut with a bang like a rifle shot as though saying:
"And stay out!"
"J" finally shutting the hell up, turned and ran as I'd never seen her run before, (and yeah, I did say the word "hell" out loud) not even looking back as we peeled up the road to home. I easily kept pace loping along like a strong steady quarter horse and she, like some deranged lunatic having escaped with her doll, the local sanitarium. No offense to any of the insane that happen to be on the loose out there in the world.
It was almost dark when we got out of there. We both knew we had tarried too long but the flashlight gave us some comfort and helped to calm our frazzled nerves. Once we'd calmed down, we discussed seriously what had happened and I found myself shivering more than once, even though the heat from the day was still emanating off the concrete on Chicot Road.
A black friend came along in a pickup, with his dad, listening to Al Green on an 8-track. I sang along while they gave us a ride the rest of the way. We were pretty close friends. Elijah jumped in the back with us and we told him all about our adventure in the House on Chico Road. He ended up staying the night on the living room couch, and we, in our beds at the back of the trailer.
"J" didn't seem to be as scared now that she had her prize doll. I, on the other hand, had my Shilo who was, my best friend, there to meet me. As we talked, we came to the same conclusion that whatever was in the house was of the paranormal kind; our not having seen anyone, save the mice when we entered. And as far as I knew at my young age, mice didn't turn doorknobs or slam doors with the strength of a Sasquatch.
Could it have been the husband who'd died before that still haunted the old house? And was the invitation we received to enter the house and then enter the closet and the falling doll, the widow who also, after death, took residence there? It took some time for me to reason that out before the sound of that last slam finally stopped echoing in my skull.
Still, I could not understand how "J" could have selfishly bolted for the door leaving me there alone, although, in hindsight, I was glad she had. I guess it was the only thing she could do when overcome with blind fear, calculating that at least one of us (her, she hoped) might get out of there alive. I guess our mother threatening to kill her if anything happened to me, was a risk she was willing to take. Fortunately for both of us, (I never told) there wasn't more to it than that. Later on, warm and cozy in bed, my Shilo curled up in the crux of my arm, it revealed something to me (and probably to her as well) that when it came right down to it, it wasn't the "we" that mattered to her nearly as much as the "me." We weren't nearly as close after that.
I prayed to Christ and thanked him for helping me and "J" get out of there in our time of need and for Elijah and his father being there to help get us home before the storm hit.
Shilo purred as I prayed to never be tempted to go into that house ever again for any reason, especially if it was just for some silly adventure or because "J" wanted an old doll and was willing to sacrifice one of us to get it. If the risk of life and limb somehow wasn't enough to keep us out, I thought, then an overly protective fucking house ghost sure as hell ought to be.
submitted by KillerOrangeCat to killerorangecat [link] [comments]

2023.05.24 02:56 anothersaber Day 1 of Incorporal Requests

I’ve played a handful of incorporeal dungeons now, and overall I like the affix. It’s not too challenging but does require some extra skill especially at the high intensity moments incorporeal loves to spawn at. It however does feel like an unfinished affix to me. So here’s my wishlist:
What do you all think?
submitted by anothersaber to wow [link] [comments]

2023.05.23 17:32 dauntaun A guide to crafting weapons for physical builds

A guide to crafting weapons for physical builds

Some of the strongest weapons can be made with crafting, and it has never been more viable than in season 7! Low-level affixes no longer spawn on high lvl items, and there is a new powerful amplify damage suffix that rolls on weapons.
But have you ever asked yourself which bases you should be keeping for crafting? Do you wonder how big the damage difference between a "good" and "bad" base is? This guide aims to give you a general sense of useful bases and the knowledge to make your own informed decisions that fits your build, playstyle and particular goals.

Affixes

Crafted weapons roll with a set of pre-determined affixes depending on the recipe, and up to 4 random affixes. These four affixes may be either prefixes, or suffixes, but with a maximum of 3 prefixes/suffixes (same as rares). In addition, some weapons can spawn with automods and staffmods such as +to specific skills on class weapons, or +% damage against undead on blunt weapons, these do not take up affix slots and will still roll with 4 random affixes.
These next two prefixes is what makes rare and crafted weapons so strong, both can roll simultaneously:
The best suffixes depend on the build, but will commonly include a combination of the following:
All the possible affixes can be found here: Item Affixes - Project Diablo 2
Once you have a good roll, the next step is to corrupt and use a puzzlepiece. Typically it is better to puzzlepiece before you corrupt, since the corruption affix (up to 120% ED) outpeforms the extra 2 potential sockets (up to 90% ED), although if your build depends on IAS maximum sockets may be preferable.

Highest possible rolls

Here is a list of the theoretical maximum amount of ED that crafted weapons can have with corruptions and Ohm runes. Keep in mind that the best possible damage may more often be achieved with ED/+dmg jewels and you will usually have to sacrifice one socket for a Zod rune unless your build does not deplete durability, or if the weapon rolls the self-repair suffix
Melee Blood/Hitpower crafts:
One-handed (Visceral): 840% ED
One-handed (Cruel): 740% ED
Two-handed (Cruel): 830% ED
Throwing Blood/Hitpower crafts:
Throwing (Visceral): 750% ED
Throwing (Cruel): 650% ED
Ranged Safety crafts:
Bows/crossbows: 1040% ED

Weapon parameters

Here are the most common things to consider when choosing a base. All values were obtained from:
Item Bases - Project Diablo 2
There are other parameters that may be more important to you. Some prioritize re-sell value, or even personal aestethics over raw performance.

Ranking

I will rank what I consider the top bases in each category. I can't consider every physical build there is, but this should work well for the common builds (zeal, charge, sacrifice, WW, frenzy, leap, double throw, fury, maul, WWsin, bowazon). Only the elite version of the weapon base is listed, but the normal/exceptional are equivalent as they can be upgraded after crafting.
The first number in parenthesis represents the % damage relative to highest in that category, the second number is my personal ranking for general usability. The full list of all weapons and their parameters can be found here:
View spreadsheet
Download spreadsheet

One-handed bases

Devil Star (90 / #1): If it rolls the visceral affix this is the strongest one-hander. Outperforms the mallet in damage, and speed at 10 WSM.
Legendary mallet (100 / #2): Has the highest base damage, but cannot roll visceral. It is also slow (20 WSM) which makes it problematic for IAS builds.
Reinforced Mace (88 / #3): Good damage, visceral affix and even faster at 0 WSM. Keep it for a zealer.
Scourge (82 / #4): Terrible min damage but is useful because of its -10 WSM and can roll visceral. Consider this for a zealer, or if you want to see crazy damage ranges as it has the highest max damage of any one-hander.
Tyrant Club (85 / #5): Similar to the mace, it can roll visceral and is 0 WSM.
Tomahawk (86 / #6), Berserker Axe (86 / #7). Decent damage and 0 WSM. Tomahawk is preferable due to the higher min damage.
Seraph Rod (89 / #8), Ettin Axe (89 / #9), Small Crescent (88 / #10): Decent damages but do not excel anywhere in particular. All are 10 WSM. Seraph rod is preferable due to the higher min damage, although scepters are less reliable to craft since they can roll some useless affixes such as +FCR, +mana and +light radius.
Special considerations: These weapons have niche uses:
Phase Blade (60): Lowest damage of any one-hander, but also the fastest at -30 WSM. The elite base is indestructible so it cannot roll ethereal, but the normal/exceptional version can, and then be upgraded to become indestructible for free!
Mithril Point (75), Legend Spike (72): Knives can roll visceral and have a 20% deadly strike automod. Can be potentially useful for assassins since they have a mastery passive for it, or for paladins since they rely on crit from gear. Another downside is that knives have less range.

Barbarian swords

Barbarians have the special ability to one-hand two-handed swords. These bases don't have the greatest damage, but they come with several benefits that you may want to consider:
Colossus Sword (87 / #1): Simply because it has the best damage by a decent margin. Up to 5 sockets and 10 WSM. Decent two-handed base.
Colossus Blade (81 / #2), Balrog Blade (81 / #3): Colossus can roll up to 6 sockets and has better min damage. Balrog is marginally faster (5 vs 0 WSM) and can only roll 4 sockets. There are faster bases but the damage dropoff is steep after this point.

Assassin claws

War Fist (96 / #1): The best WWsin base. Probably the strongest bladesin base as well since claws can roll +skills staffmods.
Scissors Suwayyah (90 / #2), Suwayyah (90 / #3). These are interchangeable in average, and min damage. Although worse than the war fist, class bases are significantly rarer so you may want to craft with these if you find them ethereal.

Two-handed bases

Many barbarian and paladin builds don't care about speed, but druids certainly do. Wolf/Bear form heavily depends on weapon IAS, and gain a speed bonus from using hammers/axes/polearms. Barbarians are faster with swords, and everyone is slower with spears. It is possible to roll up to 180% IAS (120% from sockets and 40% from the suffix) which allows you to hit the fastest breakpoints even with a thunder maul. But it would require an ungodly amount of luck (you need to hit all four affixes, and the corruption), more often you will have to compromise between speed and damage if you are crafting with the slower bases.
Ogre maul (86 / #1). What it lacks in average damage, it makes up in range, min damage (over twice as high as the pike/tmaul) and versatility for druids.
War Pike (99 / #2). Big damage and range, but not suitable for any build that requires IAS as it belongs to the spear weapon class.
Thunder Maul (100 / #3). Biggest damage, but lower range. Can be used by druids, although its slower than the ogre maul (20 vs 10 WSM).
Glorious Axe (86 / #4), Decapitator (87 / #5). Versatile bases, but are outperformed by the ogre maul. Glorious axe can get 6 sockets while decapitator is limited to 5.
Great Poleaxe (82 / #6). An option for builds that want IAS (except barbarians) as its 0 WSM (druids, paladins and A2 mercs). Has max range and sockets. There are faster bases, but the penalty in damage is steep after this point.

Throwing bases

Ghost Glaive (100 / #1): Strongest and slowest base. 20 WSM.
Balrog Spear (94 / #2): Highest min damage, and the only other base I would consider for general purpose. 10 WSM.
Double throw builds will typically use a lacerator for the amplify proc which is a -10 WSM base. You may want to consider these next two faster bases for an eventual replacement:
Stygian Pilum (89 / #3): 0 WSM
Winged Harpoon (81 / #4): -10 WSM
Honorable mention:
Flying Axe (75 / #5). These are sometimes used because throwing axes can roll visceral. Even then, it barely keeps up with the better bases, has a horrible min damage and does not offer any additional speed at 10 WSM.

Ranged bases

It would not be fair to directly compare crossbows and bows as they tailor to different playstyles. Bows are typically preferred because they can reach a higher speed breakpoint but crossbows can be competitive as well.
Crossbows:
Colossus Crossbow: The only crossbow base I would consider for crafting. The normal/exceptional versions can be shopped from vendors. Offers 65% higher raw damage compared to the GMB, has very high min damage and comes with a -10% physical pierce automod.
Bows:
Grand Matron Bow (100 / #1): The best amazon base. Can roll up to +3 bow skills as an automod for an additional small damage bonus. Cannot be shopped so you will have to hoard these. Can only roll 5 sockets.
Crusader bow (91 / #2) / Hydra bow (91 / #3): Identical average damages, sockets and speed but the Crusader has higher min damage and require less strength to use. Hydra bow is commonly used as the normal/exceptional version can be shopped from vendors.
Shadow bow (87 / #4): If you prefer a faster base. 0 WSM and 6 sockets.
Matriarchal bow (78 / #5): An even faster base. -10 WSM and 5 sockets.
submitted by dauntaun to ProjectDiablo2 [link] [comments]

2023.05.18 14:44 KeystoneGuru Release v6.5.4 (2023/05/18) - Fixed SimulationCraft string generation

https://keystone.guru/release/v6.5.4
General changes: * [\#1740](https://github.com/Wotuu/keystone.guru/issues/1740) Sped up the loading time of route lists if you have a lot of views for your routes. * [\#1722](https://github.com/Wotuu/keystone.guru/issues/1722) Added support for enemies not being full health (Watcher Irideus, for example). SimulationCraft changes: * [\#1741](https://github.com/Wotuu/keystone.guru/issues/1741) Fixed "the affix field is required" when attempting to generate SimulationCraft strings for non-Thundering routes.
submitted by KeystoneGuru to KeystoneGuru [link] [comments]

2023.05.12 21:47 VeryUnluckyDice Playing By Ear - Ch9 (NoP Fanfic)

First / Prev / Next
-
Restored Written Journal Excerpt: Zem, Venlil Librarian White Hill University
Date: UNKNOWN; TEXT DAMAGED
This is madness. Absolute madness.
Federation troops have been in and out of the building all day, carting away each and every book off the shelves. They claimed that everything would be returned once the contents were ‘corrected’.
Censorship. That's the word they've neglected to use and that's exactly what this is.
Seems I've proven myself to be a coward, though. All the other library staff tried to bar them from these actions. I watched from afar as they were detained for their resistance, shoved into vehicles, and driven off to who knows where.
Direct opposition was getting us nowhere. No one has the means to stand up to these bastards. Someone has to stay behind and protect what they can.
I've rather selfishly decided that it should be me.
The other staff called me a traitor as they were whisked away but I see the field we’re grazing on clear as day.
I don't even have to lie. I just have to mislead them. If I'm lucky, I can save some of our history.
There's more in this library than just books.
But, they'll never find that out. I'll make sure of it.
-
Memory transcription subject: Brad Silmore, Human Field Hand
Date [standardized human time]: September 5, 2136
The thunder rolled outside as I reclined in my chair, hands stretched out to just barely reach my keyboard as I opened the exchange program software. It has been raining since lunchtime and, as such, I’d actually managed to get home at a decent time. Hard to do any work outdoors when it’s raining cats and-
Man, we really gotta come up with some alternatives for our expressions…
As I sent a message to Mezil (and/or Kila) notifying them that I was available, I thought back to the notes I’d sent the previous day. In all honesty, they’d been sparse and disorganized. I didn’t really have any experience teaching musical history or theory so I feared I hadn’t really given him enough information. I hoped that Mezil wasn’t disappointed with my findings.
The indicator for a video call appeared on the screen and I leaned forward as I accepted it. I was met with the tan fur of Kila. She jumped slightly as she caught sight of me but quickly composed herself, ears laying low.
“S-sorry,” she stammered. “I should be used to the eyes but I guess I’m still slow on the uptake.”
“It’s fine,” I assured. “I should probably not be staring right into the camera. This is still new for everyone.”
She sighed, body slumping in what I could only read as disappointment in herself.
“Your eye placement isn’t your fault, though. These stupid instincts piss me off. My sister says that everyone gets over it eventually but I just want it to be done with, ya know? Like, I know you’re not a threat but still a part of me just wants to bolt.”
“We’ll work through it. You’ve already proven yourself to be very receptive.”
Her ears perked up at that.
“Thanks, Brad. Mezil didn’t lie when he said you were supportive.”
I smiled, careful not to show teeth. Though, I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded if I did.
“So,” I began. “Seems you beat Mezil to the comms. Got any interesting news?”
“Not news, exactly,” Kila answered. “Just wanted to ask a few questions. I won’t keep you long unless your answers just take forever.”
I chuckled at her sarcasm and shrugged.
“I dunno. I can be pretty talkative. What’s on your mind?”
“First of all, what instruments do you play? You’re a musician, right?”
It was my turn to feel disappointed in myself.
“Well, if I’m being honest, there’s only really one instrument I could say that I can play confidently. Though, I’m trying to change that. See, I’ve been really cracking down on learning the guitar recently.”
“Guitar?”
“Here, let me show you.”
I rolled my chair across the room where my Les Paul style guitar sat leaning into its stand. It certainly wasn’t a Gibson but it got the job done. It was an off-white color with gold-colored knobs and pickups. These days, even a cheap guitar could sound decent and this was a testament to that.
Picking it up from its place, I rolled back over to my desk.
“This,” I picked the guitar up for the camera to see. “Is a guitar. Specifically, an electric guitar. It’s usually connected to an amp stack. But, you can just as well play it without.”
Kila leaned in to take a closer look.
“Wow, it looks kind of similar to the plehr that I used to play.”
“Plehr?”
“It’s a stringed instrument like that one. Except, the strings reach past the body, all the way down to a point that balances on the floor. And, the body is fully circular. What’s with the metal strips along the neck?”
“Those are frets. They’re set at each distinguished tone so it’s easier to play the correct pitch. Gives you a greater corresponding range. I take it the plehr isn’t fretted?”
She shook her head in an attempt to emulate human body language. It was kinda funny watching Venlil attempt the motions. Seemed they always did things with just a bit too much exaggeration.
“The plehr doesn’t have frets,” she answered. “Since Venlil music kind of goes outside established tones, having frets would make it harder to hit the notes between. At least, I think that’s the reasoning. You’ll have to check with Mezil on that.”
“Then, I suppose you probably don’t play very complex chords with it, do you? Part of the reason for frets is to make it easier to play several notes simultaneously without needing to compromise any tone when your fingers get grouped tightly together.”
“There are some pretty tricky chords. But, yeah, most plehr chords need to be spaced apart. Closely-clawed chords are hard to pull off.”
Satisfied with my hypothesis proving true, I moved the strap over my head and positioned my hands along the fretboard. Slowly, I strummed a few chords.
Emin, A, D, C, Emin…
The Chain. Can’t go wrong with Fleetwood Mac.*
“Well, I’m not all that good at it. I really don’t feel all that mechanically comfortable with it yet. But, I think I’m making progress.”
“It sounds good!” Kila assured me. “Sounds different from a plehr but still pretty close to it. I bet a Venlil audience would like that sound. What are the strings made out of?”
“Metal. Steel or nickel, typically.”
“Plehr strings are made of plant fibers. That’s probably part of the reason they sound different. That, and the body shape. What’s up with the knobs at the top of the neck?”
I turned the guitar to position the knobs towards the camera.
“They’re for tuning. I can tighten or loosen them to get the pitch I want.”
“I should have figured as much. The plehr strings are tuned where they end at the bottom of the instrument. Honestly, it’s probably easier to tune with the knobs. I swear, sometimes Venlil design is just so impractical. But, it’s traditional so what are you gonna do?”
“Maybe you could start making them with tuning knobs. It’s an open market.”
She laughed at first but then turned her head in contemplation. I wondered if I’d accidentally created a future business tycoon. After a moment, she turned her eye back towards me.
“What else you got besides the guitar?”
“Well, there’s the keyboard piano. But, it might be a little tougher getting it in the shot. It’s more…stationary.”
I glanced over at the instrument across the room. So far, I’d been using my computer webcam but it was fixed to the top of my monitor. I could maybe turn it but it’d still be a tad distant to get any real detail. The piano was set in a thick stand that would be a pain to move.
Eh, chair’s too comfortable.
I grabbed my phone and searched for the same model, turning the device to show Kila the images.
“Looks about like this,” I explained. “Each key corresponds to a note. As far as the basics go, I’d say it’s fairly easy to play. But, it’s incredibly difficult to master. Professional pianists are among some of the most technically sound musicians there are. The piano is used a lot for songwriting since you can get a large range of notes out of it simultaneously. The electric piano I have is more compact compared to the real deal. In an actual piano, each key corresponds to a small hammer that flicks to strike a string. Full-size pianos are pretty massive.”
Kila flicked her ears in acknowledgement.
“Wasn’t there a piano in the song you played for us last time?”
“Now that you mention it, there was a piano. I guess you know what it sounds like already then. That’s good since I’m not really the best pianist myself.”
“So, what’s the one instrument you said you’re comfortable with?”
I slid the guitar strap back from over my head, laying it in my lap.
“That would be the trombone. One moment, I’ll grab it.”
I rolled back over to the guitar stand, placing the instrument back where it belonged before turning to the old trombone case. Laying it on its side, I flicked up the latches and opened it wide. Inside, the instrument rested in a couple of pieces. I removed the slide and bell, screwing them together in the middle. Finally, I affixed the mouthpiece to the opening in the slide.
I slid my chair back over to the PC, fully constructed trombone in hand.
“This is the trombone,” I explained as I held it up to the camera, turning it around to show every angle. “It's part of a category of instruments known as brass instruments. This is, naturally, because they are traditionally made of brass. But, the composition varies.”
I placed my lips against the mouthpiece, setting my embouchure before creating the buzz needed to vibrate the air through the instrument.
As cleanly as I could manage, I worked my way up a Bb major scale, keeping everything as clear as possible to give a good example of tone. Then, I started playing the melody of Naima. Kila seemed to recognize the piece as her ears perked up in attention.
She looked vaguely perplexed by the sound as well as her ears then twitched and her head turned to a slight angle. Seemed as though it was an unfamiliar timbre to her ears.
“Those low tones almost sound like some sort of growl. But, they're much smoother. It looks like one long sliding pipe. Can you access any pitch with it?”
“Pretty much, within reason.”
I primed myself to play once again, this time tightening my lips further to reach a higher pitch range. Starting in the seventh position, I slowly slid upwards, making a smooth glissando into first position.
“So,” Kila continued. “You could play traditional Venlil music with this?”
“I suppose you could,” I replied. “But, it'd take some very precise movements. I'm honestly impressed by the gliding concept regardless. Venlil musicians must spend a lot of time honing their craft.”
Kila seemed almost in a daze looking at the instrument. She muttered quietly to herself.
“It's perfect. The design seems simple enough…”
“Kila?”
She snapped out of her trance and turned an eye back to me.
“S-sorry. I was wondering if maybe I could use our school shop to make a Human instrument. We have all kinds of materials. Thought it might be cool to bring a proper example onto Venlil Prime. Mezil would be ecstatic.”
I considered the notion for a moment. I didn't actually have any know-how on how to make a trombone. That was outside of my area of expertise. Could it even be done with her resources?
“I like the idea, Kila, but I don't really know anything about trombone creation. Maybe I could find some documentation but the average human doesn't have the means to create one so it's hardly common knowledge.”
“Some measurements would be a good start. Maybe we could take some measurements of yours?”
“Now, hold on. There's more things to consider if we’re tailoring it to a Venlil. There will need to be differences from the standard build model.”
At this point I was wracking my brain to ponder the feasibility. There would be a number of things to watch out for. Mainly, the differences in anatomy between Venlil and Humans.
“Kila, I'm not actually sure a Venlil could play a trombone. Uh, no offense but I think there may be an anatomical issue.”
I detached the mouthpiece from the instrument and held it up to the camera.
“For a human, our lips go somewhat inside this mouthpiece. Then we vibrate the air by buzzing our lips like this.”
I made the form as though I were playing and unceremoniously sprayed spittle out in front of me while demonstrating.
“That's…kinda gross,” Kila responded with a twinge of disgust in her voice.
“Yep! And that's what the valve at the bottom of the slide is for. Gotta remove the spit somehow.”
Kila shuddered at my explanation.
“So, you're telling me,” she started after composing herself. “A Venlil can't play it because we don't have the same flabby lips?”
“That description sounds weird but it's very likely. See, the way we determine the harmonic is by changing the muscles around our mouths. We call them our embouchure. If the player can't make that specific motion, there's no way they'd be able to vibrate the instrument. At least, not on their own. You'd have to find a way to supplement the human embouchure in a way that a Venlil could control with precision. I'm not even sure that it's possible.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty daunting challenge compared to constructing the instrument itself.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Another thing to think about is how the planetary differences might factor in. I'm not sure about the science but you may want to see how things like gravity or air-density might affect things. Also, you may want to change the measurements to accommodate for the way you typically tune your instruments. It can be a matter of convenience.”
Kila seemed to be getting overwhelmed by the number of potential hurdles. I decided I'd better throw her a bone.
“But, uh, there is some good news. This valve here,” I motioned to the trigger valve near the intersection of the two pieces. “Could probably be left out entirely along with this second length of pipe around the bell. This part is pretty much optional. Just adds ease of access to the further positions of the slide. Most folks learn on a trombone without this attachment.”
She flicked her ears in acknowledgement and began to type out a few notes, appearing thankful for the meager respite among my laundry list of obstacles to overcome. Realistically, it would be incredible if she could put a Venlil-friendly trombone together by herself. It would be no small feat.
“I can run some simulations to work through some of these issues,” she concluded, finishing up the last of her notes. “Otherwise, it’ll probably just be trial and error.”
“If I might ask, why are you so concerned with making a human instrument? I’m sure they’ll make their way to Venlil Prime naturally in time. What’s the rush? You’re not even a music student like Mezil. Not to say that you don’t have the right to do what you want with your free time. It just seems a little odd.”
“Well…uh…”
She hesitated, seemingly trying to find the right words. I braced myself for whatever tough Humanity-related question she might throw at me.
“Brad,” she finally spoke purposefully, the translator indicating an air of seriousness. “How…how does Mezil normally talk about me?”
…What kind of question is that?
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Seems like he respects you a whole lot. He respects your opinions, your optimism, and I guess he respects how well you can get along with others. Maybe I’m misreading him, though. It’s only been a few days…er…paws. Haven't really gathered much more than that.”
“Respect, huh? What about…how does he feel about me? Like…being around me? You said he…admired me?”
Wait…is she…?
“You want to know if he likes you? Like…likes you likes you?”
The tips of her ears turned orange with what I assumed to be the Venlil equivalent of a blush.
“I-I mean…Stars…I DON’T KNOW!”
Her sudden increase in volume caught me off guard and I reeled back in my seat. Kila suddenly looked like a mess, gripping the fur around her face and shutting her eyes tightly.
What is it with me and making Venlil have emotional outbursts? I might not be a healthy influence. Or, maybe they're all just this expressive?
“Hey, hey! Relax, Kila!” I half-shouted, trying to stop her spiraling. “It’s not that big of a deal! Just cool down for a moment!”
She slowed her breathing and slowly released her grip on her fur. The orange glow was still prominent along the extremities of her face.
“S-sorry,” she apologized. “I just…I’ve never really been in that kind of relationship before. I might be outgoing but I’m more of a ‘cheer people on from the side’ type of person when it comes to r-romance. It’s hard to figure out my feelings. I didn’t even really think of Mezil this way until recently. But, seeing him be so courageous…I didn’t know he had that side of him. And…maybe I kind of like him that way? Stars, I’m sorry, Brad! You just only met both of us. I shouldn’t be shoveling all this onto you.”
I chuckled to myself.
Oh, these two are both disasters in their own rights. I think I can relate to this plight. Definitely had my fair share of awkward moments in my life.
“Alright, Kila. Listen to me and trust me when I say this. Mezil thinks the world of you as far as I can gather. If you want to try and make things ‘serious’ with him, you should really take it less seriously.”
Her apologetic look turned to confusion. Then, to mild irritation.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?”
I lowered my eyelids in a look of smugness, though I wasn’t sure she picked up on the body language.
“It means, Kila, that just because you two might go on a couple dates, it doesn’t mean you’re committing to anything more than that. Even if it doesn’t work out, it’s clear you two enjoy each others’ company enough to get over any weirdness after the fact. And, if it does work out, then you’ll be glad you didn’t have any regrets.”
Her eyes went wide with what I assumed was hope or maybe epiphany.
“You really think so?”
“Yes, I do. Actually, it reminds me of a song I used to hear growing up. It’s a style of music that a lot of people aren’t fond of but it’s pretty prevalent where I live so it’s kind of a part of my life regardless.”
I placed my trombone down on the floor and wheeled back over to grab my guitar. Moving back to the desk, I placed my fingers along the fretboard and started strumming away, vocals following shortly after.
You might fall down on your face
Roll the dice and have some faith
Now I'm falling in love as she's walking away
And my heart won't tell my mind to tell my mouth what it should say
May have lost this battle, live to fight another day
Now I'm falling in love as she's walking away
As I let the last chord hang, a moment passed before Kila spoke up.
“You have a nice voice but what do battles have to do with dating?”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
“Is it common for Human expressions to be about violence?”
“Honestly, yeah.”
“I swear you people are a bundle of contradictions.”
“We’re well aware. But, that’s coming from a member of the ‘all predators are vicious, remorseless killers’ society.”
“Point taken. But, I’m still not sure that I get the song.”
I shook my head in exasperation.
“The point is, you shouldn’t be so worried about what might happen that you let inaction turn into regret. If you want to ask Mezil out, just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“It ruins our friendship forever.”
“First of all, that’s unrealistic. Secondly, you know that was a rhetorical question. Come on. It’ll all be fine. He really does think you're great.”
She sighed, resigned to my unyielding words of motivation.
“Okay. You’re right. But, I’d still like to make the moment special.”
“I take it you want to give him a human instrument as a gift first?”
“Yep.”
I stroked my beard for a moment. Not that I really had much of a beard to stroke. It always got scraggly when I let it get too long. Never been one to add any product.
“Alright, miss engineer. You’ve got my support. I’ll see what I can find out about trombone construction. If you want it to be a surprise, though, we’ll need to discuss it over video. Otherwise, he’ll see the information in the chat logs.”
“Thanks, Brad! I owe you!”
“Don’t mention it. Honestly, I’m surprised we’ve had this call go uninterrupted for so long. Wonder what Mezil’s doing right now. Figured he’d have called me himself by this point.”
“Not sure. I haven’t heard from him since the last paw, actually.”
“Hope he’s not too bogged down with schoolwork. That boy doesn't need anymore things to worry about.”
-
Memory transcription subject: Mezil, Venlil Music Student (First Year) White Hill University
Date [standardized human time]: September 5, 2136
Seriously, isn’t there fucking ANYTHING?
I’d found myself back in the library once more against my better judgment. The discovery I’d recently made was bothering me too much. Why was there such a gap in pre-Federation records? Certainly, there had to be some reasoning for them to purge so much knowledge. But, all I could find was accounts of the ‘blessings of Federation technology being bestowed upon us’ and likewise justification. As if that’s any excuse for them to tear pages out of our ancient textbooks!
Aebl had ambled over to my desk, interested in my plight. I imagined it felt validating for someone to be as frustrated by Federation overstepping as she was.
“I’ve checked these books more times than I can count, child. You won’t find any answers.”
“There’s a lot of books. Maybe you missed something.”
“Maybe I did. But, I can assure you that they did not.”
I snapped the book in my hands shut, turning my eye to her, sure that my exhaustion was written across my face. She was right, of course. And, I didn’t have the time to waste here, buried in a pile of books. My urgency about my grades seemed to have evaporated more by each paw as I found myself consumed by broader questions than I had ever expected to face.
If I don’t get my grades up, I’ll lose access to this library anyway. It’s for students only.
“You’re right,” I finally conceded. “I just wish that you weren’t. How much knowledge was lost? Why was it lost? I could forgive it if there was only a valid reason…”
I leaned my head back and turned my eye to the darkened ceiling. Above me, the pinpricks of light stabbed through the building, outlining a circling pattern of makeshift stars.
“That as it may be,” Aebl responded. “You won’t find your answers in those books. I assure you, each and every one was edited meticulously. Seems only select works were allowed to remain.”
Won’t find answers in the books…
I focused on the host of stars above. Lines connected some of the points together but, surprisingly, I couldn’t make out any known constellations. The pattern didn’t exactly seem natural. It curved and bent along with the stone bricks that spiraled up to a meeting point in the center of the dome. Each brick was nearly square, having only slightly unequal sides. In fact, with the placements of the small holes in and around the brick lines, they almost looked like…
Wait…
“Fucking shit!”
I shot up in my seat, spooking Aebl as she grabbed the desk to steady herself.
“Damn it, kid, you’re going to give me a heart attack! And watch that tongue!”
“Sorry! But…!”
I rifled through my bag looking for a piece of scratch paper and a pen. Quickly, I set them down on the table and started drawing out boxes, turning my head sideways so one eye faced the page and one the ceiling above.
“Those stars aren’t stars. Their Venlil music notation! Just…in a weird spiral pattern.”
Aebl’s eyes went wide as she turned to look as well. As realization overtook her, she slowly lowered herself into a chair and draped her hand across her chest.
“I’m too damn old for this shit…” she spoke with a shaky breath.
“Watch your language,” I teased.
“Oh, can it, kid. This is pure catharsis. Please tell me it’s not just one of the few songs that they left in the textbooks.”
I finished writing the musical phrase I’d been working on, looked it over, and wagged my tail.
“It’s brand new. Or, maybe I should say it’s old. It’s not any traditional song that I’ve ever seen.”
“So…”
“So, they did it. They managed to hide one piece of our history under the guise of a night sky.”
I caught a glimpse of tears forming in Aebl’s eyes as she turned away from me to hide them.
“Thank you, Mezil. I really can’t thank you enough. You’ve made this old woman’s day.”
“You’re telling me. I’m freaking the hell out!”
Stars, I can’t believe they got away with this. What an ingenious method!
For whatever reason, the Federation had attempted to remove and alter our history. But, they couldn’t erase everything. Our ancestors were as clever as they come. The Stars were on their side after all.
-
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2023.05.12 15:47 VeryUnluckyDice Playing By Ear - Ch9 (NoP Fanfic)

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Restored Written Journal Excerpt: Zem, Venlil Librarian White Hill University
Date: UNKNOWN; TEXT DAMAGED
This is madness. Absolute madness.
Federation troops have been in and out of the building all day, carting away each and every book off the shelves. They claimed that everything would be returned once the contents were ‘corrected’.
Censorship. That's the word they've neglected to use and that's exactly what this is.
Seems I've proven myself to be a coward, though. All the other library staff tried to bar them from these actions. I watched from afar as they were detained for their resistance, shoved into vehicles, and driven off to who knows where.
Direct opposition was getting us nowhere. No one has the means to stand up to these bastards. Someone has to stay behind and protect what they can.
I've rather selfishly decided that it should be me.
The other staff called me a traitor as they were whisked away but I see the field we’re grazing on clear as day.
I don't even have to lie. I just have to mislead them. If I'm lucky, I can save some of our history.
There's more in this library than just books.
But, they'll never find that out. I'll make sure of it.
-
Memory transcription subject: Brad Silmore, Human Field Hand
Date [standardized human time]: September 5, 2136
The thunder rolled outside as I reclined in my chair, hands stretched out to just barely reach my keyboard as I opened the exchange program software. It has been raining since lunchtime and, as such, I’d actually managed to get home at a decent time. Hard to do any work outdoors when it’s raining cats and-
Man, we really gotta come up with some alternatives for our expressions…
As I sent a message to Mezil (and/or Kila) notifying them that I was available, I thought back to the notes I’d sent the previous day. In all honesty, they’d been sparse and disorganized. I didn’t really have any experience teaching musical history or theory so I feared I hadn’t really given him enough information. I hoped that Mezil wasn’t disappointed with my findings.
The indicator for a video call appeared on the screen and I leaned forward as I accepted it. I was met with the tan fur of Kila. She jumped slightly as she caught sight of me but quickly composed herself, ears laying low.
“S-sorry,” she stammered. “I should be used to the eyes but I guess I’m still slow on the uptake.”
“It’s fine,” I assured. “I should probably not be staring right into the camera. This is still new for everyone.”
She sighed, body slumping in what I could only read as disappointment in herself.
“Your eye placement isn’t your fault, though. These stupid instincts piss me off. My sister says that everyone gets over it eventually but I just want it to be done with, ya know? Like, I know you’re not a threat but still a part of me just wants to bolt.”
“We’ll work through it. You’ve already proven yourself to be very receptive.”
Her ears perked up at that.
“Thanks, Brad. Mezil didn’t lie when he said you were supportive.”
I smiled, careful not to show teeth. Though, I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded if I did.
“So,” I began. “Seems you beat Mezil to the comms. Got any interesting news?”
“Not news, exactly,” Kila answered. “Just wanted to ask a few questions. I won’t keep you long unless your answers just take forever.”
I chuckled at her sarcasm and shrugged.
“I dunno. I can be pretty talkative. What’s on your mind?”
“First of all, what instruments do you play? You’re a musician, right?”
It was my turn to feel disappointed in myself.
“Well, if I’m being honest, there’s only really one instrument I could say that I can play confidently. Though, I’m trying to change that. See, I’ve been really cracking down on learning the guitar recently.”
“Guitar?”
“Here, let me show you.”
I rolled my chair across the room where my Les Paul style guitar sat leaning into its stand. It certainly wasn’t a Gibson but it got the job done. It was an off-white color with gold-colored knobs and pickups. These days, even a cheap guitar could sound decent and this was a testament to that.
Picking it up from its place, I rolled back over to my desk.
“This,” I picked the guitar up for the camera to see. “Is a guitar. Specifically, an electric guitar. It’s usually connected to an amp stack. But, you can just as well play it without.”
Kila leaned in to take a closer look.
“Wow, it looks kind of similar to the plehr that I used to play.”
“Plehr?”
“It’s a stringed instrument like that one. Except, the strings reach past the body, all the way down to a point that balances on the floor. And, the body is fully circular. What’s with the metal strips along the neck?”
“Those are frets. They’re set at each distinguished tone so it’s easier to play the correct pitch. Gives you a greater corresponding range. I take it the plehr isn’t fretted?”
She shook her head in an attempt to emulate human body language. It was kinda funny watching Venlil attempt the motions. Seemed they always did things with just a bit too much exaggeration.
“The plehr doesn’t have frets,” she answered. “Since Venlil music kind of goes outside established tones, having frets would make it harder to hit the notes between. At least, I think that’s the reasoning. You’ll have to check with Mezil on that.”
“Then, I suppose you probably don’t play very complex chords with it, do you? Part of the reason for frets is to make it easier to play several notes simultaneously without needing to compromise any tone when your fingers get grouped tightly together.”
“There are some pretty tricky chords. But, yeah, most plehr chords need to be spaced apart. Closely-clawed chords are hard to pull off.”
Satisfied with my hypothesis proving true, I moved the strap over my head and positioned my hands along the fretboard. Slowly, I strummed a few chords.
Emin, A, D, C, Emin…
The Chain. Can’t go wrong with Fleetwood Mac.*
“Well, I’m not all that good at it. I really don’t feel all that mechanically comfortable with it yet. But, I think I’m making progress.”
“It sounds good!” Kila assured me. “Sounds different from a plehr but still pretty close to it. I bet a Venlil audience would like that sound. What are the strings made out of?”
“Metal. Steel or nickel, typically.”
“Plehr strings are made of plant fibers. That’s probably part of the reason they sound different. That, and the body shape. What’s up with the knobs at the top of the neck?”
I turned the guitar to position the knobs towards the camera.
“They’re for tuning. I can tighten or loosen them to get the pitch I want.”
“I should have figured as much. The plehr strings are tuned where they end at the bottom of the instrument. Honestly, it’s probably easier to tune with the knobs. I swear, sometimes Venlil design is just so impractical. But, it’s traditional so what are you gonna do?”
“Maybe you could start making them with tuning knobs. It’s an open market.”
She laughed at first but then turned her head in contemplation. I wondered if I’d accidentally created a future business tycoon. After a moment, she turned her eye back towards me.
“What else you got besides the guitar?”
“Well, there’s the keyboard piano. But, it might be a little tougher getting it in the shot. It’s more…stationary.”
I glanced over at the instrument across the room. So far, I’d been using my computer webcam but it was fixed to the top of my monitor. I could maybe turn it but it’d still be a tad distant to get any real detail. The piano was set in a thick stand that would be a pain to move.
Eh, chair’s too comfortable.
I grabbed my phone and searched for the same model, turning the device to show Kila the images.
“Looks about like this,” I explained. “Each key corresponds to a note. As far as the basics go, I’d say it’s fairly easy to play. But, it’s incredibly difficult to master. Professional pianists are among some of the most technically sound musicians there are. The piano is used a lot for songwriting since you can get a large range of notes out of it simultaneously. The electric piano I have is more compact compared to the real deal. In an actual piano, each key corresponds to a small hammer that flicks to strike a string. Full-size pianos are pretty massive.”
Kila flicked her ears in acknowledgement.
“Wasn’t there a piano in the song you played for us last time?”
“Now that you mention it, there was a piano. I guess you know what it sounds like already then. That’s good since I’m not really the best pianist myself.”
“So, what’s the one instrument you said you’re comfortable with?”
I slid the guitar strap back from over my head, laying it in my lap.
“That would be the trombone. One moment, I’ll grab it.”
I rolled back over to the guitar stand, placing the instrument back where it belonged before turning to the old trombone case. Laying it on its side, I flicked up the latches and opened it wide. Inside, the instrument rested in a couple of pieces. I removed the slide and bell, screwing them together in the middle. Finally, I affixed the mouthpiece to the opening in the slide.
I slid my chair back over to the PC, fully constructed trombone in hand.
“This is the trombone,” I explained as I held it up to the camera, turning it around to show every angle. “It's part of a category of instruments known as brass instruments. This is, naturally, because they are traditionally made of brass. But, the composition varies.”
I placed my lips against the mouthpiece, setting my embouchure before creating the buzz needed to vibrate the air through the instrument.
As cleanly as I could manage, I worked my way up a Bb major scale, keeping everything as clear as possible to give a good example of tone. Then, I started playing the melody of Naima. Kila seemed to recognize the piece as her ears perked up in attention.
She looked vaguely perplexed by the sound as well as her ears then twitched and her head turned to a slight angle. Seemed as though it was an unfamiliar timbre to her ears.
“Those low tones almost sound like some sort of growl. But, they're much smoother. It looks like one long sliding pipe. Can you access any pitch with it?”
“Pretty much, within reason.”
I primed myself to play once again, this time tightening my lips further to reach a higher pitch range. Starting in the seventh position, I slowly slid upwards, making a smooth glissando into first position.
“So,” Kila continued. “You could play traditional Venlil music with this?”
“I suppose you could,” I replied. “But, it'd take some very precise movements. I'm honestly impressed by the gliding concept regardless. Venlil musicians must spend a lot of time honing their craft.”
Kila seemed almost in a daze looking at the instrument. She muttered quietly to herself.
“It's perfect. The design seems simple enough…”
“Kila?”
She snapped out of her trance and turned an eye back to me.
“S-sorry. I was wondering if maybe I could use our school shop to make a Human instrument. We have all kinds of materials. Thought it might be cool to bring a proper example onto Venlil Prime. Mezil would be ecstatic.”
I considered the notion for a moment. I didn't actually have any know-how on how to make a trombone. That was outside of my area of expertise. Could it even be done with her resources?
“I like the idea, Kila, but I don't really know anything about trombone creation. Maybe I could find some documentation but the average human doesn't have the means to create one so it's hardly common knowledge.”
“Some measurements would be a good start. Maybe we could take some measurements of yours?”
“Now, hold on. There's more things to consider if we’re tailoring it to a Venlil. There will need to be differences from the standard build model.”
At this point I was wracking my brain to ponder the feasibility. There would be a number of things to watch out for. Mainly, the differences in anatomy between Venlil and Humans.
“Kila, I'm not actually sure a Venlil could play a trombone. Uh, no offense but I think there may be an anatomical issue.”
I detached the mouthpiece from the instrument and held it up to the camera.
“For a human, our lips go somewhat inside this mouthpiece. Then we vibrate the air by buzzing our lips like this.”
I made the form as though I were playing and unceremoniously sprayed spittle out in front of me while demonstrating.
“That's…kinda gross,” Kila responded with a twinge of disgust in her voice.
“Yep! And that's what the valve at the bottom of the slide is for. Gotta remove the spit somehow.”
Kila shuddered at my explanation.
“So, you're telling me,” she started after composing herself. “A Venlil can't play it because we don't have the same flabby lips?”
“That description sounds weird but it's very likely. See, the way we determine the harmonic is by changing the muscles around our mouths. We call them our embouchure. If the player can't make that specific motion, there's no way they'd be able to vibrate the instrument. At least, not on their own. You'd have to find a way to supplement the human embouchure in a way that a Venlil could control with precision. I'm not even sure that it's possible.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty daunting challenge compared to constructing the instrument itself.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Another thing to think about is how the planetary differences might factor in. I'm not sure about the science but you may want to see how things like gravity or air-density might affect things. Also, you may want to change the measurements to accommodate for the way you typically tune your instruments. It can be a matter of convenience.”
Kila seemed to be getting overwhelmed by the number of potential hurdles. I decided I'd better throw her a bone.
“But, uh, there is some good news. This valve here,” I motioned to the trigger valve near the intersection of the two pieces. “Could probably be left out entirely along with this second length of pipe around the bell. This part is pretty much optional. Just adds ease of access to the further positions of the slide. Most folks learn on a trombone without this attachment.”
She flicked her ears in acknowledgement and began to type out a few notes, appearing thankful for the meager respite among my laundry list of obstacles to overcome. Realistically, it would be incredible if she could put a Venlil-friendly trombone together by herself. It would be no small feat.
“I can run some simulations to work through some of these issues,” she concluded, finishing up the last of her notes. “Otherwise, it’ll probably just be trial and error.”
“If I might ask, why are you so concerned with making a human instrument? I’m sure they’ll make their way to Venlil Prime naturally in time. What’s the rush? You’re not even a music student like Mezil. Not to say that you don’t have the right to do what you want with your free time. It just seems a little odd.”
“Well…uh…”
She hesitated, seemingly trying to find the right words. I braced myself for whatever tough Humanity-related question she might throw at me.
“Brad,” she finally spoke purposefully, the translator indicating an air of seriousness. “How…how does Mezil normally talk about me?”
…What kind of question is that?
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Seems like he respects you a whole lot. He respects your opinions, your optimism, and I guess he respects how well you can get along with others. Maybe I’m misreading him, though. It’s only been a few days…er…paws. Haven't really gathered much more than that.”
“Respect, huh? What about…how does he feel about me? Like…being around me? You said he…admired me?”
Wait…is she…?
“You want to know if he likes you? Like…likes you likes you?”
The tips of her ears turned orange with what I assumed to be the Venlil equivalent of a blush.
“I-I mean…Stars…I DON’T KNOW!”
Her sudden increase in volume caught me off guard and I reeled back in my seat. Kila suddenly looked like a mess, gripping the fur around her face and shutting her eyes tightly.
What is it with me and making Venlil have emotional outbursts? I might not be a healthy influence. Or, maybe they're all just this expressive?
“Hey, hey! Relax, Kila!” I half-shouted, trying to stop her spiraling. “It’s not that big of a deal! Just cool down for a moment!”
She slowed her breathing and slowly released her grip on her fur. The orange glow was still prominent along the extremities of her face.
“S-sorry,” she apologized. “I just…I’ve never really been in that kind of relationship before. I might be outgoing but I’m more of a ‘cheer people on from the side’ type of person when it comes to r-romance. It’s hard to figure out my feelings. I didn’t even really think of Mezil this way until recently. But, seeing him be so courageous…I didn’t know he had that side of him. And…maybe I kind of like him that way? Stars, I’m sorry, Brad! You just only met both of us. I shouldn’t be shoveling all this onto you.”
I chuckled to myself.
Oh, these two are both disasters in their own rights. I think I can relate to this plight. Definitely had my fair share of awkward moments in my life.
“Alright, Kila. Listen to me and trust me when I say this. Mezil thinks the world of you as far as I can gather. If you want to try and make things ‘serious’ with him, you should really take it less seriously.”
Her apologetic look turned to confusion. Then, to mild irritation.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?”
I lowered my eyelids in a look of smugness, though I wasn’t sure she picked up on the body language.
“It means, Kila, that just because you two might go on a couple dates, it doesn’t mean you’re committing to anything more than that. Even if it doesn’t work out, it’s clear you two enjoy each others’ company enough to get over any weirdness after the fact. And, if it does work out, then you’ll be glad you didn’t have any regrets.”
Her eyes went wide with what I assumed was hope or maybe epiphany.
“You really think so?”
“Yes, I do. Actually, it reminds me of a song I used to hear growing up. It’s a style of music that a lot of people aren’t fond of but it’s pretty prevalent where I live so it’s kind of a part of my life regardless.”
I placed my trombone down on the floor and wheeled back over to grab my guitar. Moving back to the desk, I placed my fingers along the fretboard and started strumming away, vocals following shortly after.
You might fall down on your face
Roll the dice and have some faith
Now I'm falling in love as she's walking away
And my heart won't tell my mind to tell my mouth what it should say
May have lost this battle, live to fight another day
Now I'm falling in love as she's walking away
As I let the last chord hang, a moment passed before Kila spoke up.
“You have a nice voice but what do battles have to do with dating?”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
“Is it common for Human expressions to be about violence?”
“Honestly, yeah.”
“I swear you people are a bundle of contradictions.”
“We’re well aware. But, that’s coming from a member of the ‘all predators are vicious, remorseless killers’ society.”
“Point taken. But, I’m still not sure that I get the song.”
I shook my head in exasperation.
“The point is, you shouldn’t be so worried about what might happen that you let inaction turn into regret. If you want to ask Mezil out, just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“It ruins our friendship forever.”
“First of all, that’s unrealistic. Secondly, you know that was a rhetorical question. Come on. It’ll all be fine. He really does think you're great.”
She sighed, resigned to my unyielding words of motivation.
“Okay. You’re right. But, I’d still like to make the moment special.”
“I take it you want to give him a human instrument as a gift first?”
“Yep.”
I stroked my beard for a moment. Not that I really had much of a beard to stroke. It always got scraggly when I let it get too long. Never been one to add any product.
“Alright, miss engineer. You’ve got my support. I’ll see what I can find out about trombone construction. If you want it to be a surprise, though, we’ll need to discuss it over video. Otherwise, he’ll see the information in the chat logs.”
“Thanks, Brad! I owe you!”
“Don’t mention it. Honestly, I’m surprised we’ve had this call go uninterrupted for so long. Wonder what Mezil’s doing right now. Figured he’d have called me himself by this point.”
“Not sure. I haven’t heard from him since the last paw, actually.”
“Hope he’s not too bogged down with schoolwork. That boy doesn't need anymore things to worry about.”
-
Memory transcription subject: Mezil, Venlil Music Student (First Year) White Hill University
Date [standardized human time]: September 5, 2136
Seriously, isn’t there fucking ANYTHING?
I’d found myself back in the library once more against my better judgment. The discovery I’d recently made was bothering me too much. Why was there such a gap in pre-Federation records? Certainly, there had to be some reasoning for them to purge so much knowledge. But, all I could find was accounts of the ‘blessings of Federation technology being bestowed upon us’ and likewise justification. As if that’s any excuse for them to tear pages out of our ancient textbooks!
Aebl had ambled over to my desk, interested in my plight. I imagined it felt validating for someone to be as frustrated by Federation overstepping as she was.
“I’ve checked these books more times than I can count, child. You won’t find any answers.”
“There’s a lot of books. Maybe you missed something.”
“Maybe I did. But, I can assure you that they did not.”
I snapped the book in my hands shut, turning my eye to her, sure that my exhaustion was written across my face. She was right, of course. And, I didn’t have the time to waste here, buried in a pile of books. My urgency about my grades seemed to have evaporated more by each paw as I found myself consumed by broader questions than I had ever expected to face.
If I don’t get my grades up, I’ll lose access to this library anyway. It’s for students only.
“You’re right,” I finally conceded. “I just wish that you weren’t. How much knowledge was lost? Why was it lost? I could forgive it if there was only a valid reason…”
I leaned my head back and turned my eye to the darkened ceiling. Above me, the pinpricks of light stabbed through the building, outlining a circling pattern of makeshift stars.
“That as it may be,” Aebl responded. “You won’t find your answers in those books. I assure you, each and every one was edited meticulously. Seems only select works were allowed to remain.”
Won’t find answers in the books…
I focused on the host of stars above. Lines connected some of the points together but, surprisingly, I couldn’t make out any known constellations. The pattern didn’t exactly seem natural. It curved and bent along with the stone bricks that spiraled up to a meeting point in the center of the dome. Each brick was nearly square, having only slightly unequal sides. In fact, with the placements of the small holes in and around the brick lines, they almost looked like…
Wait…
“Fucking shit!”
I shot up in my seat, spooking Aebl as she grabbed the desk to steady herself.
“Damn it, kid, you’re going to give me a heart attack! And watch that tongue!”
“Sorry! But…!”
I rifled through my bag looking for a piece of scratch paper and a pen. Quickly, I set them down on the table and started drawing out boxes, turning my head sideways so one eye faced the page and one the ceiling above.
“Those stars aren’t stars. Their Venlil music notation! Just…in a weird spiral pattern.”
Aebl’s eyes went wide as she turned to look as well. As realization overtook her, she slowly lowered herself into a chair and draped her hand across her chest.
“I’m too damn old for this shit…” she spoke with a shaky breath.
“Watch your language,” I teased.
“Oh, can it, kid. This is pure catharsis. Please tell me it’s not just one of the few songs that they left in the textbooks.”
I finished writing the musical phrase I’d been working on, looked it over, and wagged my tail.
“It’s brand new. Or, maybe I should say it’s old. It’s not any traditional song that I’ve ever seen.”
“So…”
“So, they did it. They managed to hide one piece of our history under the guise of a night sky.”
I caught a glimpse of tears forming in Aebl’s eyes as she turned away from me to hide them.
“Thank you, Mezil. I really can’t thank you enough. You’ve made this old woman’s day.”
“You’re telling me. I’m freaking the hell out!”
Stars, I can’t believe they got away with this. What an ingenious method!
For whatever reason, the Federation had attempted to remove and alter our history. But, they couldn’t erase everything. Our ancestors were as clever as they come. The Stars were on their side after all.
-
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2023.05.05 08:58 Halfdan_the_Halfman [EVENT] 'The Fate of Mayor Willus Valtin'

May 1, 1515
Willus was surprised with himself. For days now he had been a nervous wreck, riding for many hours every day and practicing at lance for as long as the light lasted. By night he had attempted to answer correspondence but had found himself completely unable to focus. His wife Josephine had been of little help, upset that she had been pulled away from her friends in Riga across Terra Mariana. His daughter Clara had been just as miserable.
But now, with the sun high on the very day, he was calm. His acting squire, one of his aides and a university student, was fastening the Mayor's breastplate while Clara looked on. Josephine was long since in the stands but Clara had decided to stay a bit longer while her father prepared.
'Father... why must you do this?!', she blurted out angrily. 'This is foolish! You're going to... fight Sir Wolter for what? The money from a few mills?! I don't understand why you think this is worth the... risk!'
Willus sighed loudly as his aide affixed his arm harness. 'Darling. It isn't just about the incomes of mills! It too is breweries flax and so much more! As well the Landmeister insulted me deeply! I cannot let him get away with that! Men like him have looked down on men like me long enough and it is time someone taught the Landmeister his place in the Confederation!'
His answer did not seem to satisfy her. The girl had grown up fast, to Willus it would seem she had nearly become a woman grown overnight so little did he often see of her. 'Your lying. Its always about money... that's all you care about! Not me or Mother just money! Well, I hope you fall off your horse and make a mockery of yourself!', she stormed off.
Neither Clara nor her mother understood. Willus did work often, more than the last mayor and more than many men of his status. It was that which had made him mayor even through scandalous lies! It was that which provided his daughter access to the very finest tutors that could attend her! That let his wife sponsor parties and celebrations for the upper class of Riga! All because of his hard work... but as he watched Clara run away a pang of guilt went through his heart. After this... a break thought Willus. A chance to spend good time with his daughter, after today-
The sound of hooves broke Willus out of his thoughts. He turned as his aide snapped on his Guardbraces. A mighty destrier bedecked in a caparison decorated with the symbol of the Livonian Brothers of the sword carried forth the Landmeister of the Livonian Brothers. He wore his armor white, and wolfzähne fluting bedecked his harness, truly the armor of a German knight. He held his helm under one arm and stared down at Willus. The heavily whiskered man had heavily graying hair, his beard had more black than his balding head but his age was clear. His face above his whiskers was weathered and beaten like any true soldier would be and when he spoke it was the booming clear tones of a battlefield commander.
'Enough of this Mayor Valtin. I am offering you now to call off this duel, honor satisfied.'
Willus wrinkled his face and glowered at the Landmeister, 'Will you apologize for your insults and acquiesce to the demands of the Hansa?!'
The old knight sighed and shook his head, 'I will apologize but I will not acquiesce. As I said I will allow investment, but the Hansa will see no holdings of mine.', he then looked past Willus to see Clara as she climbed back to her seat next to Willus' wife Josephine.
'Think less on what you may gain and more on what you may lose Herr Mayor. You've a wife and daughter... I can think of few things more precious in this life that.', to Willus it seemed as though for a moment the knight was overcome by some great sadness. He did not care, if this coward meant to back out now he would have to be the one to do so!
'Why don't you surrender Landmeister? Admit your wrongs and take the peaceful road! You seem to value it so highly... more than even your honor perhaps?', Willus' jab clearly struck a nerve as the Landmiesters face darkened with rage. He spurred his horse around, trotting back to his side of the field as he shouted back.
'Fool! I gave you your chance.'
Willus smiled, standing as his aide stepped back and he stood, admiring first the fine armor he had purchased and then the great warhorse he would ride. As a merchant, he had no device of his own so no caparison draped it. Only the barding common for the horses of noble riders. He had spent a pretty penny on the whole setup. Hopefully he would only ever need it today. The sound of horns announced that the time had come.
Taking his helmet and mounting his steed Willus Valtin trotted to his starting position and took up his first lance. While the crier announced the rules and extolled the honor of both participants Willus looked up to the highest boxes around the field. Three Kings were in attendance! King Sigismund of Poland, King Sten of Sweden, and King Christian of Denmark. If he could win... the possibilities for Hanseatic expansion could be endless! Beneath his helmet, he smiled.
Then the horns sounded again. The first charge. The thundering of his horse's hooves and shouting from the stands filled his ears, and his eyes locked on to Landmeister Wolter Von Plettenberg. The two men clashed in the center of the field, lances splintering!
A glancing blow! Willus had scored a glancing blow upon the Landmeister and received one in return! He may have a chance yet, he had trained hard for months and it seemed to have paid off! He collected a second lance and wheeled around. He could win! Willus was certain he could! He leveled his lance and then...
He was falling... agony. As the world twisted around him all he heard was a girl... screaming.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Wolter came to a stop. His squire held the reigns of his destrier as the Landmeister hopped down and took off his helm. Attendants, aides, and others had rushed into the field but in truth, they needn't have bothered.
Willus Valtin had died the moment he wheeled for a second charge.
Wolter Von Plettenberg had been fighting with lance on horseback since before Willus Valtin had been born. He had charged scores of men in the lists, and even more on the field of battle. No man can do that as long as Wolter had without becoming very perceptive. In their initial exchange of lances what appeared to be equal blows was in truth anything but. A Latch had been stricken from Willus' breastplate, his plackart had loosened and a gap had opened between it and his guard brace. The target was small and for a less experienced rider an unlikely target. But Wolter had hit smaller.
He could have shown mercy, could have placed his blow elsewhere. But you do not survive battle by showing mercy in the midst of a charge.
His lance had slammed into the gap at full force, the tip smashing out the back of the Mayor's breastplate. The sickening squelch of organs skewered and bones shattered, all too familiar to the Landmeister, sounded out. The Mayor's upper body snapped back hard, the lance splintering with its tip embedded through him before his body tumbled from its saddle. The loud crash of steel hitting the ground at speed filled the air, and Willus' body tumbled disturbingly along the ground before coming to rest. The Mayor lay facing the sky, propped up askew by the tip of the lance sticking out his back. It would never again move under its own power.
As the Landmeister marched down the field towards where Willus Valtin lay he peered into the stands. In the Mayor's own box his daughter was crying, turned in towards her mother who seemed stunned beyond speech. In the stands, many seemed disappointed. Wishing for a longer show or perhaps having made bets. The Bishop's men were aghast at the violence, the priests had hated every moment since they arrived. King Christian of Denmarks looked shocked and pale, clearly surprised at both the speed and brutality with which the contest was decided.
Willus Valtin had sputtered only momentarily, his aides had removed his helmet but had quickly stepped back as they had all realized he was already dead. The pool of blood was wide and deep beneath the Mayor. Wolter peered down at his opponent and knelt, the man's eyes were wide and stuck in shock. Wolter closed them and made the sign of the cross. He then stood, bowed to the crowd, and marched from the field. Wolter gestured for one of his men to attend to him while the Landmeister's squire helped him from his armor.
"See that the cost of horse and armor go to the man's widow and daughter. Ensure he is returned to Riga for burial safely. He died with honor."
What a fool, Wolter thought to himself. To leave behind a wife and daughter for such a thing. What a fool, to leave behind such treasure for the promise of coin. What a waste.
submitted by Halfdan_the_Halfman to empirepowers [link] [comments]

2023.05.04 06:00 KingGodred They say the Great Lakes are more dangerous than the ocean, well now I know why.

I sighed to myself and closed my laptop. The hurricane force winds and torrential rain pounding against the office windows drowned out its tiny little built in speakers easily. I guess I wouldn't be passing the time with Netflix after all. I got up from my desk and walked around the office. The large windows which normally provided and excellent view of the harbor were completely blacked out by the storm. Even the large LED floodlights that normally illuminated the parking lot were barely visible through the horizontal deluge of water that the sky was throwing at us. My boss liked to keep someone on overnight in weather like this just in case a boat, or god forbid one of the floating docks, broke free in the wind but realistically I couldn't see anything and I certainly wasn't able to go outside if anything did happen tonight. I had sat through thunderstorms in this office before but this one was especially bad. So much so that even Mike, this guy who lived on his boat all summer, had gone into town to stay with a friend just in case, that's how you knew it was bad.
The whole office shook as a wave pounded into the glass that faced out towards the bay. I will never understand why whoever designed this place decided to build the office right on the break wall that protects these small recreational boats from the wrath of the Great Lakes and furthermore why they decided to make the wall that faces the lake almost entirely out of glass. I guess it's because in normal weather it offers a good view of the water and any vessels entering the harbor but in storms like this it really makes you feel exposed.
I pulled out my phone to check the time. It was just about 2am. Great, just 4 more hours until I can go home and get some sleep. Another wave hit the glass and the office shook again but this time it was amplified by the loud crack of thunder and lightning that seemed to hit in perfect sync with the wave. I wasn't sure but I thought for a split second I could see something out in the lake illuminated by the lightning but of course it was now dark again so I couldn't check. I told myself it was probably one of the channel marker buoys being thrown around in the waves and sat back down at my desk.
I had only been sitting down for a few minutes when the VHF radio mounted to the shelf above my desk began to crackle. I played with the squelch knob a bit to try and see if I could get a fix on the signal but I couldn't make out anything. Probably just some interference from all the lightning. Another five minutes went by and the radio crackled again but this time it sounded like a voice but I couldn't make out what it was saying. I played with the radio settings a bit more to see if I could make it out but marine VHF radio doesn't have as much that you can adjust compared to CB or HAM radio so there wasn't much I could do. Finally after a few more minutes a crystal clear transmission came through the radio that made my blood run cold.
"Harbormaster, harbormaster, harbormaster, this is Moonshadow, over."
The voice was practically screaming into the radio in order to be heard over the howling wind. I froze there for a second realizing that this meant someone was out there on the lake in this crazy weather. Perhaps what I had seen in the lightning was a boat, but who would be insane enough to venture out in this? As if the storm had read my mind another flash of lightning followed by an almost instantaneous boom of thunder lit up the night sky and there, clear as day coming over the top of a massive wave was a sailboat maybe 10 kilometers off shore. Even with the mainsail fully reefed the boat was still heeled over at least 45 degrees as it battled with the wind. When everything went dark again I was still staring in the direction of the boat and realized that it had no lights on, not even the navigation lights which struck me as odd. But then again I could only barely see the floodlights in the parking lot so maybe the storm was obscuring them. Coming back to reality I snatched the mic for the radio off its mount and pressed down the talk button.
"Moonshadow this is harbormaster, go ahead, over."
"Ah thank god," the man on the other end exclaimed. "I didn't think anyone would be monitoring the radio this late, it's so good to hear someone's voice! Listen, I'm a 35 foot sailboat, I've lost my engine as well as all electrical power so I'm on a handheld radio, I need to get out of this storm but that means I'm gonna have to come into the harbor under sail, I'm gonna need some help on the dock, over."
I know I'm terrible for thinking this but my first thought was "oh great that means I've gotta go out on the docks in this weather" but I quickly got over it as this man was definitely in trouble. I pulled up the harbor map on the computer that shows which docks are currently occupied and tried to find an easy one for him to sail in to. I keyed the mic again.
"Roger that Moonshadow, looks like you're in luck, dock A-13, that's Alpha, one, three, is open and it'll be dead ahead of you once you come around the pier past the beacon light. I'll come catch you there."
"Thank you!" The man's voice replied on the radio. "I'll try not to hit it too hard when I come in." He chuckled a little bit sounding relieved.
I keyed the mic again to reply.
"Don't worry about it you do what you gotta do to get in safe and we'll clean up the mess in the morning, harbormaster standing by on 68."
"Roger, Moonshadow standing by on 68."
I grabbed one of the handheld VHF radios off the charger and began putting on my rain gear to head outside. I also grabbed a lifejacket because there was no way I was going out on the docks in this weather without one. Even with the break wall protecting the harbor in storms like this there was often still some wave action moving the docks up and down. I stood there in all my gear staring out the office door trying to prepare myself for what was to come. Although I couldn't see it somewhere in that black chaos was a sketchy old Ford F-250 we bought from the city's parks department to use a work truck around the harbor, that would be my safe haven once I left the office, I just had to reach it.
The office door was extremely difficult to open but I managed to push it into the wind just enough to slide out between it and the frame. The wind slammed it shut behind me and I stood there pinned against the wall by the wind. The storm was so loud and all I could see was darkness, I felt so disoriented but I knew if I just walked forward far enough the truck was straight ahead somewhere. I began placing one foot in front of the other, slowly battling my way through the wind and rain. This was bad enough on land I couldn't imagine this poor man going through this on a boat that was heaving up and down out there in the waves.
After what felt like an eternity my hand touched something metal in front of me. I felt around a bit and realized it was the tailgate of the pickup truck. Running my hand along the side of the bed I eventually made my way to the cab, then found the door handle. The dome lights finally allowed me to see something when I opened the door, the wind nearly ripping it off its hinges. It took practically all the strength I had to pull the door shut against the wind but I managed to do it. I looked back towards the office out the rear window and I could just barely see the lights of the building.
Thankfully between the parking lot floodlights and the truck headlights I was able to see well enough as I made my way over to the ramp leading down to A dock. My plan was to sit in the truck and wait until the last possible second before running out into the storm to catch the lines of the incoming boat. Truthfully though I was having my doubts that I would be of any help given the situation outside. The truck rocked from side to side as the wind battered it from outside but somehow it felt more secure than the glass office.
I made it to A dock and parked with the headlights facing out towards the water. The only other light visible was the bright beacon light that cut through the storm out at the end of the pier that was once used for commercial shipping back in the day. In the storm it seemed like a mighty lighthouse but in reality it was just a galvanized steel tower about 20 feet high with a large LED light affixed to the top. As with many industries modern technology has removed a lot of that romance of the sea that you see in movies. Still at this moment I'm sure that poor man thought that light was Jesus himself guiding him to shore.
"Harbormaster this is Moonshadow, you there?" The man's voice came over the radio I had set on the dash of the truck.
"Moonshadow this is harbormaster, yup I am in position at A dock, over." I replied.
"Good, good, uh, would you mind talking to me a bit, about anything?" He asked sheepishly. "Things are getting pretty nasty out here and well, it makes me feel less alone."
I had no idea what to say, what was I supposed to talk about? It felt weird to make small talk with him over the radio but if it helped him I guess I had to come up with something.
"Uh, well I guess, what's your name?" I asked him over the radio.
"Robert," he replied, "what's yours?"
I was about to reply when suddenly another flash of lightning lit up the sky followed by the loudest boom of thunder I have ever heard in my life. Like the bomb dropped on Hiroshima probably didn't make as much noise as this clap of thunder did that's how loud it was. I ducked down in the truck instinctively out of fear, my ears were ringing and I was amazed the windows hadn't blown out.
"What the hell was that?" I heard Robert yell over the radio. "I've lost sight of your beacon light is everything alright over there?"
I sat back up in my seat and looked over to where the beacon light should be and sure enough he was right, there was no sign of it.
"That lightning strike must've blown the breaker I'll have to reset it." I replied into the radio.
I put the truck in reverse and backed out of the parking space and began driving towards the pier. I dreaded having to get out of the truck to open the electrical panel on the side of the tower but it needed to be done. At least there was a bit of a canopy over it that would offer me some protection. I reached the pier and turned the truck out on to it and saw one of the most horrific sights I had ever seen. Through the dim headlights I could see what looked like a pile of twisted metal laying on the end of the pier. As I drew closer I could see it was the beacon light tower. It looked like it had buckled and folded in half, and then been welded in that position like some kind of modern art sculpture that had then been kicked over. Some other parts of the tower had been bent outwards like spikes and in the current weather conditions the whole thing looked like some kind of grotesque creature.
"Moonshadow this is harbormaster, uh, we have a situation." I said into the radio. "Looks like that lightning strike took out the whole tower."
I didn't entirely believe my own words. That tower got hit by lightning all the time. It had a lightning rod and it was built to take it. It would've taken some serious force to twist and mangle it like what I was seeing in front of me.
"Well that would be my luck," Robert said over the radio.
"I'm on the pier in a pickup truck, can you see my headlights?" I quickly asked him.
"Uh, no, no I don't," he replied after a minute.
Just then I remembered when we bought this truck the city hadn't removed any of the warning lights from it.
"What about now?" I radioed back after flicking the switch to turn them on.
"Yes, YES, I see you!" He said excitedly.
I felt a bit of relief as another flash of lightning revealed Robert's boat much closer to the harbor mouth now. The thunder came a few seconds later now indicating the storm was moving away finally. My relief was short lived however as the radio suddenly crackled to life again.
"Shit!, God Damn it!," I heard before the radio cut off again.
"Robert are you ok?" I asked into the radio, all professional marine radio language being thrown out the window at this point.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, just had a knockdown, mast hit the water but the boat righted itself and I'm still on board so..." He trailed off. "What what the hell is tha..."
"Robert?" I yelled into the radio.
"Something just ripped out one of my starboard shrouds!" He replied. "I think it was a wave but I swear it was like an arm came out of the water and just tore it off. I'm gonna have to tack around, put my port side into the wind to keep the mast up."
For those unfamiliar a shroud is the steel cables on either side of a sailboat mast that keep it up so losing one is pretty serious.
I saw in another flash of lightning Robert begin to turn the boat but just before everything went dark again the boat rolled onto its side in a wave. I frantically tried to raise him on the radio but it was no good. There was only silence on the radio for a good five minutes until another flash of lightning revealed Robert's boat now floating upright again but with no mast. My heart sank, with no engine and no mast he now had no way of reaching land. I still heard nothing but realizing he was now probably trying to hail the coast guard I quickly switched my radio to channel 16. Sure enough there was Robert's voice again.
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is sailing vessel Moonshadow. I am dismasted and drifting with no engine, need immediate assistance, over."
"Moonshadow this is the Coast Guard, we can send a vessel to your location but in this weather ETA is an hour, over."
At this point I could only listen helplessly and Robert coordinated with the coast guard. It was out of my hands now and I drove back to the office. At this point the rain was beginning to let up and visibility was improving as the first glimpses of daylight began to peak over the horizon. When I got back into the office I was glued to the window facing the bay. I didn't care if a wave came and smashed the whole wall in I was watching for any sign of Robert's boat or a coast guard ship approaching. With every lightning flash I could see the helpless sailboat being swept farther and farther from shore. Eventually the lights of a coast guard cutter came into view from across the bay and I felt a little relief. It was now 5am and the sun was beginning to rise and the storm was clearing.
The waves however had not subsided. I could see the sailboat being tossed like a toy as the cutter drew closer. I could see through the binoculars Robert climbing on top of his boat and firing off a flare. No sooner had he done this when two absolutely massive waves a good 15 feet higher than the rest seemed to materialize out of thin air on either side of the boat. It was like the lake had massive jaws it was opening up to swallow the boat and indeed that's what happened. The water between the waves began to lower taking the boat with it and then the massive jaws slammed shut crushing the little boat like a bug between them then then disappeared amongst the other waves. Just like that Robert and his boat were gone without a trace.
As the sun came up that day the waves calmed and it turned into one of the most beautiful summer days you've ever seen. They never found a body or even the wreck of Moonshadow. I'm not one to believe in this sort of thing but there was something about that storm, it wasn't natural. I have never experienced anything like that before and even the repairmen who came out to rebuild the beacon light were baffled as to how it was destroyed in that manner. I'm convinced that Robert somehow angered the lake, as crazy as that sounds, because something certainly wanted him dead that night. Sure you could chalk it up to increasingly violent storms due to climate change but two opposing waves like the ones that swallowed up Robert's boat should not be possible. I don't know what, but something beyond my understanding took him out that night, I am convinced of it. Perhaps the strange phenomenon I witnessed that night is also what caused the unexplained sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald all those years ago, but either way, I don't think I'll be going out on the Great Lakes anytime soon.
submitted by KingGodred to nosleep [link] [comments]

2023.05.02 13:25 Professional_Prune11 Interloper Section Twelve: Mountain Lions

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Whats good, I hope you enjoy the post for the day.
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Zak began to awaken the next morning to the feeling of Farideths tendrils slowly shifting around his body; they gradually drew him up and out of his waning slumber, as they crawled through every nook and cranny of his being. As soon as Zak started to tense his muscles to move, Farideth suddenly stopped moving leaving her tendrils where they were. A feeling of her guilt began to build in Zak's gut.
“What are you doing?” He yawned in a dry crackling voice.
“Nothing,” Farideth sputtered.
Zak raised a brow, he could tell that was obviously a lie, even in the morning haze his mind usually was in when he first woke up. He felt like he was a parent that had just caught their kid red handed stealing from the cookie jar.
Because Farideth is stuck sharing Zak's body, he did not think there were many things she could actually be up to without him knowing about it. That was something that he was getting a solid grasp on, especially after the last few days; Zak was well aware she did not sleep like he did, since she did tell him that, and since her movement had woken him up several times throughout the last few nights. He wondered if maybe she was just bored, and was trying to entertain herself in some weird way.
“ I wasn’t born yesterday Fair, so what were you just doing?” Zak asked as he sat upright. Zak reached over for one of the canteens, as he extended his arm outwards Farideths tendrils held tighter against his muscles, tugging his arm slightly and pushing more of her warmth through him.
“You are comfortable.. I wanted to feel closer to you” Farideth quietly squeaked. Her wave of guilt ridden emotions grew more.
Not like you can be any closer than you already are, Zak thought. Zak wondered why she wanted to feel closer to him, did it have something to do with his own thoughts of comfort and closeness he had when he fell asleep? Or did it have something to do with how she seemed utterly terrified of being left alone again. Either way the idea that anyone wanted to be close to him at all was something he had not experienced in a long time
Zak chuckled softly before taking a deep draw of water from the canteen. How he was getting close to someone was not anywhere near what he expected, but knowing the feeling was somewhat mutual was welcome.
“That's fine Farideth, I don't hate how it feels when you're moving around. So long as it's not your dominating my entire will” Zak chuckled.
“I am trying not to, It's hard not to at times” Farideth said with a huff.
Zak knew she certainly was trying not to dominate him, whenever they were trying to make their body work together Farideth always started gently with her influence, then gradually pushed more of her strength forward once they failed at the attempt. That and when Zak considered the times when she had dominated him, it was either not her intention to hurt him, or she had just completely lost control of her emotions.
Zak did wonder if he had a strong enough emotion how she would react. So far when he had a visceral reaction she tried to alleviate them, but he had no idea if she felt anything similar to what he feels when her emotions start to boil over.
“I know Fair, let's get going, we are burning daylight” Zak said as he stood up and stretched his tired body out. Stretching with Farideth was also something that was filled with strange sensations. Each muscle as it reached its limits of its mobility Zak could feel her tendrils almost reaching out nearly the same length before stopping just short. The way her warmth pushed and pulled inside his muscles had him imagining them actually running through each of the bundles, like a blade being pulled slightly out of its scabbard before sliding back into place.
“Why did you start calling me Fair? You said that last night too” Farideth cooed, as Zak stood back up from touching his toes.
The question caught Zak by surprise, he had not even realized he had called Farideth, Fair. Zak felt his face flush slightly with embarrassment. He didn't even know how to explain what a pet name was to an alien. With her being physically and emotionally bound to him, Farideth had likely already picked up on his feeling of embarrassment. Her tendrils lightly flicked across his arm, as she slightly hummed in his ear.
There is no way she does not understand what she is doing right now, Zak though.
“Well uh It's a shortened version of the name you gave me to call you” Zak said, his embarrassment only growing as he felt the feeling of Farideths curiosity grow following his answer.
“I figured that much out, but why not just call me Farideth. Why Fair?” She questioned back, tracing the feeling of her touch up and across his shoulders.
Fuck, I was hoping she would not ask further, and just take the answer as a matter of fact Zak thought.
“Well it's a term of endearment, It means I like you and want something to call you that rolls off the tongue easier” Zak said as he awkwardly started to stuff his camping gear back into his backpack.
Farideths tendrils warmed up slightly all around him, sending a soothing wave through him “I don't really understand the reason, but if you want to call me that I suppose i'm alright with it” Farideth whispered “I actually somewhat enjoy it”
At least she did not press that line of thought any further, Zak thought. Zak did not want to explain the awkward connection he felt to her. Even if he tried he wouldn’t be able to explain how he felt about Farideth; his own head started to hurt when he tried to put it into words in his own thoughts.
Zak knew he liked having someone around, but the fact that she did but did not exist with him was strange. He was glad she enjoyed being around him as well, even if for now it was only out of necessity. The two of them might as well do their best to not hate each other.
“Shall we get going then?” Farideth cooed as Zak stuffed the last of his supplies away. “We should be able to see the EX by the end of the day if we hurry”
“Yeah lets get going then” Zak replied as he hefted the rucksack back onto his shoulders. The two of them set off at a slightly quicker pace than yesterday. Their increased speed was mostly driven by Zak's curiosity; he wanted to see what happened to the EX after the explosion a few nights ago. He remembered watching the outer walls of it collapsing onto the shanty town, when the cult set Farideths escape plan into motion. But considering how much Afghanistan changed he truly had no idea what was ahead of him.
—
The two of them stopped around midday, Zak needing to take a break after the weather took an unwanted turn. The red forest for the last few days has almost always been a relatively constant temperature; Today with each step they took towards the summit the world seemed to be getting hotter.
By Zak's best guess the heat had risen from the low thirties, to now be pushing on the door of at least forty. He had certainly noticed the difference as the day went on, having sucked down two more of the canteens of water over the course of the morning. His body was dripping with sweat by the time he told Farideth he needed to stop and rest. Farideth so far had been able to help him with keeping his physical fatigue from growing. However the mental drain of marching up a hillside in what felt like a sauna, was something that was beyond her ability to help.
When Zak had stopped to rest, all of his gear might as well have exploded off his body; he quickly stripped down out of his sweat soaked clothing, down nothing but his skivvies. Everything he had lugged with him up the mountain was tossed haphazardly all around him. Zak tossed himself down on the ground amidst his equipment, Sprawling out to relieve the chafing he felt in his armpits and crotch. The fleshy ground itself did little to help him cool off, but the steady breeze flowing into his sweat soaked boxers certainly did.
“God that feels nice” Zak moaned when a particularly strong breeze rolled across his body, lifting the drying fabric of his shorts off his glistening thighs. Zak had not felt this overheated since he first started his job as a Watcher. When he started it was midsummer and theWatchers shack would regularly reach forty five degrees.
“What does?” Farideth Asked. Farideh was doing her best not to smother her tendrils into zak for the time being. When he had first settled down to rest she had tried to press her tendrils around his body to keep him comfortable, but Zak quickly asked her not to coil around him for now; Explaining he was overheating and could not handle any more heat than he absolutely had to.
“The breeze Fair, it's so cool” Zak said, soothed by the calm wind rolling through the trees. “Can’t you feel it?”
“No I can't feel anything that happens to you, I can roughly tell your intentions when you are moving, but it's like I'm making a guess” Farideth said with an awkward chuckle. “If i'm not controlling you, that's essentially what im always doing”
That was news to Zak. He had always just assumed that she was able to feel everything he could, but never understood what she was doing to help him move. He gave a short chuckle wondering what she would think once she had her body back and was able to feel everything again. Would she feel like touch and having total control of herself was alien and wrong? or would it be like nothing ever changed for her.
“Well just take my word on it, you feel my emotions so i'm certain you can feel the relief i'm feeling” Zak replied.
Farideth giggled quietly as her tendril lightly rolled across Zak's chest, feeling like someone rubbing their hand across it. “Yes I can feel that much, you seem…. Happy”
Zak gave a content huff in agreement, “Yeah I suppose you could say that”
Zak placed his arms up underneath his head and closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath of the thick humid air and allowed all his muscles to gradually relax as he exhaled.
Am I happy about all of this? Zak wondered. It was not like he was happy being a watcher, but he also wasn't happy really anywhere. He left home and his family because he was unhappy, then he left every other adventure at their conclusion because he had grown bored with the company. He wondered if this adventure would be the same at the end of the day; With this being the only thing he could actually call an adventure in retrospect, he was unsure.
Zak yawned softly as the breeze tenderly rolled across his skin, tickling as ti bollywood against his face. Zak's body started to melt into a calm bliss, every muscle in his frame slowly pushing out all the tension the annoyance of the sweltering hike had caused.
“Im going to nap for a little while, wake me up in a little while, Alright?” Zak muttered as the last remnants of his consciousness waned.
Farideth whispered into his ear “ Enjoy your sleep” Her angelic coo tickling at his ear as the last of his muscles relaxed.
A deep rumbling rolled through the red forest, causing the trees to shudder under its bearing weight. The reverberation shook through Zak, rattling his bones violently. It felt almost like he was caught in the middle of a small earthquake. Zak groaned, upset that his nap was interrupted before it had even truly begun. Looking up above him his heart skipped a beat, its fluttering into an uncontrolled panic once its rhythm resumed.
Looming on the ridgeline just above him was a massive creature. Its appearance reminded Zak of a disfigured tiger, millions of razor sharp bones protruded from its body at all angles. The skin of the tiger-like creature had been stripped away, leaving its muscles and bone out in the open air. Its thick muscles glistened in the flecks of sun pushing in through the canopy above. Raising its back upwards it drove long ghost white claws into the flesh of the ridgeline, blood pouring out from the gaping wounds made in its preparation to leap down upon them. Lowering its head down, revealing two black voids where its eyes should be. The beast released a ghastly growl that reverberated through the air, causing the trees nearby to quiver under the force.
“Farideth we have company!” Zak shouted as he quickly rolled off his back and lunged for their rifle. Farideth’s tendrils instantly shot out and coiled throughout his muscles, pushing her influence into their muscles; it arched like a fire inside them in preparation for the encroaching danger.
Their hand snaked around the weapon's shoddy frame, it gave off a metallic rattle as they raised the wire stock into their shoulder. They arched themselves backwards to bring the weapon to bear on the beast, the weapon sights kept steadily aligned with Zak's vision as the muzzle swiftly raised.
The sights blade fell on the beast mid leap. For the next few moments they saw the entire world fall into slow motion, their minds and their body fueled by adrenaline and the animalistic desire to fight and survive.
They squeezed the depressed trigger, each millimeter of slack in the squishy let off of the trigger, felt as if it took a thousand years to be journeyed. Click… in the aching drag of the slowed world, zak could swear he heard the sound of the weapons hammer fall. A torturous eternity later the rifle in his hand roared like a dragon in defiance of the beast in front of him; Its flaming breath a short flash marking the release of the deadly payload. The bullets that flew out of its mouth poised to rip apart everything it touched.
The rifle's deadly teeth flew through the creature's body, sending blood and bone erupting out of its back. The rounds careening through the creature's iron like muscle did little to prevent the monstrosity from continuing along its deadly arch; The creature's massive jaws opened wide, ready and waiting for the moment those dagger-like teeth could rip through Zak's tender skin.
In a moment of genius Farideth tendrils tightly grabbed hold of their legs, she wrenched hard against their leg muscles causing their knees to buckle. They collapsed down towards the ground. The monster's grotesque claws only millimeters away from slicing through Zak's throat. As the creature landed on the farside of where they were standing only a second earlier, Its long wet tail licked across Zak's face; leaving a wet bloody drag mark over his cheek.
As quickly as the world's time had drawn into an eternal crawl, it snapped back into its normal cadence. The pounding of Zak's heart was clear in his ears, thundering like a drum keeping rhythm as the fight continued.
“Go left!” Farideth shouted as she started to push their muscles in that direction. They both spun their body in her chosen direction. They brought the full force of Zak's legs to bear on the ground, His muscles and Farideths tendrils coiling like a spring beneath them; They pushed off, sending them rocketing forth from where they collapsed on the ground.
In front of them laying out on the ground was the carrier Zak had been using to tote magazines and the grenades. The beast behind them let out a second ear splitting roar, the weight of it pressing into Zaks mind, he imagined what would have happened if the beast had managed to claw into him. How the long journey so far would be for nothing, how he would have failed Farideth.
Pivoting around the carrier they raised the rifle once again towards the creature, its massive frame was already charging after them. Flames and bullets burst forth from the weapon, burying themselves into the creature's chest and fore legs. One of the rounds caught the creature midway up its leg, severing it from that point downwards. The Beast was not deterred by the loss of limb, and continued charging at them in burning fury.
They grabbed hold of the carrier as the creature was nearly upon them. Tossing it loosely over their shoulder as they continued to fire their weapon towards the monster, the next few rounds missing the beast widely as the rifle recoiled in their hand.
Once the creature was nearly upon them, they jumped off towards the side where the creature was missing its leg. The beast attempted to shift its momentum towards them and swipe at them with it's now missing leg. Having not noticed the leg was missing, the creature's bloody stump did nothing more than splatter blood across Zak's bare skin, showing a harmless mimicry of where the monster wished to carve into their flesh.
The monster's failed strike was its undoing, the short opening and closeness was just what they needed. As the creature pivoted back around it skidding to stop nearby, the beast raised its head and its void like eyes were met with the flash of the rifle. Boring a hole through its thick skull. It collapsed to the ground where it stood, all life in the horrible beast erupting from its skull, being carried away into the air along with the splintering fragments of its bone.
They kept the rifle trained on the creature and fired more rounds into the stark white of its feline skull, smashing any remnants of it with blistering gunfire; until nothing but the collapsed remnants of what once was a tiger's skull remained.
With the final rifle shot echoing away from them, a silence fell over them. They both poured deep emotions of relief into their chest, fueled by the realization of how close their journey was to ending. Following their moment of clarity a euphoric sense of accomplishment erupted from them.
“Hell fucking yes!” Zak roared in catharsis. “Did you see that Farideth, holy shit I thought I was a goner. Thank you for pulling me down like that” Zak said through his ragged breath
“That was amazing, Zak '' Farideth squealed in glee. She wrapped her tendril tightly around their chest, holding her warmth close to zak.
The two of them stood their bathing in revelry as they started to celebrate their victory over the security. Just as they were about to turn and start back to the rest of their equipment, a second roar ripped through the trees behind them. This one was nowhere near as loud as the first, but was filled with just as much animalistic indignation.
“Zak run!” Farideth shouted
“God fucking dammit” Zak exclaimed as he started to run started to run past the corpse of the First beast, Farideths influence pushing his run into a full blown sprint. They did not even spare a glance at the monster's corpse, focusing solely on gaining distance from the threat approaching them from behind.
They quickly affixed the carrier over Zak's chest. Its contents shifted widely within the carrier's nylon pockets. Sparing a glance over his shoulder Zak could see the second creature had already spotted them and was in quick pursuit. Its massive paws thundered as it rushed past the corpse of the first beast.
“Keep running!” Farideth Shouted in zak's ear. Pushing her influence deeper into his legs and chest, Their speed increased further allowing them to run at a blinding speed through the red forest ahead.
“No Farideth, I thought we should stop and have a fucking picnic with the thing” Zak shouted sarcastically back at her.
Amidst their full bore sprint they unloaded the magazine out of the rifle, and tossed it off into the trees. Zak had no idea if it was empty or not but he knew he had plenty of full magazines in the carrier affixed around his bare chest and figured it would be better to top off; With Farideth’s help keeping his hands steady it was not a problem at all, the action only taking them a few seconds as they weaved through the thick trees. .
Zak peered over his shoulder again and saw the creature was gradually gaining on them; Knowing that they would eventually be caught, Zak tried to think of some way to fight this creature where hopefully he would not be relying on dumb luck to survive.
The grenades Zak thought as they vaulted over a low hanging log. Could I make those work somehow? I have no idea how they work though, the only time I've used a grenade is in video games.
Zak let go of the rifle, it loseley hung on its sling across his neck. Reaching around the rifle rattling across his chest and retrieving one of the grenades from its pocket, Zak held its cold steel construction firm in his hand.
“That could work, '' Farideth said as her tendrils tightened their grip on the explosive.
“Great now how to use it,” Zak replied. “Any ideas?”
“I know we need to find somewhere safe for us to hide before we use it” Farideth replied.
The sounds of the monster gaining on them grew louder with every step they took, the creature was close enough that its footfalls could be felt reverberating in the air. Zak knew it would reach them any moment now, but he did not want to look back; His focus needed to be elsewhere like finding somewhere they could take cover from the grenade.
“There!” Farideth shouted as he felt her nudge the direction of their sprint to the left. A few dozen meters in front of them there was an overturned log, covered in the same flesh as the rest of the trees, but a fallen log nonetheless.
Ripping the pin out of the grenade with all their might, the smooth metal of it scraped along the slot it was held in, a small ping was audible when the pin flared out of the hole. Zak was surprised at how easily the pin came loose, he would have assumed there should be more resistance.
They mantled over the short log and landed on the farside, with a heft thud, the impact on the ground shot a wave of pain up through their back. Turning themselves back around, they drew their arm back over their head. They peered over the log to see the creature barreling over one of the trees as it stormed through the forest in pursuit. Whipping their arm forwards, the weight of the grenade tugging on their muscles. The grenade flicked off the tips of their fingers as the dove back down behind the long.
Reach up to the side of their head and covering their ears they waited for the sound of the explosion. Instead of hearing the explosion tearing through the roaring beast, Zak was horrified when the live grenade leapt back over the log. It rolled to a stop several meters away; slamming down atop the grenade was the beast. It whipped back around and lowered itself readying to pounce onto them, gnashing its teeth at them; Thick trails of its saliva stretching between its open maw.
“Oh fuck! Fair move!” Zak screamed. They shot upwards with all their force, Zak felt several muscles in his legs tear underneath the force, only for farideth to slip in and fill the gaps. The moment they straddled the top of the log and began to clamber over; The world shattered as the explosion of the old soviet grenade boomed throughout the forest.
The grenade ripped through the red forest, and the beast. The trees bowed outwards as the blasts arched and pushed them away. The beast's front half nearly vaporized by the force of the deadly explosion. Zak felt like he was hit by a truck as the blast slammed into his chest; sharp jutting pains tore through his body.
The left half of his face instantly went numb as his head snapped to the side, that half of his vision turned black in an instant. The explosion sent him falling onto the farside of the log, he landed limply onto the ground on the other side.
The explosive wave rattled every fiber of his being; Zak lay on the ground gasping for air, choking on the taste of blood pooling in his mouth. He felt Farideths tendrils extend out inside him and start pressing hard on the pains that tore across his body. Farideths panic burst out in his chest, enveloping every other emotion he could feel.
“Did we get him?” Zak sputtered as blood spat out of his mouth and showered back down on his face.
“Yes Zak it’s dead, but that's not important right now” Farideth frantically replied between what sounded like her beginning to sob.
The feeling of her panic ripped at Zaks heart, he wanted her to not cry the fact she was horrible to him; they had made it so he did not understand why she was crying. One of her tendrils pushed against the side of his face, spreading its warmth through his entire skull; pressing itself deeper into him by the moment.
“It will be alright” Zak groaned as he shakily moved his hand up towards where he felt her touch on his face, wanting to assure her everything will be alright; When his hand reached the side of his cheek he did not feel his own skin, he felt Farideths tendril out in the open air. writhing around in a gaping hole where his eye used to be.
“See you got me” Zak said as shock began to set in, the remnants of his vision fading. He gave a weak chuckle in his concussed state; the reality of how injured he was not dawning on him, he could not even fathom the reality of what the grenades shrapnel did to him.
Farideth was frantically trying to stitch Zak's mangled body back together.“Dont worry Zak, you will make it, I won't let you die” Farideth wept as she pushed harder across his entire body. The jolting pain of her tendrils burrowing into his bones tossed Zak's fading consciousness over the edge of a cliff, plummeting down into a black tendril filled void.
-----
How was the week. What did you think about our boy Zak flubbing a Nade hard? Lemme know what you think, Upoot if you liked
Your Bud - Pirate
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2023.05.01 06:39 YungSeti Every night at 2 A.M. our daughter starts to cry. We should've paid attention sooner. (Part 1)

Abby's shrill cries echoed through the hall, shredding through the thin veil of sleep I’d settled into barely an hour before. Allen rolled in place, groaning wordlessly as he folded the pillow over his ears.
I stared daggers into him, scoffing to myself before wiping the sleep from my eyes and pulling myself from bed. It had been his job to put her down for bed last time, so I supposed it was mine to check on her.
I shot a glance at the clock on my husband's bedside table, though I already knew what the time would read.
2 A.M. more or less on the dot. The clock read 2:03. Right on schedule.
Despite having dealt with the process every night for the past few weeks, it never got easier. It was as if our daughter had reverted back to her days as a newborn, rapidly regressing since turning three.
Things had been relatively easy with her over the years, but in the last few weeks, she’d become more difficult than usual. There had been complaints about misbehaving at daycare, hitting other kids, and biting; things of that nature, and we’d noticed in our own day-to-day life that she was beginning to grow obstinate.
Where she’d once been an agreeable and rather easy going kid, she was now difficult. Often seeming to listen clearly only to turn around and do the opposite of what she was told, or something entirely different and altogether unacceptable. It was like she was trying to goad a reaction out of people.
One of the hardest parts to her challenging new behavior was her sudden inability to sleep through the night.. It was like she’d found some new, fucked up circadian rhythm all of a sudden. We thought it might be the new house, a side-effect of having a young child in an unfamiliar environment, but it felt odd.
She’d been fine for the first week or so in the new place, hell, she’d seemed to love it and then one night, a little over nine days after we’d settled in, she began the nightly tantrums, setting off every night around 2 A.M. like she was following a schedule.
Given the fact that Abigail was still relatively nonverbal, and couldn’t really articulate herself in any other way, we dismissed the tantrums as anything other than commonplace.
I shuddered as my feet met the wood floor, the chill of fall filling the room. I grabbed my robe from the foot of the ottoman beside our bed, throwing it over my shoulders as I made my way to Abby’s room.
The hallway was pitch black, only faint traces of moonlight could be seen shining through the solitary window. Even through the grogginess and irritation, a blooming unease found a home, growing with each protesting groan of the floorboards and my daughter's shrill cry echoing off the walls.
As my hand closed over the cool brass of the doorknob, my ears perked up unintentionally as my body tried to account for the lack of sight, I heard…something that made me freeze in place.
Amidst the sound of Abigail’s crying, I felt certain I’d heard a voice. For the briefest of moments, I thought it was her fathers before immediately remembering I’d left him behind in the bedroom.
My stomach dropped, a surge of sudden panic dissipating the final mists of sleep clinging to me. I threw open the door, heart pounding as I rushed forward and into the room.
Quickly I made my way to the side of Abigail’s crib, nearly tripping in the act as my foot fell upon something soft and plush. I looked down to see the large stuffed bear I’d assumed my husband had gotten her when we moved. She'd been clinging to it like a flotation device in water every time I’d seen her since. Upon assuring her safety, I set to scouring the room for any sign of intrusion.
My eyes frantically darted about the little space, and for a moment my own reflection on the sliding mirrored doors of the closet made my heart jump. I quickly pulled open the closest, it being the only place in the room someone could hide themself, to find it entirely empty.
I meticulously scanned the room, as far as I could tell undisturbed from the night before. The moonlight cast shadows across the carpet, making strange and forbidding figures of the mundane.
It occurred to me that she must have tossed it out of her crib sometime during the night, and I wondered if that wasn’t the reason for the latest of her nightly outbursts.
As I picked up the stuffed animal sitting on the floor beside her bed, I found myself peering in through the thin wooden bars, at my daughter.
I felt a surge of relief as I saw her, though it was quickly replaced by a familiar sort of exhaustion as she cried, her little face scrunched and reddening, that I would be spending the next few hours of precious sleep time trying to get her back to sleep.
I reached into the crib, gently lifting her from the bed and pulling her into my chest. Almost immediately, her cries settled into a soft babble, and I felt a flood of emotion I’d only known post-pregnancy, an overwhelming sort of love.
I made my way to the rocking chair opposite the bed, settling into a rhythm as I began to hum a lullaby. At the back of my mind, I replayed those moments before I’d entered, questioning whether I’d really heard anything at all. I had felt so sure, in those brief moments before I’d entered, that there had been another voice.
Yet the window was shut, and the room empty with the exception of my little girl. She was calm now or no longer crying at least, but her eyes were wet and her nose was red, still running from her prior tantrum.
She babbled softly, her head bobbing as she leaned back to look at me, her mouth trying to work around some word, a “duh - duh” sound.
“Daddy?“ I chuckled, despite the exhaustion rapidly regaining its footing.
“No, not daddy. He’s sleeping. It’s mommy.”
She looked at me, as though somehow her little mind was unsatisfied with the response before turning, and pointing one of her little fingers towards the crib.
“Daddy?”
It took me a moment to understand what she was asking, as I stood and made my way to the crib, reaching in for the stuffed bear her father must have gotten her at some point.
I felt her grip tighten around me, as she spun away, hiding her face in my neck.
Something in me twisted at that. A distant unease in my gut, instinctual though vague.
I looked the ratty thing over with mild interest. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why Allen had chosen it for her of all things. It was a large, rather ratty thing, clearly a hand-me-down if the line of stitching running along its belly told me anything. He’d likely seen it on one of our shopping trips at the local thrift shop as we tried to furnish our home on a budget, and thought of our Abigail.
It was sweet, though a part of me wondered if he’d remembered to wash it. I made a mental note to ask him in the morning. It clearly meant a lot to Abby, and from the moment I’d noticed it, it had been practically glued to her hand, never to be anywhere she wasn’t.
Which is why I found her reaction somewhat unnerving. I lowered the stuffed toy back into the crib, somewhat surprised by the weight of the thing as I did so, a bit heavier than I might have expected.
Abigail glanced over her shoulder curiously as if to ensure I’d moved the toy, turning around fully when she saw it back in the bed.
I felt something stir in me that I couldn’t quite place, again, something odd in her reaction that triggered some instinctual sort of maternal unease in me.
My eye lingered on the doll before searching the room once more for comfort and settling into the rocking chair with my daughter. It took several minutes for that faint unease to fade to the back of my mind, lingering silently under the surface, and it took a little longer than that for Abby’s breathing to slow and sleep to fall over her again.
I could feel the drowsiness billowing back up in me as well, my eyes feeling grainy, lids heavy as the faint creak of the chair formed a dissonant lullaby.
The protesting groan of the floorboards, and the screech of the door’s hinges pierced the veil of sleep that had come to settle over me. Suddenly, I found myself going straight into defense mode, my mind immediately thinking back to the voice I’d thought I had heard earlier, and my eyes shot open.
It took a moment to adjust to the darkness, and my heart plummeted into an icy pool of fear in my gut as the outline of a man grew apparent in the doorway, only settling once my husband spoke.
“You coming back to bed, Leanne?” He asked, sleep audible in his voice as he rubbed at his eyes.
I took a breath, allowing my heartbeat to return to a normal pace, before nodding.
“Yeah, just had to get her back down,” I said, doing my best to rise from the seat as carefully as possible to avoid waking Abigail.
I made my way to the crib, slowly lowering her in besides the stuffed bear, before making my way towards Allen.
“You okay?” he muttered, closing the door as silently as he could manage as we crept back towards our room.
Some of that lingering unease must have been visible on my face, I realized. I shrugged, shaking my head as though to free my mind of the cobwebs of exhaustion.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just,” I shrugged, hearing that voice again in my mind, the sound so clear I had to wonder if I wasn’t misremembering.
“Thought I’d heard a voice earlier. In Abby’s room.” seeing the flood of emotions making their way to his face, I quickly added, “I checked everywhere, the room’s empty, I think I’m just tired.”
He nodded but glanced back at the room for a moment as if considering whether or not to check himself. I placed a hand on his arm, stifling a yawn.
“It’s okay, Allen, she’s fine.”
He nodded, casting a parting look at Abigail’s door before turning and heading with me back to our bedroom.
I glanced once more down the hall, its darkness casting it in an unshakeable eeriness, and did my best to assure myself Abby was alright despite the odd, vague feelings of unease still clinging so stubbornly.
Sleep came soon after we climbed back under the covers, and while I struggle to recollect my dreams from that night, I know they were dark; the sort to ensure my sleep was a restless one.
Looking back, I wonder if it was my mind's way of warning me not to let my guard down, that the worst was yet to pass.
“Cheerios or Frosted Flakes?” I asked lifting both of the boxes, raising an eyebrow as I asked Abigail for the third time which of our two kinds of cereal she wanted. I’d already had to clean up a bowl of oatmeal from the kitchen floor that she’d tossed in a little fit of rage.
The question only prompted more tears, her face growing a bright red and wrinkling into a silent scream, as though she were building up for another bout of shrieking.
That morning had been especially challenging. Abigail was acting out even more than she had been in the past few weeks, to the point that Allen was offering his apologies on the way out the door, knowing that I’d have to wrangle her all alone while also trying to manage my online classes.
By the time afternoon rolled around, I was at my wit's end, my nerves were so far beyond frayed that every noise seemed poised to send me into a fit of irritation. Class had started, and despite moderate success for a few hours, Abby had set back into one of her tantrums again, this time showing no signs of stopping.
There was a test that day, and after spending most of the time juggling between my class and Abby, I did something I knew better than, and hated doing.
I flicked on the television, turning to the first youtube playlist I saw featuring familiar kids characters.
“Mommy just needs just twenty minutes baby, please just watch T.V, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I left her in front of the living room television, hurrying to shut myself off in the room before too much time could pass on my exam. I did my best to stifle the flood of emotions I felt as I heard her cries grow louder, tottering behind me.
As I entered the small room off of the living room which I’d been using as an office, I closed the door behind me. Abby’s cries rose into shrieks, her little fists pounding against the door. I swallowed hard, sighing as I fought back the watering in my eyes.
‘Just twenty minutes. She’s be okay for twenty minutes.’ I tried to remind myself, every bit of me wanting to open the door despite my exhaustion.
I remained steadfast, making my way to the computer and beginning work. After a few minutes she stopped, her cries falling into pitiful sniffles, before I could hear her totter away.
I tried not to rush through my test, my grade in the class already having suffered from so many sleepless nights, yet my mind wavered between the work, and thoughts of Abby. I pushed through, eventually losing myself in the test as it grew in difficulty, until I’d reached the end falling back in my chair with a sigh.
I turned in place, spinning the seat to face the window that made up most of the wall. Outside, I could see the neighbor lady, Mrs. Janice Melody as she’d told me to call her, and her husband in their yard. Their ancient old pickup shone in the driveway, a unique shade of orange that could be described as something of an eye sore at best.
She was watering the grass, despite the fact that the Illinois weather almost certainly meant some more snow could be expected before summer, while he passed out popsicles to a few of the local kids, a group of boys taking a break from their play.
They’d been playing a game of street hockey, which I’d tried to drown out while working, but watched with some mild interest as my mind drifted to thoughts of the future.
It wouldn’t be too long before Abigail was out there. I could almost see her in my mind, a perfect mix of her father and I, smart and sweet, but with an attitude to boot, out there with the other kids.
After a moment, Mr. Melody (I’d yet to remember his name appeared to return to his house, disappearing to the side of my window and out of view.
I watched for a few more minutes as the kids continued their game - his wife stopping her busywork every few minutes to yell at them when the ball touched her lawn or some similar offense - remaining lost in thoughts of the future.
It was as one of the children fell, scraping a knee and crying out, attracting the attention of one of the parents, that I realized, with a feeling of dawning horror that any parent knows.
It had been too long since I’d last heard Abby. The few times I’ve had to lock myself away to get work done, she settled in the living room outside the office, distracting herself scrolling through Youtube and playing with the assortment of toys we’d gotten her over the years, the sounds of her little babbles or clattering of toys was something I’d listen for at points to make sure she was alright.
I had gotten distracted, first by the test, and then my own thoughts in the first real moment of silence I’d had all day. I had let the time get away from me, forgetting completely to keep an ear out.
I shot up from my seat, hurrying to the door, yet feeling unable to move fast enough for my heart as it pounded in my throat, feeling every bit a shoddy parent.
“Abby?” I called, swinging the door open to the sight of an empty living room.
My breath caught in my throat, the only sound to greet me was the antics of whatever cartoon characters came over the television.
I hurried to the kitchen next, calling her name as I checked behind the island in the off-chance that she was playing some random game of hide and seek..
Yet as I went from room to room downstairs, without a sign of her, I felt my heart grow painful in its thunderous beating. A faint nausea nipped at me like a dog at the heels, as a faint tremor began to emerge through my body.
“Abigail?!” My voice came more forceful than I’d intended, shaking more than I’d have thought, as my face grew hot.
I searched the first floor, every room coming up empty, the tremor growing until I shook like a leaf in the wind.
As I approached the garage door, I was greeted immediately with a gust of frigid air and the sounds of birds chirping. My heart dropped, disappearing into a pit widening in my gut as I saw that it was somehow ajar. My body seized with awful anxiety as I opened it fully.
The garage was wide open, giving a full view of our neighborhood beyond. My knees shook with the threat of giving way entirely, as a sensation like being doused with freezing water almost turned my body to ice.
Had it not been for the adrenaline that coursed through me in that instant, searing my veins as it did so, I might have passed out from the sheer horror of it.
It didn’t make sense, I was sure I’d heard my husband close it this morning. Had she opened it herself? There was no way, I felt certain, the button was several feet above her head. Besides, surely I'd have heard it?
I could see no way for her to have somehow opened it without my notice. And yet the reality remained the same. I cursed myself for getting distracted.
“ABIGAIL!” I shrieked her name, uncaring who I disturbed as I ran out and onto the driveway.
I searched, eyes darting about with no idea of where I ought to be looking, the world descending into a blur of colors, sound, and panic around me.
The taste of salt was my only warning that tears were falling, my face - every part of me - feeling numb, like television static had seeped beneath my skin.
I could see curtains parting as curious and judging eyes cast glances through windows, wondering about the crazy woman disturbing the peace but none seemingly willing to venture forth and see what was wrong.
I felt lost, unsure of which direction I ought to be going or where to run, suddenly aware of just how small I was in the vastness of the world. The small groves that lined either side of the street, beyond the yards forming a barrier between the outside world, usually so serene and beautiful, now seemed like treacherous forests, past which I could picture my daughter falling into some ditch crying out for me.
Or if she’d somehow made it through the brush, out onto the busy streets on either side. I felt as though I could vomit at the thought.
I rounded the left side of my house entering the space between my yard and Ms.Melody’s. Panic wracked my thoughts for every step I took, carrying with it the fear that I was moving farther from where she might be. All the while another part of my mind wondered if she wasn’t still in the house somehow having escaped my thorough search, and by leaving I was putting her in danger.
‘She’s gone, she’s fucking gone, you’re an awful mother, she’s -’
The thoughts played on repeat like some record of a nightmare, the very blood rushing through my head audible as my heart pounded.
“ABIGAIL!” I called again, struggling to take in a deep breath as my lungs seemed to quake at the sheer dread, as though the act of taking in oxygen was something requiring concentration I couldn’t spare.
The sound footfalls in the grass made my head spin, as I turned to face whoever was approaching.
I could have cried at the sight of Mrs. Melody, despite the sour look the old woman fixed me with, disapproval written within the wrinkles of her face.
In her arms which strained with the effort, she held Abigail - clutching in her hands that ever-present little stuffed bear.
“Oh my god, thank you!” I sucked in a breath, hiccups wracking my chest as the tears poured, rushing forth to take hold of my daughter.
She pulled back, putting a shoulder between the two of us, her eyes never wavering from mine. It was as though she were trying to see through me, searching for some reason not to return Abby to me.
‘Please,” I tried to sound as polite as I could manage, but the edge in my voice was apparent, and I could only imagine how I must have looked in those openly reproachful eyes.
I didn’t have to see my face to know it was red and splotchy, my hair a mess still from the morning since I’d had no plans of stepping out, screaming like a banshee only moments before.
“Where was she?” I asked, watching Abigail as she chewed on the ear of her teddy with a feeling almost akin to the moment of her birth, an awful anxiety suddenly lifted, though I waited uneasily for her to be returned.
“My backyard,” she spoke, her tone no more pleasant than her expression, “Making an absolute mess of my garden, I might add.”
“I’m so sorry I just - I took my eyes off of her for a minute and she was gone, I -”
She interrupted, hardly even acknowledging I’d spoken.
“Just keep your child away from my house. Do you understand me? And keep an eye on the girl. You never know what might happen if she wanders off again. Whoever finds her next time may not nearly be as cordial as myself.”
Her tone was as cold as ice, and even more biting, no hint of friendliness or subtly in her words. I couldn’t tell if it was a stern warning…or a threat.
She stepped forward, forcing Abigail into my arms, before appraising the two of us. Then, with a shake of her head, she trudged back down the little hill that sloped into her yard, and into her yard, out of sight.
I clutched Abigail close, tears trailing into her hair. The air smelled sweeter, the wind a gentle caress, as my mind lingered on what could have come to pass.
“Don’t do that again, don’t ever leave me again like that,” I sobbed, “How did you get out?”
She raised her toy, little arms wavering a bit beneath its weight.
“Daddy!” she cried, before flinging the bear as far as she could manage, sending it tumbling barely a foot away into the grass.
I sighed, leaning over to grab it, before making my way back towards the house. My stomach gurgled, the adrenaline fading, leaving only exhaustion, nausea, and anxiety in its wake. I could see the peering eyes through windows, as my neighbors watched through slits in curtains, and my face burned hot.
As I entered the garage, I cast a parting look in the direction of the Melody's home, towards the back yard and the grove beyond. As I did so, I caught sight of someone in one of the windows on the second floor, the side nearest my house.
I glanced up, and caught the eye of Mr. Melody. He was watching me with a look I couldn’t read, but one my mind immediately defined as judgment.
Casting my eyes away, I made my way inside, heart thudding in my chest.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur, no matter what I busied myself with, my mind continuously returning to that afternoon, replaying every way that things could have gone wrong.
I didn’t let Abigail leave my sight, she spent most of the day in the living room, where I set up the old play pen we hadn’t used in months, unwilling to have a repeat of earlier events. I couldn’t make sense of it, how she’d ended up outside, knowing there was no plausible way she could have reached that button.
It made me deeply uneasy. If she had found a way outside somehow I couldn't afford to ever let my guard down. Even a bathroom trip could offer her the chance to slip out. The hours seemed to crawl by, me never leaving her side, before Allen had returned from work.
“Hey,” he’d called, stirring me from a sleep I wasn’t aware I’d even fallen into as he strolled through the garage door.
My eyes darted about the room, searching for Abigail, my heart immediately in my throat, pounding with unrelenting intensity. It wasn’t until I realized that she was on the couch beside me, her little form curled against the arm of the chair, fast asleep, that I could breath again.
“You - okay?” Allen asked, slowly lowering his bag as he crossed the room towards me, opening his arms immediately as I fell into them, head shaking without thought.
I recounted the events of the afternoon, my test and the resulting distractions, the panic upon the realization,, and the brief confrontation with our neighbor. By the time I was through, tears were running freely. I bit my lip, feeling irritatingly…fragile.
Get a hold of yourself. I thought, chiding myself silently. I didn’t like how off I felt about it all. It was more than just the fact that she had gotten out, as horrifying as that had been, but it felt like there was something more, something greater that I was failing to see regarding my daughter.
And it petrified me.
Allen’s reaction was a struggle to read, a multitude of feelings seeming to display themselves all at once, concern, shock, and perhaps it was just my conscience, but I thought I could see a bit of blame in his eyes. Still, he hugged me tighter.
“It’s okay, she’s okay, we’re fine. You just…can’t let her out of your sight again, I guess.”
He kneeled in front of Abigail, kissing her lightly on the forehead so as not to wake her.
“I’ll check out that garage door. Maybe it glitched or something, responded to a neighbors remote and bang - out she goes.”
I nodded, though the thought felt unlikely it brought comfort to have some sort of theory.
“We should take something over to them, a thank you gift. Maybe it’ll smooth things over. We don’t wanna seem like the dysfunctional family in the neighborhood.”
I winced at the idea, the very thought of having to see the old woman again making me flush with embarrassment, but I knew he was probably right. She had found Abigail, after all, regardless of what her attitude might have been, surely I owed her for that.
I nodded, sighing and running my hands across my face as if to wipe away the events of the day. Allen pulled me close again, pressing his lips against the top of my head.
“It’ll be fine, love, promise. She's okay, everything is okay.”
God, how I wish he had been right.
We settled in for dinner half an hour later, before setting Abby down for bed. I stood by her crib for what felt like half an hour, caressing her head as she fell back into a deep sleep, arms wrapped around that massive stuffed bear.
The old heating system of the house had seemed to kick into overdrive, and Allen had suggested leaving her window open to allow for a little breeze. After some resistance, I relented on the condition that we lock it in place, opening it no more than an inch.
The events of that afternoon lingered fresh on my mind, and I wouldn’t open the door to allow for a genuine tragedy.
I watched her for a few moments as she slept, my heart aching at the thought of what might have happened. After some time, long after the sounds of my husband moving about the house had faded, I made my way to our bedroom, and climbed into bed beside him.
I pressed in against the heat of his body, though my back was facing him, my eyes were on the doorway as if somehow it might allow me to peer into her room, though there was little to be seen but the darkness of the hallway.
At some point, exhaustion overcame anxiety, and I could fight to keep my eyes open no longer, my thoughts growing loose and sporadic as the fog of sleep grew heavy.
I don’t know how long I had been out, when the commotion of the house snatched me from my slumber. The room was dark when I pulled myself into a sitting position, eyes still bleary and rough with like sandpaper. Yet I had no time to gradually awaken, the sound of my daughter's cry, a shrill shriek like nothing I’d heard from her before and Allen’s voice bellowing my name turned the blood in my veins ice.
“Allen?” my voice was strained, and hardly recognizable through the panic that filled it.
My heart felt as though it were plummeting through my feet and into the earth, pounding all the while as I struggled to stand. My head swam, the air thick with a dream-like quality that, when paired with the stomach-churning anxiety, felt was altogether nightmarish.
“Allen?” I was near the point of tears, as I approached her room, the sound of her shrill, pained shrieks making my chest ache sharply.
I pushed the door aside with such force it made the wall shake, the sound loud enough to make my ears ring. And yet, as Allen turned to face me, standing beside our daughter's crib holding her close to his chest, his expression bore no surprise, just a blazing panic and sadness.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” In my hurry, I nearly tripped over that godforsaken stuffed bear, the side of my foot where I’d kicked it stinging as though I’d just kicked a small rock.
There was something there, something inside of it more than fur and stuffing, but I had no time to dwell on the matter. As I approached, I could see the reason for all of the commotion, and my stomach dropped through the floor.
“Her arm…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, feeling as though the air had been knocked from my lungs.
Allen cradled it close to him, not wanting to let the limb dangle, but I could see the state of it even then. It was swollen, the entire arm an angry red color save for an area a bit below her wrist, which stood out a nasty purple.
The tremor I felt seemed to rise until I was shaking uncontrollably, nausea gnawing at my gut as darkness played at the corner of my vision. My head swam as the panic reached a fever pitch.
“Wh - what happened?! How did this happen?! I don’t -” questions stampeded over each other to the forefront of my mind.
I felt light-headed, and my skull pounded with every drumbeat of my heart. The world felt so…odd and surreal, as though I were in a nightmare, like I could wake up at any moment still in bed. But no, it was all very real, I could tell.
“I don’t know,” he responded, voice strained with emotion, neither of us taking well to seeing our child in pain.
“I heard a slam and next thing I know she’s screaming, she had to have climbed out of her crib somehow and lost her balance I just…” he looked at me, confusion and a sort of pain I resonated with on a primal level that seemed to grow with her every cry.
“She’s never done that before. I don’t understand…”
I shook my head. He was right. Abigail had never shown any signs that she’d been trying to climb out of her crib, had she, it would have been moved to our room that same day. Until now, I wasn’t sure she was even capable.
It made a small part of me, some minor area still capable of questioning through the sheer panic, wonder why. Why tonight, of all nights, after the somewhat inexplicable events of that afternoon.
Still, I had no time for weaving theories at the moment, Allen had risen to his feet and was speeding past me towards the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, yanked from my thoughts.
“Hospital, we’ve got to get this looked at immediately.”
I nodded, almost feeling stupid that I hadn’t thought to suggest it sooner. My head felt all over the place, the events of the day rendering me mentally drained. I just wanted to curl into a little ball, Abigail safely at the center, and sleep for a week.
“I’ll come with you,” I started, “Just let me throw some pants on.”
The drive to the hospital was a tense one. I sat in the back with Abby, doing my best not to lose it as I tried and failed to calm her down, not a second going by that Allen wasn’t peering nervously at us in the rearview mirror.
The night seemed to move by in a blur of hurried conversation and odd glances. Perhaps it was my exhaustion, but as we sat in the waiting room while our daughter's arm was scanned, it felt as though every glance spoke of judgment.
In my sleep-deprived mind, in some odd way it seemed everyone knew of the events of the day before, my failing, as though the world itself was calling me negligent. And I was beginning to question it myself.
“What is happening today?”
I breathed, running my hands across my face and through my hair as I leaned into Allen’s shoulder. I could feel him shaking his head, as he put his arm over my shoulder.
“It’s been…something,” he said, voice every bit as tired as I felt.
“She’s - getting older. Maybe the terrible twos are showing up a bit late?” he offered.
I thought for a moment, knowing there could be something to the theory. The sudden temper tantrums and disappearances, and now this incident with the crib, it was all so sudden and unlike her, and my every instinct told me that something was wrong.
And yet I couldn’t tell what. It felt like that afternoon all over again, an awareness that my daughter could be at great risk, yet an utter directionlessness when attempting to confront it.
“Mr. and Mrs. Price?”, the doctor who had presided over Abigail's treatment called us from across the waiting room, yanking me from my thoughts.
Allen was up in an instant, striding across the room in quick pace as I hurried to follow behind, heart pounding in my chest to a nauseating effect.
The expression on his face was polite, but slightly somber, and I already expected what we would be told. There was a break, just below her wrist in two places, her little arm had been shattered by the contact.
The doctor's best guess was in line with our own, she’d likely fallen and broken it in the process, but the mental image sent me back into tears.
“I know it’s upsetting, believe me, but if it’s any consolation, little one’s are remarkably resilient. She’ll likely heal faster than either of you would in a similar circumstance.” He said with a sad smile and nod.
“We’ll do our best to make sure her arm is set perfectly. I’ve got a friend who specializes in pediatric orthopedist, he’s one of the best. She’ll be safe in his hands. I’ll have the front desk give you the number.”
“Thank you,” Allen responded, reaching out and shaking the man’s hand.
The doctor nodded.
“They’ll be bringing Abigail out in a moment. You folks try to get some sleep tonight, she’ll need the rest too. The medicine will have dulled the pain, but she’ll be tired. I imagine you all are.”
I simply nodded, still somewhat lost in thought. The doctor affixed me with a tight lipped smile, the sort that was more apologetic than happy, before turning and beginning back down the hall and onto the rest of his night.
He paused as he reached the hallways, and in that instance I could see something like reluctance in his posture as he turned to face me once more.
“Accidents happen. You shouldn’t blame yourselves,” he said, though looking at me directly as he did so.
I felt my face run flush, realizing my thoughts must have been all but visible on my face, the self-loathing apparent even to a stranger.
“But also, if you think there might be something wrong, listen to yourself. You know that little girl better than anyone in the world, I’m sure, sometimes that alarm bell in your head is going off for a reason. Trust your instincts, Mom and Dad.”
With that he was gone, leaving me with only a parting smile and enough time to nod my acknowledgment as he disappeared behind a set of double doors and deeper into the hospital.
I peered over at Allen, skin prickling with an eerie sort of sensation like some warped deja vu.
“That was nice of him,” he said with a thin smile, exhaustion heavy in his eyes. “I’m sure it’s standard, we’re definitely not the first distraught parents he’s dealt with, but cool of him all the same.”
I nodded again.
While logically, I knew his words were likely little more than some standard platitude fed to all the worried parents, I couldn’t shake how much it resonated with what I’d been feeling since that morning.
It was…disconcerting to say the least, and only added to the feeling that I was missing something in plain sight, loose pieces of a puzzle all scattered about my mind with no ability to be connected.
“I take it you’re the parents?” A shorter woman, with a round face called.
The sight of Abigail in her arms scattered any and all previous lines of thinking, as both Allen and I hurried to meet her.
I scooped her from the woman’s arms as gently as I could manage, holding her as one might some restored artifact that would fall to dust in a heavy breeze.
Allen handled the rest of the interaction, being led to the front desk as he was asked about insurance information, while I returned to the car with Abigail. I had had enough of the day, enough of the fluorescent blaring lights of the hospital and of people and their judgemental gazes.
I crossed the silent parking lot, passing an older man in a wheelchair taking a smoke outside, the click of my shoes on the pavement echoing through the night.
I’m not certain at what point I became aware of that sensation, that stomach-turning, creeping feeling like a skeletal hand along the back of my neck that told me I was being watched. At some point, I slowed down, heart thudding heavily against my chest, ears straining as I listened to the footsteps I’d slowly grown aware of…
My stomach sank, as they slowed in turn. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, paired with the stress of the day rendering my nerves shot, leaving my mind unable to think clearly but in that moment, with Abigail in hand all I could think to do was speed up.
The area of the parking lot I’d entered was empty as far as I could tell, save for myself, my daughter, and whoever was behind me, and the realization filled me with a cold, heavy dread.
My pace quickened until I was practically speed-walking. All the while, I could hear the echoes of footsteps following not too distantly, in between my own. Realization struck like a blade in the dark.
They're following me. Somebody is following me.
I broke into a run. To my horror, the person behind me soon followed suit.
I wanted to scream, to shriek out for help and yet in the moment I felt robbed of words, panic flooded my every mental pathway, as I could think only of one thing, ‘Get Abigail to safety.’
submitted by YungSeti to nosleep [link] [comments]

2023.04.27 18:27 ChinaOnly001 I have a story for you all, The Scarlet Tiger

Morgan Smith's interview of Jonathan Anderson.
:January 9th 1965: Chapter 3, day 2 of 5. :Commentary on Greta "The Scarlet Tiger".
Anderson: Is the recorder operating again?
Smith: Yes sir.
Anderson: From wax cylinders to now tape reels, hmm, Where were we? Greta? Yes Greta, that Bavarian Cat, The Scarlet Tiger, that high class -Dutch- woman -old American Mispronunciation-. Or if I correct myself, German as we call them now. My best friend and a second mother to Karla. The strongest woman I have ever known, In constitution and in physique, the best of us.
Smith: In physique?
Anderson: Yes, in body, I guess did not write that down years ago now, it is rude to talk about a womans form afterall. Although being no taller than any other woman she was stronger than any man i ever met, the strength of a Tiger. Her physique ... how to put it most politely ... ahh, yes, the Greek Amazons or Valkyries yes thats it. She was dignified, swift and strong. I still remember the time she picked up a Davenport and threw it at man a small number of yards, hit him square too. No one expects furniture to be thrown at them in a gunfight, especially when a woman is the one doing the throwing. She sure did love to throw things, her fathers hobby was axe throwing, a hobby made deadly. Shovels, forks, spoons, ptichforks, hammers and of course her fancy little axes she always had on her. Franciscas she called them, French style apparently. Anytime you made her angry she would always look for the nearest thing to toss at you. "Light laughter"
Smith: That paints quite the picture.
Anderson: A picture you say? Maybe so, dispite her strength she was and acted like a proper lady. Tea and coffee, Three forks and pinky out, all of that life.
Smith: I recall from your book that she was the daughter of a minor noble family.
Anderson: Yes, was ... was ... in Bavaria, before Germany came to be. Although weak in noble blood they were strong in new-money industry.
Smith: Her family was against unification from what you have written.
Anderson: Yes they were, there was that war with France, alliances, yet quite a few wanted to keep their independence when the war was to end. That was her family's downfall, Imperial ambitions unknowingly hired some Wolves to kill them ... and they did, her family were Cats, so that was motivation enough for them, whether they knew it or not. By chance she was not there at the time, yet she was the first to witness the aftermath. She lost everything at just thirteen years of age. Just like I did some years later when I was fifteen myself and Charles took me in after he was to late to save my mother.
Smith: Then she would spend some years hunting them down on the European continent. From the Russian Urals to the coast of Portugal and after that she came to America. How did she come to know of you?
Anderson: Well it was from Charles of course, our one and only Englishmen of our party and practically my only father figure, they were friends for many years. Only myself, Charles, Greta and two handfuls of other people in the area were looking for ... "scowls" ... "Sigh" ... Those pelt wearing, bone chewing, murdering bastards ... the wolves or more formal, the Canine path followers to make it easy for you to understand.
Smith: There is not much information that we have been able to find about the group you have written and spoken of.
Anderson: You have not found much about us either, have you?
Smith: No, we have not.
Anderson: To put it in simple terms we Felines and Canines have been fighting each other for many millennia, I do not know where to begin on that subject. Anyway, there was not much information you could find on anyone here or there of that time. Information and magic told us there were three of them south in Louisiana. There were others around but Louisiana was closest. Things were happening in Louisiana for years but it was not until ninety-five when it got busy. Voodoo islanders, freed slaves, would be heros, outlaws, plenty of pesky Rats, Indians, crazed madmen wrapped in barbed wire and Chinese fortune finders with names I could never hope to pronounce correctly, I even crossed paths with a unknowingly heretical stray Cat woman clad in black and bones and a few ever rare Reptilians, everyone was there, everyone, most of all the AHA. It should surprise no one that a group of, Animists, as you regular people might call us, should end up there. Many fallow the same path as certain groups of animals, many don't even realize it or know that they are servants of an animal spirit's agenda or agency. At that time there were so many agendas with so little written down and what was written, much of it is lost now. Not like we cared about any of them anyway, we were only there for the three wolves in the state. What was happening in Louisiana was the other sides sphere of influence. We arrived a bit late compared to the others I previously mentioned.
Smith: When did she arrive?
Anderson: like i told you yesterday we were there for about a month. We arrived right after the moon calmed down and the snakes went to sleep. Then Charles told me she was coming. By the time she came I already knew her by letters for a year before. Everyone was busy so I went by myself to the dock. I remember it well, it was my birthday, my twenty-fifth in fact.
Smith: She arrived on a "leaky ferry" I recall?
Anderson: Yes what a old boat it was, laid down before the Civil War I assume. She stood out on the deck, alone and everyone keeping away. Even from a distance you could tell she had capital. The finest outdoor wear you could imagine. A patterned Tunic, quality gloves and tall boots. Everything she had with her was rugged, durable, yet fashioned elegantly. If a wealthy woman was made to be on an expedition, well she looked the part. Yet what stood out the most was that fine Red silk cloak she always wore everywhere. One of the last things remaining of her mother as you know.
Smith: Her most recognizable feature you would say?
Anderson: Yes and of course her Five-seventy-seven caliber Express rifle she always carried with her. Always fully assembled and loaded in that beautiful mahogany case, what a poweful weapon. Anyway, I vividly remember her walking on the plank to the dock, it strained under the weight as she had a large trunk in each hand, her rifle case strapped to the one in her right, she was looking down in front of her to make sure not to miss step. Now with both feet on the dock the boards creaked, she looked up to me. Then suddenly she dropped the one in her right and them the left, quite heavy they were, shook me and the dock a little number. She then put her hands together and we met eye to eye for the first time.
Smith: When you met her face to face you wrote that she had a ... "aura of sanguine death surrounding a porcelain face"
Anderson: She had a, easy face to look at yet with a somewhat cold expression. Green eyes, long blonde hair with braids that hanged out from the hood of her cloak. She was good looking if broad in the shoulders and thick in the arms. All this and that dispite being a few years from forty, An ideal high class matron that never took no for an answer, proper if intimidating. But that cloak you see, while clean and neat, I noticed the red color was not uniform. It was stained with spots and blotches of a darker red color than it was originally dyed in.
Smith: Blood?
Anderson: Yes and alot of it, After I noticed my affixed eyes i composed myself and introduced myself. After that i noticed she did not say a word. She instead pulled out a worn notebook with many torn out pages, she started writing as fast as anyone could speak and introduced herself to me. I thought at first she was mute from injury but soon i realized it was her ears, she could not hear a single word I said but she read my mouth like a book. I was then perplexed and angered that no one bothered to tell me. She notice my frustration and cracked a smile. I then offered to carry her luggage only to realize "hardy laughter" I could only struggle to carry just one with both hands.
Smith: An akward meeting, yet she seemed to fit right in with the rest of you.
Anderson: oh yes, many of us were cats afterall, she was just the most regal of us. The others that were not Cats where there for more simple grievances against the Canine followers. Charles was elated to see her when we stepped through the door of that long abandoned plantation slave house outside of town. As I was dragging the one trunk up to the door from the carriage I hear Charles, with the biggest smile i have ever seen him have, shout out and say to her "My dear sweet fool it's so good to see you again!". Always called her that, a teasing inside joke.
Smith: A happy reunion.
Anderson: Much so for those two, thinking about it then and still now. I believe at one point they were together, but it did not work out, I discovered why many years later. They talked so much that first day, Greta went through the whole notebook she had, although she could not really speak she sure always had much to say. Book smart too dispite being deaf, she could read and write in five languages, German, French, English, Spanish and Italian, but she could only mouth read German and English. Her parents made sure she received the best education dispite her ears, a rather uncommon thing to do then. Such a warm feeling that dinner, a good following week too training with her and the rest. All seemed to like her even if some could not read. But the pleasantries were over now. From then the days were to planning, Charles was first in charge at the time but she just soon took over. She just knew what to do, we knew there were three of them in the area, We even knew that in some way they were all related to each other by blood or at least by name. Yet where exactly and how was the question. We scouted everywhere but could not find them in the end.
Smith: The early scouting days?
Anderson: Yes, we were always some of the first on the scene of events and news, we ran into many AHA agents and scouts. We did not care about the tragedies or try to hunt the dark targets. No we just wanted to find three people and put them in the ground, but the were as slippery as an Eel swimming in a oily pond. Eventually we had to take a more risky and active role in trying to find them. We started going to the active areas and set up ambushes at clues right before the carriages of others arrived. Most of us in the party had the dark sight so it made finding places easy, We surprised so many, few seem to think that after they arrived to an area they would be in a gun fight in just a few minutes.
Smith: If she was deaf how could she hear where the remnants rested?
Anderson: Oh that's right they do call them remnants now, well she could still see them of course. While her ears were useless in the living world she could hear and see darkness like us just fine, it was her particular cursed blessing.
Smith: That ... is confusing.
Anderson: To tell it a different way ... you could fire a gun a couple feet behind her and she would not even notice, like it did not even happen, well not quite, she could see the ripples. But anyway, the wispers and thunder of the other side? She could hear it like the rest of us Cats. But that was all she could hear, somedays I think she could not stand it. Everyone might as well be a Train passing through town to her ears if they used their sight.
Smith: That's a better description if still, complicated.
Anderson: I never questioned it, I just know it to be true. I already knew much of darkness and sorcery from a young age. My mother was from Salem after all and taught me all she knew, It was no real surprise to me that she could still hear the other side while being deaf to our side.
Smith: Salem? Witches?
Anderson: Cats or Witches, most don't recognize the difference. Witches are ... distant cousins you could say.
Smith: Intresting, I have always wondered, how could a woman unable to hear, normally at least, how would she be able to fight so effortlessly in your many showdowns, adventures and was the best of the group, you have said it was her ... "paper shuffling" ... "leaf green eyes that could see the machinations and secrets of sound". You only elaborated so much, care to explain?
Anderson: ... hmm ... a blind man does not need eyes to see, a deaf woman does not need ears to hear. She could see the vibrations of wood floors, the rattling of loose chains, a pebble falls into a bucket of water and makes ripples, she could see the ripples of sound.
Smith: The ripples you say?
Anderson: Yes ... she could see the wind and I mean that true. The slightest movement or vibration you could imagine. She could look at one face of a stone wall and could tell by the surrounding air that ants were crawling on the other side, her eyes were almost better than anyone's ears.
Smith: That seems fantastical, impossible, even for what we all know now today since the events of the 1920s.
Anderson: I once encountered a woman with no eyes, no, eyes, in her cranium ... and watch her kill a man from one hundred yards away with her Sparks rifle, just look at me, look at my left arm, is this the arm or hand of a human to you?
Smith: ... no, there is even thin black fur on it.
Anderson: Like a black cats leg and paw made into an arm, two fingers and two thumbs, I lost my arm in a terrible wagon accident as a young child, lucky to even live. Yet my mother pleaded with the Great feline and by chance or grace she gifted me this. Charles had mismatched yellow-blue eyes and could talk to birds and rodents, Greta had the strength of a tiger and could see sound, while I have this funny if quite steady arm. My point being, we are freaks to you normal people in one way or another.
Smith: Still I ask, what was it like to watch her fight? Sure you discribed her actions but what was you first hand thoughts? How would you put it into words?
Anderson: "Sigh" ... hmmm ... a Balerina dancing with an Express rifle, while impressive to witnesses, it made everyone uncomfortable, even after being her partner for 35 years I never could get use to it, only Charles and later Karla was unfazed.
Smith: Uncomfortable? Even to you and her allies? That is perplexing, why?
Anderson: You see when the bullets start flying you change into somthing angry and alert but. She changed to have a ... imperishable and unparalleled aura of savege aggression surrounding her in combat ... There was nothing she could not overcome, no matter what kit they had, if they were 10 feet away or 100 yards out, it didn't matter. With her Determination and Greyhound speed she could run down anyone. Like a Frontiersmen she was always packed with enough tools for any job and even if all the guns were spent she was still quite the Assailant with her little axes or throw a hammer as if it was a Tomahawk. With the power of her Express rifle, her little axes she threw and the speed of that funny number 3 automatic with its eight little Derringer cartridges and always Grubbing around for more Bullets, I ramble ... many had little chance. With the Red hood she always wore and her savagery in combat it's easy to see why we called her the scarlet tiger. We three were quite the team. Charles was an artist with that Terminus, a painter of sorts you could say with that flachette shot he always used. She was the Spearhead and I was the rear or scout with my Centennial, yet at that time it ended up not being enough. Like I told you yesterday, everything fell apart for our little group when Desalle was ablaze.
Smith: Yes you were losing people for every set up, then by the fires only four of you were left.
Anderson: Andrew was done after loosing his partners and I can't blame him. He had a family now afterall. Good man, helped us organize things supply side for twenty years after, he died about ten years ago now. Karla loved to play, to his annoyance, with his fluffy tail anytime she saw him, made his wife so, so angry, when she did that. Anyway he went home for a while. So it was just us three, there was nothing that could stop us. I guess untill there was. Everything was burning in Desalle. There was a big target at some mill by the river, can still hear creaking of the big paddle wheel. Don't know what the hell it was but it was noisy. But we were not there for it, no it was our bait. We just ... did not ... think ...
Smith: You did not think there was going to be so many people.
Anderson: We were in a small building on the west side of the compound. Just waiting there, then above we heard distinct buzzing sound of one of those pesky stalker beetles. It flew in through an opening. Charles blasted it out of the air, we were discovered anyway. A mere moment later I heard the distinct sound of a Sparks rifle and Charles was hit right through the wall. Greta saw him in the white house on the hill east and blasted him down. But a second later though she was swarmed with a barage of automatic rifle fire and was hit. Only heard rumors of a new Russian automatic rifle until then. She ran out through the south door. Charles and I then saw a man with a shotgun sprinting across the walkway. Yet we too were under automatic fire. He got across and fought Greta, she got him but they both went down at the same time. I went to get her but I got hit by that automatic. Charles fired off that flachette rounds of his at the automatic, hit him square and got me up. I gave myself a shot and ran out as Charles coverd me. As I was getting her up though I heard the sound of two French rifles and a man cry out, the man with the automatic went down. They were in the building to the north. Then as I helped Greta get back up, out of the corner of my eye I saw a long barrel poke from the top of the wall to my right near the river. Greta in a panic fired a round from her rifle into the wall, I then heard the loud scream of a woman from the other side, Greta got her. Alot of this is in my book but it is a bit foggy from here. Probably due to the fact that I got blown up by a big bundle of Dynamite. Explosion broke my rifle into pieces. I don't know how I was not blown apart myself, Greta got me back up immediately apparently, she could have been a Physician or Doctor if she wanted to now that I think about, she was always so fast and effective with medical instruments and supplies ... uh where was I?
Smith: I believe you three were pushed into the burning woods to the west from here?
Anderson: Yes, that's right, it was ... it was like a nightmare, it was worse than any of the corrupted beings iv faced, such fights always were. Squeezed between two groups, fire everywhere, two to the north with French rifles and three to the south with what I could not tell you anymore. But all of us sensed one more to the west on the edge of the woods, a wolf, we can sense them you know if we are close enough, but we could not get to him.
Smith: All the fire and gunfire, all of you went down many times but the was reaching its end.
Anderson: ... We just finished off the trio to the south ... those two still to the north, one hit me but somehow it was just a graze ... Greta shot him in the head ... Charles blasted the other one down ... but right as he did that ... "heavy breathing" ... I saw it ... flying through the air ... "sniffles" ... a danm arrow of all things ... from the west ... Charles went down for the last time.
Smith: "In the trees I saw him, a bone mask with dead eyes. A grey hood splattered with blood and in his hands a bow with two black charms wrapped in its string"
Anderson: We could not kill him, too much in the way still. My Pax could not punch through thick trees while he had two of them to keep my head down and Greta was dealing with a immolator. A hive was around and we heard that automatic rifle in the distance again. After a many rounds he fled, I just went to Charles as she tried to chase the bastard, the look on his face.
Smith: You tried everything you could.
Anderson: "Sigh" ... but what could I do by that point? ... I still remember what he said after I managed to make him come to, no way could I forget. "Sorry my friend but it does not look like I am going to be able to help you from now on." ... That always too danm polite man, by this time Greta came back after fighting some more with a terribly distressed face. I asked her if she got him or those other three that are back running around, only for her to hand me twelve empty brass casings for her express rifle, she was completely empty and went through her three spare crates she always brought. We just looked at him in defeat, he looked like a ghost.
Smith: He was at his end.
Anderson: "Would you kindly take care of the boy Greta dear fool?"
Smith: She was a ball of tears by this point?
Anderson: Yes ... the only other time I saw her that way was when Karla was shot in the head. We were a mess, to be expected. He looked to me ... and said ............ "distressed choke"
Smith: ... are you alright?
Anderson: Forgive me, it's branded into my mind ... such a painful, memory ... he said "Here young Andy, take my Terminus. It will be more useful to you than it will be to me now most assuredly" ... man was practically my father even if i never said it, took me in after he was too late to save my mother. For the first and last time I said to him ... "Thank you dad" ......... he went dying with a blood filled chuckle. "Sigh" ... all we could do was pray over him now, the old way. After a moment his body was covered in grey flames, to be expected, that how it goes for our kind. Then after a minute, he was gone, not even one flake of ash, only his cloths and kit remained, he was forty-six. We just left, it was all quiet now, what ever that beast was it was long banished now. We did not even bother to examine the dead hunters.
Smith: You then returned to the old slave house?
Anderson: Still had much equipment and personal items there of course.
Smith: Yet you had an unexpected visitor who you would soon be a long time companion to Greta and yourself, Karla.
Anderson: Greta and i were perplexed to who it was. I can still see it, I saw this ragged grey figure perched on the stoop just like bird as we walked up. With a cloth wrapped long Norwegian arsenal Krag rifle and long scope to match held longways between her belly and legs with both hands on her knees and head slumped forward. That was somthing she would do alot of the time.
Smith: What did she say?
Anderson: Oh you read it word for word in my book. Sad thing really ... she looked up, wind blew around her long black hair, rattled her blue stone necklace and woft that big, ridiculous, ragged, grey floppy hat, then looked to Greta and then me. That's when I saw her unnaturally colored eyes. Certainly her most defining physical feature I would say at the time, as well as the Gray stone like skin she would get decades later. Those deep blue eyes, the deepest blue ... Ultramarine blue eyes, pretty if bizarre. She then quickly looked down and said with a Scandinavian accent she never lost "Oh hello, I'm looking, for Charles, my father, do you, know where, I can, find him?". We never figured out why she often spoke two words at a time, she just thought it easier somtimes. Anyway we could only look at her with tear filled eyes.
Smith: So soon you three would try to get revenge?
Anderson: Well for Greta and I yes but she was mostly there for the monsters flesh, essence and other things, Alchemist she is you know. As well to meet him, she never met him before so she did not feel the heavy loss of him. Only family she had left too. We felt compelled to comfort and assist her but at the early time it took some getting use to her. She needed ... help, Karla is, well, not normal as you know. Greta in particular being from a high class world tried her best to put some sense and manners into that unrefined twenty year old girl from some no name Hamlet. Honestly she tried to the whole 35 years we were togeather. However there was no doubt that she was an excellent marksman, or sniper as they seem to call them now.
Smith: What do you think Greta thought of Karla then?
Anderson: Concerned and felt sorry for her as did I, But she pestered Karla with a endless supply of questions that I had to read off to her as Karla could not read English yet. She was also surprised that she was so eager to fight with us, insisted really, we doubted her at first but then she put a tin can out on a post thousand yards out and showed just how good she was, incredible, and you could tell she already killed some monsters and people at some point.
Smith: So now it was official, she would be your third. Yet you were out of place in tactics to those two at the time, but Greta figured out a solution for you, new rifle right?
Anderson: Yes, at the time I felt compelled to use Charle's Terminus, it was a fine lightly engraved piece and I could even fire it much faster at the hip compared to him, myself and lever actions were just made for eachother I think. Having an extra thumb on the bottom of my left hand allowed me to hold them so steady. However while it was very handy, i was a Rifleman at heart. You always have to get so close to use them effectively and I could not really pull it off as well as him but I just could not part with it.
Smith: That's when Greta had an idea.
Anderson: After a few excursions with now Karla and some rather bad fights we took a break for a while. Greta took his shotgun right from my hands with a look of enthusiasm. I in confusion asked why and she said it was going to be modified by same man who did all the work to it in the first place. I protested and was confused even more but well ...
Smith: She never takes no for an awnser.
Anderson: Indeed, she always got her way, somehow. We had to wait for months, about three I think, Karla still needed some more training on working with two others anyway. Then one day here she comes with a crate in each hand. Gave me one and I opened it, a Centennial Vandal with a fine but dull finish that was black as night, even wood was stained so dark that you could hardly tell it was brown, a great peice to keep the moons light from making it glow, it also had a enlarged hoop for its lever for faster if not as precise shooting and in her humor she had the sideplates engraved with kittens and nightshade flowers to tease me, her express rifle was of the same style. So i believe the same person in England did the work. I loved it even if it was too feminine in style for my liking. However I was mighty perplexed that she got me a custom vandal, I would have much preferred a long rifle or even a carbine but a vandal is smaller than even that. But when I opened the other crate, with shock to what was in inside, I then understood her idea.
Smith: Charles shotgun?
Anderson: Cut down to the same size as the vandal. now with a large loop lever too. Still the same English style engraved rustic peice it's always been with the birds and mice on its side, just now smaller in barrel and stock. I at first was offended she would have it worked in such a way but looking at her smile and thinking about him, while it was his prized arm, he would not mind it being reworked just for me. In the end it turned out to be the perfect flexible combination I needed, Karla with us now was a better shot than I was so she could handle the targets at far range when needed. After that our teamwork and missions started were ... almost easy, we fit properly. We were there a while longer, but things started to get just too cramped, Reptile followers were arriving and the three we were tracking disappeared. We just moved on ahead. We went everywhere killing wolves and collecting ingredients for Karla, to Colorado, Arizona, Qubec, Europe durring the disaster and finally Maine doing hunts and odd jobs, what a long road.
Smith: You three were together for so long and although it was never implied or talked about in your books. Was there any romance between any of you?
Anderson: No not like that, they were family, sisters in arms. If I had to put musically, Greta was a Bavarian Cello playing a warm soft tune in the higher tone range, that could snap into low tone sterness in a flash. While Karla was a Norwegian Violin with every string tuned flat that only knows how to play odd melancholy songs. Both are nice in their own way but when it comes to women, I prefer the fire of Spanish guitars. "Chuckles" I did have a good time in Arizona, hmm, Greta showed no intrest like that to me or to anyone really and Karla needed both halfs of humanity, as it were, to be happy, never, could, get, use to that about her ... But no the life we lived had no room for romancing, only death, hatred, vengeance, wonder, duty and grief, at most, one night in a brothel after a hard month. We were all cursed to loneliness, especially Greta.
Smith: You have mentioned many times before that she was cursed, but how? Sure you have explained many other things before about her In your books and this interview but you have always hidden somthing.
Anderson: We don't like to talk it, when I discovered what she did it answered the old question i had on why Charles always referred to her as "My dear sweet fool".
Smith: So what was it? Will you say?
Anderson: "Chair creaking"
Smith: Forgive my probing, but it is what I am hear for.
Anderson: You and others have not been able to figure it out yet? ... I guess the truth of it need not be secrets ... It was Karla's birthday, thirty sixth, durring the summertime. Day was near over and the sun was setting on a windy day. Karla was sitting on the bare ground by the fire with her hands on her knees and head down, rocking herself back and forth like usual. Greta was leaning against a tree looking at the sun and forest. By rare chance Greta had her hood down and Karla had her hat off. The setting sun glowed off both their faces. The wind was tussling their hair like children playing with the branches of a weeping willow tree ... That's when I saw it.
Smith: Saw what?
Anderson: Karla's hair had some grey strands in with the black now, the skin on her face was like a smooth river stone, she was not the twenty year old girl I met at that old slave house anymore. Then I looked at Greta, that's when I saw it, her face and hair, the same as the first day I saw her on the dock so long ago, fifty somthing, yet still as fast and limber as ever, unchanged and untouched ... an imperishable tiger.
Smith: ... Imperishable tiger, hmm.
Anderson: She noticed my somber glare, eyes watery, breath heavy and face flushed, we locked eyes. Karla noticed me too.
Smith: Did you say anything?
Anderson: "You tragic fool, to choose to be the avatar, how lonely you shall forever be" ... she could only look at me with a face of acceptance and apology, no one said anything for the rest of the night. I explained all to Karla the next morning, I do not know how I did not notice sooner.
Smith: So what was it?
Anderson: We followers of cats are blessed to live a life of ninty-nine years free of sickness, disease and keeping our mind unless somthing out right kills us by injury. Yet she chose total servitude. She took the pledge of ... Nine Lives, one of only a handful to do so throughout all time, She has Nine now instead of just One. To give up all of your freedom so selflessly, how tragic.
Smith: Nine lives?
Anderson: Yes, as you think, like the old joke, cats have nine lives, she will live ... for many lonely years. Unless someone kills her which I doubt will ever happen, she is just too good now. So much sacrificed for little personal gain, I guess i should praise her for her devotion. But everyone will pass her by, while she will be still frozen in time, she'll still be in the year eighteen-eighty so to speak.
Smith: Tha-
Anderson: I don't want to to hear you think it false, you common people know alot now but not all of it. We fought against some that would, just, not, die, before, Karla herself was much like stone. I remember this one Woman in particular in Colorado. She had red hair and wore the clothes of a man, yellow pants, long sleeve shirt a green vest and a Bowler hat to match with a Crown and King automatic shotgun in her hand, a crazed, insane and really good fighter, I can still here her cackling. We shot her down four times, first Greta with her express rifle, then by me and then Karla shot her in the head twice, twice! We tried to make sure she was down for good but the gunfight got the attention of others. So we had to deal with them. By the time we got back to her she was gone. She just got up and walked into the distance in a trail of blood that just got thinner the further she went. Some people just do not die, She will live a very long, 891 years in fact but she can still be killed. There is people out there still that are more monstrous than her even though us and many thousands of others all over the world killed most of them durring that catastrophe in the 1920s. By age sixty I was done, so was Karla, my thirst for vengeance was satisfied long ago yet I still went on because of duty. But not her, she loved it, the killing, the dying, the screams, the explosions and the tragedies.
Smith: I have it written here "paper shuffling" ... "She was the child purification, answering the purs of the great feline that cannot be seen, a Tiger with the kind heart, but a Tiger nonetheless".
Anderson: We just could not keep up with her anymore. What proved it Karla and myself was the last mission, last target, another wolf or so we thought. Late winter of 1930 in Maine, we were done In Europe by twenty-eight of course. We found the old house, it was quiet but you could hear a rocking chair. It was a sun room or so, an atrium I think they call it, broken glass everywhere, there he was.
Smith: "The old dog" right?
Anderson: Yes, not a wolf, or even a coyote or jackal, just a feeble old dog if now disfigured and twisted by corruption. He did not even know he was on the path of the Dog. He must have been close to hundred years old, a soldier in a few wars for sure who turnedto bounty hunting, dogs and their suicidal loyalty to what they believe in. I saw him to be just helpless, Karla while ever morbid curious felt sorry for him, even Greta who was always eager was taken aback.
Smith: He spoke to you right? Or was that just story?
Anderson: He did, it's the same as the book. "Are you here to kill me?" it was quiet for a bit. He started to get agitated and was feebly going for an old Trapdoor rifle with a strange tube magazine brazed under it, Greta raised her Express rifle and he froze. The look on his face ... I could see it in his grey eyes, a look of "this is it, isn't it, this is how it ends". She thought to, just put him down, but first Karla and then myself almost at the same time put our hands on her shoulders. She jumped a little, she looked to her and then me and then I saw my reflection in her green eyes. Face a bit wrinkled, burned and scared, mustache long grey now. Those eyes of hers were of young days. While her young looking eyes were a deception to others, still, I killed so many with eyes just like that, young and inexperienced. There she was my best friend, sister and best comrade in battle I could ever hope for. But I was old now and slowing her down, in the reflection of my eyes Karla saw what I did too, she herself was getting stiff now. We were not at our hight anymore ... and of what point was there anymore? To end up like this dog of a man here? Or to finally have your old body betray you and die to someone who's eyes, like hers, still had all their color. I then looked to the old dog and said we will leave you be, our information was wrong, he was not long for living anyway ... the rest is as my books, we stopped. I explained to her that I was retiring and Karla jumped in the conversation and said she was done as well, She had no complaints, she understood. But unlike the book, the story did not end there. I bought this estate and have been here ever since, Karla got hired by that pharmaceutical company, but Greta? Well she went on hunting and still does to this day.
Smith: So where is she now?
Anderson: India, has been there for a while now, she and Karla are actually going to stay with me at my estate soon.
Smith: Really?
Anderson: Yes, Greta does not mind a break, Karla is done with working herself and ... I only have four years left you know, they are staying until my last days.
Smith: I see.
Anderson: It sure will be nice to see her again, have not seen her in ten years. Will be so nice to see that smile and hasty writing again, maybe she will even throw a spoon at me again "Light laughter". However ... danm ... did I really have to go through all that killing, pain and screaming? Did she really hav- ... and what of Karla?
Smith: What are you pondering?
Anderson: The vengeance made sense, later when things were global the duty of it made even more sense. But humanity, did we even need to be this way? Are we doomed to be this inherently evil? In a way Karla and myself were bystanders. While Greta was part of the whole problem, like that fucking necromancer Allard who nearly destroyed all of Europe in the twenties.
Smith: Yes the most evil man in history.
Anderson: So they say, all those soldiers who died in that pointless fucking war only to be resurrected as mindless grunts by some mad man two years later ... Still they are two sides of the same problem, one good the other bad. As long as there are people like that, who have motives or agendas that cannot be swayed, that can endure any level of attrition. Then I can only hope there is more good people like her on our side or we as humanity are doomed.
Smith: We survived the twenties, so I believe there is more good than bad.
Anderson: That may be true, but I will tell you this. Our goals, her goals, they were just and righteous but that does not mean we were not twisted. I had a young man's hatred for too long for my age. Karla had an everlasting hunger for all of Alchemy and dark knowledge and then there was Greta ... "sighs"
Smith: What did she have?
Anderson: ... Battle ... like I told you earlier ... She loved it, the killing, the dying, the screams she could not hear, the explosions and the tragedies ... if you fought against her. Well, ike a dancer she would give you beautiful show, she would kill you clean with dignity, respect, honor and sport, like a noble knight of old with a hint of animalistic savagery ... but if your ears recover from the sound of her Express rifle, as you lay bleeding on the ground you will hear the most disturbing and twisted soft giggle you will ever hear in your now ending life ... and if you can still bare the strength to look towards her ... you might even see a small smile from her hood covered face.
Smith: And thats the Scarlet Tiger?
Anderson: Who else could it possibly be but her?
Smith: I have to say thank you sir, but we should end this chapter here don't you think? You still have to tell me about Karla.
Anderson: lunch time anyway now ... and I need a drink.
Smith: I'll pour one with you.
"Tape ends"
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2023.04.23 21:58 Elinthral Failed my 3K IO key by .095 seconds

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2023.04.22 22:43 blankxlate Sweet Vengeance 2

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Memory transcription subject: Illia, Federation Communications Technician
Date [standardized human time]: October 20, 2136
Every hour that passed had my anxiety working in overdrive as we traversed the vast nothingness of space. I spent the long hours at my station idly rapping my paw digits against my desk, wondering what we would be walking ourselves into. Is it too late to turn back? I pondered this as well as what would happen to us if we didn't. Captain Orsik had already declared that we would come to the stranded ship's rescue, albeit without our permission. But who was I to question my superior officer? I tried to soothe my already stressed out mind from overthinking too much with deep, labored breaths.
We'll just make a quick stop, pick up the helpless crew, and travel the rest of the way back to Nishtal.
It's that simple.
Then, I'll be only one transport shuttle away from home. Speaking of home..
My line of thinking began to spiral towards my family back on Jild. I closed my eyes, supporting my head up with both arms on the desk.
How were they? It's been a little over a week since I've seen them last, and I often reflected on all of the fun things we've done together. The innocent, playful antics of my youngest forever lingers in my memory. Ever so much like his father. Plenty of love to give, with a smile that takes up half of his face. I've never seen him without it.
I smiled in my reminiscence.
I hoped all three of my hyperactive fawns weren't too much of a hassle for their caretaker. Though, I knew it wouldn't be, her and I have been through everything together. 'Practically glued to each other', as both of our parents would say. Oh, I'd give anything to be back with them right no-
"COMMUNICATIONS!"
I shot up in my seat as a thunderous voice woke me from my slumber. I had apparently drifted to sleep sometime during my daydreaming, judging by the threatening scowl that Captain Orsik was now directing onto me. His ferociousness nearly rivaled an Arxur's.
My sleep-addled mind had barely registered him quickly stomping up to me until he stood right next to where I was seated. The crew watched us with wide eyes, no doubt having themselves been shaken at his sudden outburst. I felt the inside of my ears begin to flush a deep copper, as embarrassment set in.
I would never live this down.
''In the off chance that no one has informed you, sleeping while on-duty will not get us home faster. Your colleagues aren't sleeping, so why are you? There's work to be done. Your incapability to do your own damn job reflects badly upon you." He inhaled deeply, "If I catch you dozing off on the bridge again, I will not hesitate to enforce disciplinary action upon you. Is that clear?" He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice laden with frustration. His deep brown, bloodshot eyes were narrowed, waiting for an answer.
"Y-yes, sir. I apologize, it-it won't happen again.'' I said hastily, all too eager for him to leave me alone. He acknowledged my apology with a turn, walking back to where he was previously seated. "Let's hope you didn't miss any incoming transmissions.." He grumbled. My heart dropped slightly as I had suddenly remembered my vocation. Worriedly, I scrabbled at the terminal in front of me, desperately searching for any record of recent calls. Thankfully, I was relieved to find that the transmissions section of my holo-monitor was empty, holding only outgoing transmissions from me. Which I was grateful for. But staring at that blank screen, with little to no guarantee that life was still out there was just depressing.
I drew my eyes up to the captain, who had reprimanded me less than a minute ago, and watched him briefly.
He was currently affixed to a monitor of his own, likely going over the next course of action, among other things. As much of a hard-ass the captain was, it was a good thing to have some sense of order around here, even if that meant getting onto the crew to enforce that. I respect it. What I don't respect, however, is that the Farsul bastard had the impudence to even suggest that wasn't able or willing enough to do my job, what I was formally trained to do!
It was easy enough for him to stay awake, as his species is nocturnal. I observed him, tending to his duties. He appeared tireless, almost. I'd do anything to be able to sleep right about now, and I'm sure that everyone else onboard felt the same, from the weary looks of them. The Farsul male seemed to be clueless that I was silently staring daggers into him from across the bridge, but I knew he was aware.
Good.
I'm usually not so petty, but the 17+ hours that I had been awake for have made my actions unreasonable.
I silenced my thoughts and resigned myself to my duties until I could return to my quarters.
- - -
After what had seemed like forever, Orsik had announced that we would be arriving at the ship in six hours time. He had told us that we had his permission to rest, as he had stated that he wouldn't be needing anyone on the bridge until then. He had also told us that he would 'let us know' when he required our presence. Kiran and I, along with the other 'essential' crew members were ordered to stay behind were allowed temporary leave as well. Both parties were more than elated to hear this. We quickly filed out of the room, and down to our quarters. No one who was selected as part of the boarding crew were excited about their role. I shamelessly admit that it was quite the opposite for me. The bridge would need someone situated at the Comms station if any allies were to suddenly approach us, or even the Arxur. That thought alone sent a shiver down my spine. As long as I would be in the safety of our support ship, and not waltzing into the predatory maw of awaiting uncertainty, I had nothing to complain about. However, I silently prayed to whatever deity may be up above to carefully watch over my crew,
and to allow us safe passage back to Nishtal.
Making my way to the living quarters section of the ship, I stopped, and looked up to a neon-green colored indicator situated directly above me. It had three horizontal numbers on it which were in a universal language for Federation Species. Right now, it read '022'. I recognized this as one of our many 'Crew Counters', as I've heard it called before in casual conversation. However, I didn't know its actual name. It came standard in the newer Federation ships, and its sole purpose was to track the biosignatures of crew members onboard the ship via their heat emissions, and relay that information back to any Federation-allied listening posts in the off-chance that the ships that the counters belonged to needed aid. Granted, they still had surviving personnel on them. That's what I gathered from it, at least.
It also made it easier to tally the deaths on said ships for.. logistical purposes.
I continued walking down the long, metallic hallway until I made it to my door. Trying my best not to fall asleep then and there, I unlocked it with a light touch of my ID card onto the panel next to the door on the wall, and made my way inside. The room was rather drab, as was customary for housing on a support ship. Or any ship, for that matter.
I didn't bother to take off my uniform or even shower before I plopped onto my bed, sighing in contempt as though being enveloped by the spring-filled bedding was the greatest thing to happen to me this week, which wasn't too far from the truth, sadly. I could feel myself quickly drifting away, and this time, I let it happen.
My peaceful resting session was rudely interrupted by that same, damned alarm. The captain sure loved to irritate his subordinates. I'd much rather be beaten over the head with a metal pipe repeatedly than have to deal with the incessant wailing. I sat up rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, waiting for the alarm to die off so that I could think. I sat for a few seconds longer until my ears couldn't press down against my skull any further. I had to get out of bed, as much as I didn't want to. "Oh, for the love of..'' I grumbled wearily. I stood up, walking the short distance to where the privy in my room was, which was complete with a sink and small mirror, as well as a shower. 'Shower' being a loose term, as it was designed for a Krakotl, and not for a species that preferred to be quadrupedal, such as myself. I was slightly worried that I wouldn't be able to use it properly, but no species was foreign to the concept of cleanliness, so it couldn't be that different from a normal shower. I leaned over the sink and splashed some water onto my face, the stray drops dribbling off of my snout. I eyed myself in what little I could see in my reflection. Despite looking like an absolute mess, I surprisingly looked good today. I suppose those few hours of sleep did me well. I hurriedly dabbed myself dry with a towel, and combed my fur down from its upright position, and made for the door.
I strolled out of my cramped lodging and walked back to the bridge in rejuvenated strides.
Along the way, I rounded the corner and met face-to-face with Kiran, or rather, face-to-stomach. We collided rather abruptly, both of us exclaiming in surprise. The smaller Krakotl fell to the ground after colliding with my nose, being knocked off balance. She flailed her wings around and landed onto her rump with a grunt, and I quickly extended a paw towards her, offering to help her back up. She took it without hesitation, and I lifted the child back to her talons, while coming up to a bipedal posture myself.
''I.. T-thanks.'' She said sheepishly. ''I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming, a-are you hurt?'' Her eyes were filled with worry, and she rubbed her arms together uneasily. I smiled adoringly at her childlike display of nervousness, which was not unlike my own children.
''I'm fine, little one. It's alright." I reassured her. "How about you? That was quite the fall. Are your feathers intact?" I quipped. She seemed to catch onto the joke after a moment and had thankfully not taken it as an insult. She doesn't get out much, I acknowledged.
''O-oh! yes, I'm ok..'' She had visibly eased up a bit, as evident from her relaxed posture.
"You're headed to the bridge also, right?" I inquired.
"Yes, w-we're both stationed there, don't you remember?" She tilted her head sideways at me.
''Just making sure." The corners of my lips curved upwards into a smile. "We should hurry. Wouldn't want to keep the captain waiting. Would you walk with me?" I asked politely.
She brightened at my invitation, and chirped affirmatively. We began traveling the rest of the distance to our destination, side-by-side.
"Are you worried?" She asked after a long moment.
''Worried?'' I questioned. My right eye affixed itself onto her form.
''Y-yeah, about the, um, rescue? Do you think it's a t-trap?" She tilted her head at an angle where she could see me, being significantly shorter than I.
I stood in silence for a few seconds, not exactly sure what to tell her. I didn't want to lie to the little girl, but I also didn't want to stress her out even more than she already was.
"No, of course not!" I stopped walking, and so did Kiran. I faced her, and placed a paw onto her shoulder, which was trembling a little. My voice took on a benign tone. "Nothing bad will happen. We're well out of Human space, and even if they had wanted to come after us, we would already be at Nishtal by then. No reason to worry, sweetie." I rubbed her shoulder gently, ruffling her feathers.
''O-ok.. If you say so. Thank you.'' She breathed in slight relief. I smiled, and we continued our journey. I glanced up at the Counter as I walked through the bridge's doorway. 022. I don't know why I felt the need to constantly eye it all the time, I suppose it just diverted my attention away from thinking too much about the rescue mission. Kiran and I made it to the bridge, and I surveyed the area as I went through the doorway.
No one in sight. Great, this is now my second time being late. I'll be lucky if Orsik doesn't toss me out of the airlock at this point. I inhaled a sharp breath as I passed the threshold with unease. Time to face the captain's wrath.
My steps, as well as Kiran's, were halted as soon as I stepped into the room.
"Sensors, Communications, is there a reason why you're both two minutes late?" A strong voice registered through my translator, unmistakably belonging to Captain Orsik. I recoiled as I recognized him standing right next to me, as if waiting for Kiran and I. I struggled to come up with words to say, settling on staring wide-eyed at him.
''C-captain, I-I..'' I sputtered.
''Save it, Sulean." He spat angrily. "I'll deal with you later." How dare he?! Moving on, he stormed past me to take his out his frustrations on the much smaller Krakotl standing behind me. "As for you, I wouldn't have expected you to stoop down to Illia's level, but here you are." He glared at her from above. "Why are you late? Did you not hear the alarm?" He was only a head or so taller than Kiran, but his intimidation tactics were working, as she was trembling and on the verge of tears. Her beak opened and closed, her eyes cast to the floor. ''Well?'' He awaited her answer impatiently, the boiling rage inside of him threatening to erupt. Seeing the poor girl subjected to Orsik's cruel interrogation triggered my maternal instincts. I had to do something.
''Sir.'' I interjected.
He snapped his head sideways, one large, roundish eye facing me.
"You dare interrupt me?!" He raised his voice at me.
"It isn't her fault, sir." I stood my ground. "I prevented her from making it to the bridge on time. It was an accident, but I will accept all responsibility for the delay. But even so, you are the one preventing us from continuing our duties by continuing this.. senseless tirade." I spoke solemnly, straightening my posture. I noticed Kiran watching me with concern in her eyes, as insulting the captain would most definitely ensure that I would be facing castigation in the near future.
He stomped back over to me fairly quickly, staring me down. He grabbed me by my uniform's collar with both of his paws, stretching the fabric. I could see the unfiltered rage that was now apparent on his features. Has he ever been screened for predator disease?! I wondered. Practically foaming at the mouth he continued his stare-down, his rampant breathing hitting my snout. He was uncomfortably close, and I was scared that he'd bite a chunk out of my nose. He diverted his attention away from me for a brief moment, thankfully, and eyed the crew who were currently gathered around us. They witnessed this spectacle with disbelief, wondering what his next move would be. He looked back down to me, the rage quickly devolving into embarrassment, as he debated what he would say to me. He cleared his throat, and loosened his grip on my collar.
''Back to your stations..'' He managed to mumble, and slipped past me. He must have let his temper get the best of him, as none of us have ever seen him act in such a way. Still a little shaken, I looked back to Kiran.
"Thank you.'' She whispered, and I flicked both of my ears, smiling. "Of course." I whispered back. We both walked the rest of the distance and sat at our respective stations, facing the viewport.
Everyone looked aghast as they beheld the scene of absolute destruction in front of us. In the midst of scrap metal floating around was a lone Bomber-Class ship. It was surrounded by lifeless husks of what once were enemy fighters, from what I could tell. It was incredibly hard to discern exactly what we were looking at, the ships from either sides being warped and twisted beyond recognition. We were currently faced directly towards the impossibly large bomber ship, a behemoth of the Federation's making. The question in my mind arose once more: How did it get in front of us?
Once seated, the captain spoke up.
''We've located a docking port on the vessel, and will land there after attempting first contact." He informed us. "Somehow, the port seems to be the only thing still functioning, by the looks of it. Life support may not even be running, so be prepared." There was a brief pause after that. "Let us hope that isn't the case, for all of our sakes." He let out a shallow breath and focused on the floor beneath him. ''Sensors, you may begin scanning the ship.'' She chirped her affirmative, and studied her console. ''Scanning now.''
The entire bridge was silent, intent on listening to what the younger Krakotl had to say. All eyes were locked onto her, eagerly awaiting a confirmation of the ship's status. "L-life support is online." She spoke suddenly. "There's a breach in the main hull of the ship, f-from the looks of it.'' She was pretty close to brushing her cheek feathers against the screen, given how close she was to it. "Blast doors are sealed in the aft section, m-maybe the crew are in there?" She looked back to the captain, timidly.
The captain hummed in thought. ''What's the count?" He cupped a hand underneath his chin.
"Uh, one h-hundred seventy eight, sir.'' She breathed out a sigh, seeming to be relieved over the confirmation that the crew was still alive. This was the same for everyone onboard our support ship as well. Everyone visibly relaxed, and I myself felt a pang of relief.
"Thank you, Sensors.'' He bowed his head slightly towards her, then faced me. ''Sulean, your turn.'' He had yet again addressed me by my race rather than my designation. His lack of respect for me was flattering. "Yes, sir..'' I replied through gritted teeth. I secured a comms link to the ship in front of us, and brought the microphone attached to my headset towards my mouth. I nervously licked my lips before speaking.
"Attention Bomber-Class ship, this is Federation Support-Class vessel The Unrelenting. We are here to assist you. Confirm status, please." I spoke as how I was trained to. "Bomber-Class ship, please confirm." I repeated. The seconds ticked by, with no answer. I opened my mouth to repeat myself yet again. "That's enough." Orsik interrupted, "We already know they're alive, and they could be dying right now as far as we know. Navigations, connect us with that docking port." He commanded.
The Navigations officer obeyed the captain's order, and the ship began to slowly power back up from its idle position, with the concerningly-loud hums of machinery echoing throughout the ship. It was a wonder how it was still functioning.
We slowly crept towards the battered ship, which dwarfed ours in comparison. As we got closer, I could make out deep gashes towards the front, which were numerous. There were tiny holes littered along its side as well; the handiwork of Terran weaponry. The corpses of the enemy's ships were in even worse condition. Driving past one, the metal cockpit where the pilot would be sat was pulled inward violently, as if something had crashed into it at high speeds. Just another manmade grave floating in this endless maze of death.
Once the ship clouded the entirety of the viewport, I had an awful feeling of trepidation wash over me. It was too late to turn back, now.
We collided with the other ship, which jolted us around in our seats. The airlock pressurized, connecting with the target docking port.
"Alright." The captain spoke, breaking us out of our chronophobia-induced stupor. "We'll be boarding now. Those who I've assigned to the boarding party, get your vac suits on and head for the airlock. I'll meet you there. As for the rest, stay alert, stay attentive, and do your fucking jobs. There's no time to mess around." I felt as though that last part was directed towards me, specifically.
"Yes, Captain.'' I said in sync with the bridge crew as Orsik and his team departed for the airlock. Orsik's brown eyes connected with mine before he left my field of vision. My soul was finally in peace as the symbol of my stressful life finally left the room. I released a breath I didn't even realize I was holding, finally content.
What a prick! Not even trying to hide his blatant racism towards me.
I then heard a ship-wide notification in the form of a 'ping' noise that signaled the airlock was opening, and that Orsik and his crew were now going through it. Though, it was hard to tell when it was accurate. We've recently had to install some extra safety protocols to prevent us from being sucked out into space, as the airlock was one of the many systems that were irreparably damaged. This was the same for the notifications that came with its depressurization. The engineers had quoted that there was about a '50/50 chance' whether the alerts were genuine or not, but I sincerely doubted that.
Damn this ship.
I sat upright in my chair and adjusted my headset's microphone, which now directed my voice into the ear of the captain. "Ready when you are, Captain.''
I heard another ping from the airlock.
- - -
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(A/N: This is my longest chapter yet! I felt this was a good spot to leave off on. Chapter 3 will be very exciting, so stay tuned for more NoP: Sweet Vengeance!)
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2023.04.19 17:30 Hustyx We had it all along 🫣🙄

We had it all along 🫣🙄 submitted by Hustyx to wow [link] [comments]

2023.04.19 15:08 AceDaChimp Progression

I have been following this guide, and I got to level 80 relativity smoothly just completed T5 thundering waste, which was kinda difficult died a few times, I have a dps of 3m
So my questions is where do i go from here?
The guide recommended some equipment but on the vid a saw a comment mentioning how it’s a pretty expensive build that requires a lot of farming
It also recommended some specific affix’s that might help so should i look into the gear crafting system?
Should i farm for drops? if so how do you ensure you get a specific one?
So yeah to sum this up, how does one increase their dps from 3m after lvl 80?
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2023.04.19 05:49 OkExperience4487 ATM8 Weird thing happened, can't explain it

Something just happened that I can't explain. I had just arrived back at my unprotected base, and while killing three skeletons that were there, 2 or 3 thunder sounds happened. One of the skeletons turned bright white like it was now a ghost skeleton and started floating up into the sky with a purple aura kind of thing.
I still have pretty basic gear and affixes on this save (iron), and looking through them I couldn't find anything that would do anything like that. Anyone know what happened?
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