Abc store kill devil hills nc
Question about Jersey/Kits
2023.06.05 03:34 The-Doctor-10 Question about Jersey/Kits
So I lucked up and have a first row ticket at midfield for the Wrexham AFC vs Chelsea FC game in Chapel Hill, NC next month. I’ve been looking to buy a home jersey/kit but two things come up.
1: Do you think they’ll have the new 2023/2024 jerseys/kits ready and on sale at the event? Or they’ll more than likely come up later on the official site (and pray they don’t sell out so fast)? It seems they would make a killing with the New Jerseys/kits ready for sale at the games they have in the USA tour.
B: I’ve heard that the size I wear (XXL) wears more like a XL at best, maybe even a L. Can anyone confirm or debunk this?
I appreciate any help. Have a good one!
submitted by The-Doctor-10 to WrexhamAFC [link] [comments]
1: Do you think they’ll have the new 2023/2024 jerseys/kits ready and on sale at the event? Or they’ll more than likely come up later on the official site (and pray they don’t sell out so fast)? It seems they would make a killing with the New Jerseys/kits ready for sale at the games they have in the USA tour.
B: I’ve heard that the size I wear (XXL) wears more like a XL at best, maybe even a L. Can anyone confirm or debunk this?
I appreciate any help. Have a good one!
2023.06.05 02:20 JohnWarrenDailey Full review of Prehistoric Planet
Follow-up to my last post:
An Attenborough documentary on dinosaurs with the same CGI that made The Jungle Book so lifelike? I couldn't think of a greater sell. But was it worth it? Would it give me the same sense of wonder that I felt when Walking with Dinosaurs came out 22 years earlier?
The first episode, "Coasts", is overall the strongest episode of season 1. Starting immediately with a swimming t-rex (Tyrannosaurus rex) leading his children to an island where he smelled a dead archelon (species unknown, as no Maastrichtian-age archelon was ever found in the fossil record), that first scene showed the promise of the show as a whole. Seeing CG baby t-rexes interacting with live-action baby turtles is both concerning (as sea turtles are currently endangered) and entertaining, as they are demonstrated pretty goofily. But after that, we are done with dinosaurs for the rest of the episode.
We cut to the one scene that, while endearing with a riveting soundtrack by power couple Anže Rozman and Kara Talve, does give me pause. The pterosaurs featured in that episode were based on bones so fragmentary that they couldn't be diagnosed. How can we be sure that Barbaridactylus was a member of the antlerwing family, Phosphatodraco a member of the simurgh family, or even Tethydraco a member of the pteranodon family? How do we even know what Alcione even looked like? Also, the score doesn't really match the slower, less urgent movements of the pterosaurs.
The next scene was described as "the sunken continent of Zealandia", which is a refresher to see the lost continent bearing recognition for a change. Here, a family of plesiosaurs (Tuarangisaurus keyesi) comes to the coast to gulp themselves on anti-buoyant rocks, while the males ceremoniously poke their long, heavy necks up to the surface, the only good moment in an otherwise generic sequence.
After a quick focus on coral, we get treated to a Hoffmann's mosasaur (Mosasaurus hoffmanni) relying on fish and shrimp to give him a good, proper scratch, only to be pushed out of turn by a younger male. This sequence sticks out to me because it shows mosasaurs being portrayed as animals, not as monsters to shadow Nigel Marven or kaijuified Blackfish bootlegs.
The next scene shows a dazzling, mesmerizing mating ceremony of ammonites ("scaphitids", they were called, but that doesn't determine specific species, as it was a very huge family). They glow in the dark and mate very particularly. If the male's flashes don't sync with those of the female, he'd be rejected. Complimenting this alien but still soothing scene is Rozman and Talve's equally alien and soothing score.
Back in Zealandia, we end with plesiosaur pod mentality, as the whole group defends a pregnant mother from a kaika taniwha (Kaikaifilu hervei). As with the previous plesiosaur scene, it wasn't a scene that I got too crazy about.
The next episode, "Deserts", isn't really as impactful as the Planet Earth episode of the same name, both in regards to execution and the musical score, and it was riddled with confusing scene decisions. The first scene demonstrates a lek of dreadnoughts (Dreadnoughtus schrani) acting like a combination of elephant seals and frigatebirds, right down to the pops on their necks. The score in that sequence is definitely memorable, as it (literally) highlights the weights that the males take to demonstrate their fitness to attract the gaggle of girls in the audience. Though I'm left wondering--did the upstart beat the veteran because he was stronger, or because he popped one of the veteran's neck balloons, as male frigatebirds would do to ditch the competish?
Once the sauropod show is over, we now move to what was presumed to be Nemegtia, but it was portrayed to be as dry as Djadochta, which leads to the next problem. While there was evidence of Maastrichtian-age velos in Central Asia, calling them "Velociraptor" is just wrong. I grew up watching Walking with Dinosaurs, which means I watched "Giant of the Skies", which featured Utahraptor in the wrong place at the wrong time. And while the American cut justifies this with a demonstration of a land bridge that connected North America to Europe, I don't know how much water that holds, and that doesn't seem to be relevant anyway, for the damage has already been done. So having in Velociraptor, a genus of velos that went extinct 71 million years ago, in Nemegtia, which was set 66 million years ago, is just a rehash of that previous mistake. In short, Prehistoric Planet has Utahraptor'd the Velociraptor. And besides, hasn't the picture of pack-hunting raptors already been discarded?
The next scene, the one with the Nemegtian mononych (Mononykus olecranus), is cute but not top-notch memorable, and its color choice is teetering way close to the point of plagiarism.
Afterwards, the brief but violent rains have created a watering hole in the middle of the desert, luring in dinosaurs and pterosaurs from miles around, including a wandering khan (Tarbosaurus bataar). The reason that scene is so low was that it was just a near-identical rotoscope of the Water Truce sequence from The Jungle Book, right down to the herbivores making a clearing for the khan.
Then we go high up to see more Barbaridactylus. This scene I wasn't aware was a problem until Unnatural History Channel brought it up in his video, but the females were shown to be oddly consensual towards the similar-looking sneaky males, who use their feminine appearances to sneak past the larger, more impressive males. This is a problem, apparently, because the more extreme the sexual dimorphism, the more likely the sneaky male will be rejected and therefore resort to assaulting the females.
The last scene is an interesting one, albeit one that suffered an unmemorable score in the soundtrack. Apparently, salty southern duckbills (Secernosaurus koerneri) can thrive on dunes of gypsum, but when rains hit the coast, they rely on both their tenacity and their know-how of the sky to get to more productive grazing. This scene stands out to me because I question why any large animal would choose to thrive on such a taxing environment. It'd make sense for an animal as small as the cryptile, the scrofa and the gryken from The Future is Wild, but not for a duckbill bigger than 16 feet long.
It is unanimously agreed upon that "Freshwater" is the weakest episode in the first season. Apart from the humpbacked false duckbill (Deinocheirus mirificus) getting a scratch in the swamps of a more accurate Nemegtia and the devil frog (Beelzebufo ampinga) making a snack out of a baby whacktooth (Masiaksaurus knoplferi), the habitat itself has been relegated to the backseat, which is why the mating scene of the t-rex and the laying magnificent simurgh (Quetzalcoatlus northropi) are on the C tier, good scenes that have been damaged by simply being in the wrong episode. Speaking of the latter, memes have popped up in which the faces of dinosaurs have been pasted over two shots of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, with either Masiakasaurus or the Planet Dinosaur model of Majungasaurus being Galahad and the Quetzalcoatlus being the French taunter ("What are you doing in Africa?" "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!") when, really, that meme is more applicable to Velociraptor being in the Maastrichtian. On that topic, not only is it STILL in the wrong time, there is another problem, one I didn't pay attention to until Unnatural History Channel brought it up on his video. Instead of showing audiences raptor prey restraint (or "RPR"), the storytellers relied instead on mountain cats to show the velos hunting the pterosaurs (species unknown). Like the Deserts episode, Planet Earth has a far stronger "Freshwater" episode.
"Ice Worlds" didn't excite me as much as "Spirits of the Ice Forest" did, which is a shame, because dinosaurs in the snow is a refresher by default. We start at Prince Creek, which I couldn't ask for a worse place to start because the cast list is very fragmentary. In the opening scene, a pack of raptors (species unknown, though modeled after the pitbull raptor), shadows a herd of ugrunaaluk (Edmontosaurus sp.) for a long-delayed meal. Again, the picture of raptors hunting in packs has been debunked for a very long time now. Why insist on resorting to old cliches?
The Ornithomimus scene (can't think of a vernacular for them), while the designs look cool and add distinction to overall character, is still just a rotoscope of the Adelie penguin sequence from "Frozen Planet". Next.
The sequence with the swanneck (Olorotitan arharensis) is even less impressive. Are horsetails really more nutritious than grass? If so, then why have grasslands been the dominant plains since the Miocene?
The reason the scene with the tro-o is relatively low on the tier list is that it should have been longer, because a dinosaur with the intellect of a fire hawk is a very interesting prospect. But the final scene was just too short and too bland to show off any real gold.
We have spent so much time in the north that I question the necessity of a quick detour to Antarctica, rendering the scene with the polar macahutiul (Antarctopelta oliveroi) my least favorite of the series.
The final scene demonstrates the predator-prey dynamic between the northern boss (Pachyrhinosaurus perotorum) and the nanook (Nanuqsaurus hoglundi). The scene is great, the score has some very rhythmic moments, but what puts it low on the B tier are the nanooks themselves. From a distance, they look as good as most of the others. But in closeup, they look kind of fake, especially when they're running. Which brings up to the next problem--the story is based on fossil footprints of different lines pointing in the same direction. But how do we know that those parallel tracks were made at the same time and not separated within hours, days or even weeks of each other? And while it is true that nanooks were smaller than t-rexes, their portrayals in the show were just too small. More recent consensus shows that one nanook could easily match a boss in size, if not overtop it.
"Forests" is an everywhere kind of episode. The opening scene with the austroposeidon (Austroposeidon magnificus) is not long enough to get me invested.
Then a herd of trikes (Triceratops, species unknown) visits a cave to visit a clay lick to neutralize the poisons from their plant food. But why clay? Why not salt? Herbivores can clearly deal with poisonous plants without problem, but plants lack sodium, which is why the elephants of Mount Elgon (the inspiration behind that scene) scrape the caves not for clay, but for salt.
This next scene has gotten everyone talking. A male minotaur (Carnotaurus sastrei) clears the stage to wave his arms around to impress an impossibly stoic female. Everything about that scene--from the choreography to the score--is very goofy, and that is what makes it work so well.
While it is nice to finally see the Pinocchio-rex (Qianzhousaurus sinensis) in the flesh, its hunt for bright blue corythoraptors (Corythoraptor jacobsi) is not a scene I'd be in a hurry to revisit.
The fire scene is oddly slow, the only memorable moment in the whole sequence being my first official introduction to Atrociraptor marshalli...literally just one short week before Jurassic World: Dominion predictably ruined it.
The scene with the baby Therizinosaurus is passable. While it is cute to imagine babies having a taste for honey, it just wasn't executed memorably.
The final scene, the one set on Hateg Island, slogs on in pace, with the greatest focus being a bunch of odd-looking baby zalmos (Zalmoxes robustus) running and hiding from the real star of the episode, the robust simurgh (Hatzegopteryx thambena), looking more proper than how it looked in Planet Dinosaur. One question, though--weren't pterosaur wings supposed to be rounded at the tip? Sure, they've got the hands pointing backwards, but the pointed wingtips is now believed to be an outdated picture.
So it goes without saying that years of watching a moderate quantity of Attenborough documentaries has made the watching experience of Prehistoric Planet, at least in comparison to the original Walking with Dinosaurs, a bit numb. The creature designs are good, the CGI has not faltered in its photorealism from The Jungle Book, and even the soundtrack has enough of a score to make it memorable. But it's the stories that amount to the overall numbness of the first season. They hadn't opened my eyes in the way that Walking with Dinosaurs did.
When season 2 was announced literally one year after season 1, I had my doubts. Planet Earth 2 came out literally a decade after the first Planet Earth, and the differences in filming technology and musical score clearly show that. Same for the 16 years that separate The Blue Planet from Blue Planet 2. Dynasties 2, by contrast, came way too soon after the first Dynasties, and the end result is sloppy, from the stories being set at the tedious start rather than at the steady prime to the score from the first Dynasties being reused so often that the only episode to have any new music was "Meerkat". So to find Prehistoric Planet 2 come out literally one year after Prehistoric Planet, I was concerned that it'd be as shorthanded as Dynasties 2 was. The opening episode, "Islands", kind of suffered that, but it thankfully wasn't as severe a problem.
The first segment of that episode struck me as odd because the adult zalmo looks weirdly identical to the baby model from last episode.
While it is cool to see the robust simurgh being expanded upon, I personally wish we'd stayed at Hateg Island, where they'd hunt the Transylvanian dwarf duckbill (Telmatosaurus transylvanicus) and not the funky combbill (Tethyshadros insularis).
One of season 1's most recurring complaints is "no crocodiles", which is pretty apt when you consider how diverse they were during the Cretaceous period. So to see the Malagasy armadillo (Simosuchus clarki) at all, let alone stand up against a mahjong (Majungasaurus crenatissimus), is one to remember for the ages.
This next scene is actually pretty interesting, in which we see Adalatherium, which wasn't a true mammal, but rather something hovering closely outside the taxonomic boundaries. It's a long sequence, which is just as well, because this is as new a clade to me now as the cynodont was when Walking with Dinosaurs came out.
As with in "Ice Worlds", a quick detour to Antarctica doesn't seem necessary to me, as the hunt between the Imperobator and the Morrosaurus feels more like a skim.
The last scene in the episode is my personal favorite, in which a male robust simugh stands on a sandbar to do whatever it takes to impress a mate.
"Badlands" stands out in that there are only two settings. The first one is the strongest because of how the Deccan Traps, long reputed to be the co-culprit to the fall of the dinosaur empire, has been repurposed into prime nesting estate for a herd of sauropods (Isisaurus colberti). The journey seems reckless, but volcanic sand is hot and toasty, something that a modern species of dinosaur, the megapode, also exploits as it lays its egg in the hot volcanic sand of the Solomons.
The next scene hasn't fixed on last year's problems, in which Velociraptor is still there and it still hasn't performed RPR--it just kicks an herbivore off a cliff, and that was that.
The nesting Corythoraptor scene didn't interest me, but what really bugged me was that the antagonist of that sequence was a kuru (Kuru kulla), a raptor who, like the pterosaurs on the "Coasts" episode, was based on incomplete, fragmentary specimens.
The sequence with the tarchias (Tarchia, species unknown), is a refreshing detour from the previous sequence because we have a better idea as to what they would have looked like. And to see them slog around for an oasis is a second highlight (next to the Deccan nursery).
This next scene has nothing new added from either "Time of the Titans" or "Alpha's Egg", in which a herd of baby sauropods gets picked on by larger predators on their way to the safety of the forest.
The majority of the "Freshwater" sequences I feel fit better in "Swamps". The same unnamed pterosaurs from "Freshwater" have reappeared, this time trying to fly past an approaching population of alligators (Shamosuchus djadochtaensis).
The next episode features a grizzly bear gathering of austroraptors (Austroraptor cabazai) hunting gar. It stands out as highly as it does because it shows a species of raptor that looks and acts differently from the usual velo or nych. Plus, we know many miles more about austroraptors than we do about Spinosaurus, so that is a relieving plus.
The devil frog stands out in this episode, and to see a grumpy male try to fight off a herd of goavambe (Rapetosaurus krausei) is humorous. It also deviates from the usual picture of "the frog that eats dinosaurs".
This next sequence I was very concerned the moment I saw it in the ads. Thanks to Jack Horner, the poorly-known family Pachycephalosauridae has been under very hot fire with the notion of bone sponginess being a taxonomically viable method of identification, which it really isn't because all amniotes have spongy bones in their teens. But very thankfully, this sequence does not resort to Hornerism. It shows that older males do get longer horns on the backs of their heads, not the other way around. Also, new evidence has shown that the domes may have been covered in shiny skin, so this has me asking--is the dome a boys-only trait? Could that dracorex (Pachycephalosaurus hogwartsia) skull that I saw at the Black Hills Museum just be a girl entering her sweet 16 when she died? Could those stygimoloch (Pachycephalosaurus spinifer) skulls just be those of high school footballers?
"Swamps" ended on a high note with a couple of t-rexes hunting an anatotitan (Edmontosaurus annectens) in the dark. One just walks to the duckbill, and the animal, in its panic, goes right in the direction of the other t-rex in hiding. This perfectly reflects the current understanding that t-rexes exchanged fast running for better walking. Now can we see some duckbills fighting back, please?
On May 26, The Little Mermaid came out in theaters. A day earlier, "Oceans" came out. If I were to choose, I'd stick to the latter, simply because we're treated to fresh new stories with a wider variety of mosasaurs and ammonites than any of the Walking with programs ever did. The scene with the hesperorns chasing bait fish only to have themselves be chased by bulldog fish (Xiphactinus) is a classic, but a good one. However, "X-fish"? What's wrong with "bulldog fish"? But the highlight, no doubt, is the final sequence, in which a Hoffmann's mosasaur killed a juvenile plesiosaur simply by ramming it great white style.
"Freshwater" was weak due to being sorely unfocused. "North America", by contrast, is even weaker for being too rushed. Also, the "scars make the man" narrative with the trikes bugs me the most. What justification is there for that?
This has been a very exhaustive review of Prehistoric Planet, and it's way too early for me to worry about a season 3 coming out, if there is going to be one.
submitted by JohnWarrenDailey to Dinosaurs [link] [comments]
An Attenborough documentary on dinosaurs with the same CGI that made The Jungle Book so lifelike? I couldn't think of a greater sell. But was it worth it? Would it give me the same sense of wonder that I felt when Walking with Dinosaurs came out 22 years earlier?
The first episode, "Coasts", is overall the strongest episode of season 1. Starting immediately with a swimming t-rex (Tyrannosaurus rex) leading his children to an island where he smelled a dead archelon (species unknown, as no Maastrichtian-age archelon was ever found in the fossil record), that first scene showed the promise of the show as a whole. Seeing CG baby t-rexes interacting with live-action baby turtles is both concerning (as sea turtles are currently endangered) and entertaining, as they are demonstrated pretty goofily. But after that, we are done with dinosaurs for the rest of the episode.
We cut to the one scene that, while endearing with a riveting soundtrack by power couple Anže Rozman and Kara Talve, does give me pause. The pterosaurs featured in that episode were based on bones so fragmentary that they couldn't be diagnosed. How can we be sure that Barbaridactylus was a member of the antlerwing family, Phosphatodraco a member of the simurgh family, or even Tethydraco a member of the pteranodon family? How do we even know what Alcione even looked like? Also, the score doesn't really match the slower, less urgent movements of the pterosaurs.
The next scene was described as "the sunken continent of Zealandia", which is a refresher to see the lost continent bearing recognition for a change. Here, a family of plesiosaurs (Tuarangisaurus keyesi) comes to the coast to gulp themselves on anti-buoyant rocks, while the males ceremoniously poke their long, heavy necks up to the surface, the only good moment in an otherwise generic sequence.
After a quick focus on coral, we get treated to a Hoffmann's mosasaur (Mosasaurus hoffmanni) relying on fish and shrimp to give him a good, proper scratch, only to be pushed out of turn by a younger male. This sequence sticks out to me because it shows mosasaurs being portrayed as animals, not as monsters to shadow Nigel Marven or kaijuified Blackfish bootlegs.
The next scene shows a dazzling, mesmerizing mating ceremony of ammonites ("scaphitids", they were called, but that doesn't determine specific species, as it was a very huge family). They glow in the dark and mate very particularly. If the male's flashes don't sync with those of the female, he'd be rejected. Complimenting this alien but still soothing scene is Rozman and Talve's equally alien and soothing score.
Back in Zealandia, we end with plesiosaur pod mentality, as the whole group defends a pregnant mother from a kaika taniwha (Kaikaifilu hervei). As with the previous plesiosaur scene, it wasn't a scene that I got too crazy about.
The next episode, "Deserts", isn't really as impactful as the Planet Earth episode of the same name, both in regards to execution and the musical score, and it was riddled with confusing scene decisions. The first scene demonstrates a lek of dreadnoughts (Dreadnoughtus schrani) acting like a combination of elephant seals and frigatebirds, right down to the pops on their necks. The score in that sequence is definitely memorable, as it (literally) highlights the weights that the males take to demonstrate their fitness to attract the gaggle of girls in the audience. Though I'm left wondering--did the upstart beat the veteran because he was stronger, or because he popped one of the veteran's neck balloons, as male frigatebirds would do to ditch the competish?
Once the sauropod show is over, we now move to what was presumed to be Nemegtia, but it was portrayed to be as dry as Djadochta, which leads to the next problem. While there was evidence of Maastrichtian-age velos in Central Asia, calling them "Velociraptor" is just wrong. I grew up watching Walking with Dinosaurs, which means I watched "Giant of the Skies", which featured Utahraptor in the wrong place at the wrong time. And while the American cut justifies this with a demonstration of a land bridge that connected North America to Europe, I don't know how much water that holds, and that doesn't seem to be relevant anyway, for the damage has already been done. So having in Velociraptor, a genus of velos that went extinct 71 million years ago, in Nemegtia, which was set 66 million years ago, is just a rehash of that previous mistake. In short, Prehistoric Planet has Utahraptor'd the Velociraptor. And besides, hasn't the picture of pack-hunting raptors already been discarded?
The next scene, the one with the Nemegtian mononych (Mononykus olecranus), is cute but not top-notch memorable, and its color choice is teetering way close to the point of plagiarism.
Afterwards, the brief but violent rains have created a watering hole in the middle of the desert, luring in dinosaurs and pterosaurs from miles around, including a wandering khan (Tarbosaurus bataar). The reason that scene is so low was that it was just a near-identical rotoscope of the Water Truce sequence from The Jungle Book, right down to the herbivores making a clearing for the khan.
Then we go high up to see more Barbaridactylus. This scene I wasn't aware was a problem until Unnatural History Channel brought it up in his video, but the females were shown to be oddly consensual towards the similar-looking sneaky males, who use their feminine appearances to sneak past the larger, more impressive males. This is a problem, apparently, because the more extreme the sexual dimorphism, the more likely the sneaky male will be rejected and therefore resort to assaulting the females.
The last scene is an interesting one, albeit one that suffered an unmemorable score in the soundtrack. Apparently, salty southern duckbills (Secernosaurus koerneri) can thrive on dunes of gypsum, but when rains hit the coast, they rely on both their tenacity and their know-how of the sky to get to more productive grazing. This scene stands out to me because I question why any large animal would choose to thrive on such a taxing environment. It'd make sense for an animal as small as the cryptile, the scrofa and the gryken from The Future is Wild, but not for a duckbill bigger than 16 feet long.
It is unanimously agreed upon that "Freshwater" is the weakest episode in the first season. Apart from the humpbacked false duckbill (Deinocheirus mirificus) getting a scratch in the swamps of a more accurate Nemegtia and the devil frog (Beelzebufo ampinga) making a snack out of a baby whacktooth (Masiaksaurus knoplferi), the habitat itself has been relegated to the backseat, which is why the mating scene of the t-rex and the laying magnificent simurgh (Quetzalcoatlus northropi) are on the C tier, good scenes that have been damaged by simply being in the wrong episode. Speaking of the latter, memes have popped up in which the faces of dinosaurs have been pasted over two shots of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, with either Masiakasaurus or the Planet Dinosaur model of Majungasaurus being Galahad and the Quetzalcoatlus being the French taunter ("What are you doing in Africa?" "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!") when, really, that meme is more applicable to Velociraptor being in the Maastrichtian. On that topic, not only is it STILL in the wrong time, there is another problem, one I didn't pay attention to until Unnatural History Channel brought it up on his video. Instead of showing audiences raptor prey restraint (or "RPR"), the storytellers relied instead on mountain cats to show the velos hunting the pterosaurs (species unknown). Like the Deserts episode, Planet Earth has a far stronger "Freshwater" episode.
"Ice Worlds" didn't excite me as much as "Spirits of the Ice Forest" did, which is a shame, because dinosaurs in the snow is a refresher by default. We start at Prince Creek, which I couldn't ask for a worse place to start because the cast list is very fragmentary. In the opening scene, a pack of raptors (species unknown, though modeled after the pitbull raptor), shadows a herd of ugrunaaluk (Edmontosaurus sp.) for a long-delayed meal. Again, the picture of raptors hunting in packs has been debunked for a very long time now. Why insist on resorting to old cliches?
The Ornithomimus scene (can't think of a vernacular for them), while the designs look cool and add distinction to overall character, is still just a rotoscope of the Adelie penguin sequence from "Frozen Planet". Next.
The sequence with the swanneck (Olorotitan arharensis) is even less impressive. Are horsetails really more nutritious than grass? If so, then why have grasslands been the dominant plains since the Miocene?
The reason the scene with the tro-o is relatively low on the tier list is that it should have been longer, because a dinosaur with the intellect of a fire hawk is a very interesting prospect. But the final scene was just too short and too bland to show off any real gold.
We have spent so much time in the north that I question the necessity of a quick detour to Antarctica, rendering the scene with the polar macahutiul (Antarctopelta oliveroi) my least favorite of the series.
The final scene demonstrates the predator-prey dynamic between the northern boss (Pachyrhinosaurus perotorum) and the nanook (Nanuqsaurus hoglundi). The scene is great, the score has some very rhythmic moments, but what puts it low on the B tier are the nanooks themselves. From a distance, they look as good as most of the others. But in closeup, they look kind of fake, especially when they're running. Which brings up to the next problem--the story is based on fossil footprints of different lines pointing in the same direction. But how do we know that those parallel tracks were made at the same time and not separated within hours, days or even weeks of each other? And while it is true that nanooks were smaller than t-rexes, their portrayals in the show were just too small. More recent consensus shows that one nanook could easily match a boss in size, if not overtop it.
"Forests" is an everywhere kind of episode. The opening scene with the austroposeidon (Austroposeidon magnificus) is not long enough to get me invested.
Then a herd of trikes (Triceratops, species unknown) visits a cave to visit a clay lick to neutralize the poisons from their plant food. But why clay? Why not salt? Herbivores can clearly deal with poisonous plants without problem, but plants lack sodium, which is why the elephants of Mount Elgon (the inspiration behind that scene) scrape the caves not for clay, but for salt.
This next scene has gotten everyone talking. A male minotaur (Carnotaurus sastrei) clears the stage to wave his arms around to impress an impossibly stoic female. Everything about that scene--from the choreography to the score--is very goofy, and that is what makes it work so well.
While it is nice to finally see the Pinocchio-rex (Qianzhousaurus sinensis) in the flesh, its hunt for bright blue corythoraptors (Corythoraptor jacobsi) is not a scene I'd be in a hurry to revisit.
The fire scene is oddly slow, the only memorable moment in the whole sequence being my first official introduction to Atrociraptor marshalli...literally just one short week before Jurassic World: Dominion predictably ruined it.
The scene with the baby Therizinosaurus is passable. While it is cute to imagine babies having a taste for honey, it just wasn't executed memorably.
The final scene, the one set on Hateg Island, slogs on in pace, with the greatest focus being a bunch of odd-looking baby zalmos (Zalmoxes robustus) running and hiding from the real star of the episode, the robust simurgh (Hatzegopteryx thambena), looking more proper than how it looked in Planet Dinosaur. One question, though--weren't pterosaur wings supposed to be rounded at the tip? Sure, they've got the hands pointing backwards, but the pointed wingtips is now believed to be an outdated picture.
So it goes without saying that years of watching a moderate quantity of Attenborough documentaries has made the watching experience of Prehistoric Planet, at least in comparison to the original Walking with Dinosaurs, a bit numb. The creature designs are good, the CGI has not faltered in its photorealism from The Jungle Book, and even the soundtrack has enough of a score to make it memorable. But it's the stories that amount to the overall numbness of the first season. They hadn't opened my eyes in the way that Walking with Dinosaurs did.
When season 2 was announced literally one year after season 1, I had my doubts. Planet Earth 2 came out literally a decade after the first Planet Earth, and the differences in filming technology and musical score clearly show that. Same for the 16 years that separate The Blue Planet from Blue Planet 2. Dynasties 2, by contrast, came way too soon after the first Dynasties, and the end result is sloppy, from the stories being set at the tedious start rather than at the steady prime to the score from the first Dynasties being reused so often that the only episode to have any new music was "Meerkat". So to find Prehistoric Planet 2 come out literally one year after Prehistoric Planet, I was concerned that it'd be as shorthanded as Dynasties 2 was. The opening episode, "Islands", kind of suffered that, but it thankfully wasn't as severe a problem.
The first segment of that episode struck me as odd because the adult zalmo looks weirdly identical to the baby model from last episode.
While it is cool to see the robust simurgh being expanded upon, I personally wish we'd stayed at Hateg Island, where they'd hunt the Transylvanian dwarf duckbill (Telmatosaurus transylvanicus) and not the funky combbill (Tethyshadros insularis).
One of season 1's most recurring complaints is "no crocodiles", which is pretty apt when you consider how diverse they were during the Cretaceous period. So to see the Malagasy armadillo (Simosuchus clarki) at all, let alone stand up against a mahjong (Majungasaurus crenatissimus), is one to remember for the ages.
This next scene is actually pretty interesting, in which we see Adalatherium, which wasn't a true mammal, but rather something hovering closely outside the taxonomic boundaries. It's a long sequence, which is just as well, because this is as new a clade to me now as the cynodont was when Walking with Dinosaurs came out.
As with in "Ice Worlds", a quick detour to Antarctica doesn't seem necessary to me, as the hunt between the Imperobator and the Morrosaurus feels more like a skim.
The last scene in the episode is my personal favorite, in which a male robust simugh stands on a sandbar to do whatever it takes to impress a mate.
"Badlands" stands out in that there are only two settings. The first one is the strongest because of how the Deccan Traps, long reputed to be the co-culprit to the fall of the dinosaur empire, has been repurposed into prime nesting estate for a herd of sauropods (Isisaurus colberti). The journey seems reckless, but volcanic sand is hot and toasty, something that a modern species of dinosaur, the megapode, also exploits as it lays its egg in the hot volcanic sand of the Solomons.
The next scene hasn't fixed on last year's problems, in which Velociraptor is still there and it still hasn't performed RPR--it just kicks an herbivore off a cliff, and that was that.
The nesting Corythoraptor scene didn't interest me, but what really bugged me was that the antagonist of that sequence was a kuru (Kuru kulla), a raptor who, like the pterosaurs on the "Coasts" episode, was based on incomplete, fragmentary specimens.
The sequence with the tarchias (Tarchia, species unknown), is a refreshing detour from the previous sequence because we have a better idea as to what they would have looked like. And to see them slog around for an oasis is a second highlight (next to the Deccan nursery).
This next scene has nothing new added from either "Time of the Titans" or "Alpha's Egg", in which a herd of baby sauropods gets picked on by larger predators on their way to the safety of the forest.
The majority of the "Freshwater" sequences I feel fit better in "Swamps". The same unnamed pterosaurs from "Freshwater" have reappeared, this time trying to fly past an approaching population of alligators (Shamosuchus djadochtaensis).
The next episode features a grizzly bear gathering of austroraptors (Austroraptor cabazai) hunting gar. It stands out as highly as it does because it shows a species of raptor that looks and acts differently from the usual velo or nych. Plus, we know many miles more about austroraptors than we do about Spinosaurus, so that is a relieving plus.
The devil frog stands out in this episode, and to see a grumpy male try to fight off a herd of goavambe (Rapetosaurus krausei) is humorous. It also deviates from the usual picture of "the frog that eats dinosaurs".
This next sequence I was very concerned the moment I saw it in the ads. Thanks to Jack Horner, the poorly-known family Pachycephalosauridae has been under very hot fire with the notion of bone sponginess being a taxonomically viable method of identification, which it really isn't because all amniotes have spongy bones in their teens. But very thankfully, this sequence does not resort to Hornerism. It shows that older males do get longer horns on the backs of their heads, not the other way around. Also, new evidence has shown that the domes may have been covered in shiny skin, so this has me asking--is the dome a boys-only trait? Could that dracorex (Pachycephalosaurus hogwartsia) skull that I saw at the Black Hills Museum just be a girl entering her sweet 16 when she died? Could those stygimoloch (Pachycephalosaurus spinifer) skulls just be those of high school footballers?
"Swamps" ended on a high note with a couple of t-rexes hunting an anatotitan (Edmontosaurus annectens) in the dark. One just walks to the duckbill, and the animal, in its panic, goes right in the direction of the other t-rex in hiding. This perfectly reflects the current understanding that t-rexes exchanged fast running for better walking. Now can we see some duckbills fighting back, please?
On May 26, The Little Mermaid came out in theaters. A day earlier, "Oceans" came out. If I were to choose, I'd stick to the latter, simply because we're treated to fresh new stories with a wider variety of mosasaurs and ammonites than any of the Walking with programs ever did. The scene with the hesperorns chasing bait fish only to have themselves be chased by bulldog fish (Xiphactinus) is a classic, but a good one. However, "X-fish"? What's wrong with "bulldog fish"? But the highlight, no doubt, is the final sequence, in which a Hoffmann's mosasaur killed a juvenile plesiosaur simply by ramming it great white style.
"Freshwater" was weak due to being sorely unfocused. "North America", by contrast, is even weaker for being too rushed. Also, the "scars make the man" narrative with the trikes bugs me the most. What justification is there for that?
This has been a very exhaustive review of Prehistoric Planet, and it's way too early for me to worry about a season 3 coming out, if there is going to be one.
2023.06.05 01:08 autobuzzfeedbot 25 "Cheating Death" Stories That Were So Intense, People Really, Really, Reaaaallly Wanted To Share Them
- "I messed up a jump skydiving. I was able to correct the situation and pull the pilot chute for my canopy, but I was very, very close to having my reserve go off. The reserves are generally reliable, but it’s still nothing I want to test. Landed fine and then got a very stern talking-to for pulling so low."
- "Just google 'Levey PCH,' then ask away…I’ll be very surprised if anyone can beat what happened to me. THANK WHOEVEWHATEVER you believe in for Apple, Scorpion, UCLA, and the LA County Fire Department and Sheriff's Department."
- "Minutes before it happened, I was under the Cypress structure that collapsed during the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake in California (which was a magnitude 6.9). I was traveling north underneath the double-layered structure and felt creepy and claustrophobic on the brightest day. I raced to get out, as I always did, because I hated being under it. After getting out, I felt like my tire had gone flat and started to weave around in my lane, then I noticed that everyone else was losing control and hitting their brakes too. That was the earthquake. I didn't find out until later about the collapse, and felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I'd never felt so close to death before."
- "I was rappelling off the top of the tallest building in Bangkok (200 meters, or 656 feet) as a promotional stunt. I was supposed to rappel down to the 10th floor, land on a small balcony, and then traverse over to another building. The wind shear off the building was enough to blow me 20–30 feet away from the side of the building. Picture a spider hanging by a thread in the wind. As I got close to the 10th floor, I noticed that my rope had been cut and no longer reached the balcony, let alone the ground. The rope was about 10 feet short of the landing. So, still blowing away from the side of the building, off and on I waited until I was just above the balcony and dropped the last several feet onto the deck. Super pissed but alive."
- "Going to school in San Francisco, I got off the bus to get cigarettes and a soda at a liquor store. I stopped at the trash can on the way out to open my cigarettes and soda and walked half a block up the street when a crane fell off the roof right where I'd been standing 30 seconds before. The crane operator was killed, and half a minute earlier, I would have been as well."
- "Although being an ironworker comes with its fair share of risk, as long as you don’t become too incompetent, things can be safe. But that is easier said than done, seeing as the days are long and the work is physically draining. One day, I was about 60 feet in the air rigging a beam to be lowered to the ground. I signaled the crane operator to 'cable up' (lift the beam), but the beam wasn’t budging. I decided to look down the beam to see what was wrong...BANG! Before I knew it, the beam broke free and came up at my face with about 2,000 pounds of force. It knocked off my hard hat and hit every edge of my safety glasses, missing the side of my face by a quarter inch. I thought I had died, it was so sudden. I should never have put myself in what we call 'the line of fire.' I’ll never forget how close my kids were to losing their father that day because I let my judgment slip. Still gives me goosebumps talking about it."
- "I got hit by a car and walked away with no injuries. The Sunday before final exams during my last semester of college, I went to the library at 6 a.m. to study. At 2 p.m., I needed a break and started walking back to my car. At an intersection, I stopped, made eye contact with the driver of a car at a stop sign, and started walking across the street on a crosswalk. The next thing I knew, I was up on the windshield of a Jeep Grand Cherokee. He hit the brakes, and I rolled off the hood of his car and landed on my feet. I was so freaked out that I told the guy I was fine and left. Later that afternoon, I went to the hospital to get checked out and had no injuries. The doctor told me to buy a lottery ticket on my way home because I was so lucky."
- "While I was doing the dishes, my hip bumped the dial on my stove, turning it to ignite, but I didn't notice, so the stove was leaking gas all night. In the morning, I could tell something smelled off, but I have a hard time smelling things, so I just figured it was some old cauliflower rice I had thrown out the night before. To deal with the smell, I lit not one, but two candles, one of which was right next to the stove. Later, after coming back from running errands, as soon as I opened the door, I felt instantly violently ill, like a migraine and the flu all at once. Probably 20 minutes later, I finally saw the knob on the stove and realized what was happening."
- "One time, I was watching TV in my lounge room and I was sitting on the floor eating. We have a really big TV and we had an earthquake, but I thought it was a train passing by. It wasn't. I ran out of the room as everything started to wobble, and the TV nearly fell on top of me."
- "I went to summer camp when I was 15, and for our last weekend activity, they took us to Martha’s Vineyard and rented us bikes. Now, I loved riding bikes in the park as a kid but had never ridden in the street. But since 'you never forget how to ride a bike,' I figured I could do it. I headed out and tried to go up a street that was very steep. I started to lose control of the bike, and I fell into the street in between a truck that was hauling a trailer (I fell in front of the trailer). I saw this huge wheel coming at me, and my leg was stuck from the fall. I screamed as hard as I could and hoped it wouldn’t kill me (others told me they heard it a few streets away). The driver luckily heard it and slammed on the brakes; I was scuffed up but otherwise fine. You can indeed forget how to ride a bike."
- "I got hit by a train. I was living and working at a college that has train tracks running through it and only a stop sign before you cross them at the vehicle intersection. You had to cross the tracks to leave campus. I was headed to the gym in July, and the windows were rolled up and the AC and radio were blasting. I’d crossed that crossing a thousand times, so I stopped a bit, passed the stop sign, and looked right, but the train was coming from the left. Its horn blew, but I panicked when I heard it, so I hit the accelerator but braked immediately. I was already on the tracks. It only hit my front end and dragged me about 200 feet down the tracks. I only had a broken rib, three cracked ribs, and a pretty gnarly cut on my finger. The people at the next crossing probably thought they saw someone die."
- "My last day of driver’s education class, we were just about back to school. We were all feeling pretty good because we’d passed our tests that day. I was in the rear driver’s seat and had a classmate driving, one next to me, and a teacher in the passenger seat. We went through a green light at LITERALLY the last intersection before school when a car blew through the red light going 55 mph and slammed into us on my side, just a few inches back from where I was sitting. It spun our car into the intersection and kept going! We were all concussed and had to be taken to the hospital, but that was it. When we went to retrieve my bags from the trunk of the wreckage at the salvage yard, the shop owner admitted he hadn’t answered my ringing phone because he didn't think we had survived, and didn’t want to break the news to everyone calling me. Two inches between me and being crushed alive. In driver’s ed!"
- "I was walking to class one day, and the shortest route went under a viaduct. It had been snowing and melting on and off for the past few days. The viaduct is about 100 feet high, and just as I was about to walk from under it and onto the pavement, a 6-foot icicle fell those 100 feet and smashed into the ground in front of me. Suffice to say, I took that as a sign not to go to my lecture and turned back home!"
- "I was asleep in the passenger seat of a car on a highway when we flipped going about 80 mph. We rolled a few times and landed in a ditch. Airbags did not go off, and I shattered the passenger-side window with my skull. I literally walked away from it and didn't go to an ER until a few hours later. I literally had a concussion and one teeny bruise on my right arm, but nothing else. The nurses told me that if I had been awake for the accident, my neck would have snapped and I'd have died immediately. Whenever I tell people, they're always stunned — imagine my reaction waking up to a missing side window and a crushed car and being fully functional! I feel lucky every day that I was asleep and still have my life."
- "There was one time my sister and I were driving down a long road with a huge cemetery. I thought it would be funny to hold my breath because people say if you don’t, the spirits of dead people will haunt you or something. When I held my breath, my sister slowed down to torture me. I was a little annoyed, but at the stop sign at the intersection, this car going really fast didn’t even bother to slow down. They even swerved into our lane, so my sister had to barely dodge. I swear, though, if my sister hadn't slowed down to torture me, we would have been in a bad wreck. Now I’m not annoyed that she did that, I’m lucky."
- "This isn't dramatic, but it's continued to impact my life on a daily basis. When I was 11, I was playing baseball with the rest of my gym class. We took a time-out to argue about who was batting next, and I stood behind home plate, staring into left field. Play resumed, and no one told me to move. The strongest guy in the class laid down a single...and hit me in his backswing...with the baseball bat...in the middle of my forehead. I suffered skull fractures and a brain bleed. To this day, I have anxiety driven by the traumatic brain injury. The neurologist said that the fact that he hit the ball saved my life. Had he swung and missed, I would have died."
- "I was in college and I had just finished my last class of the day. It was a short walk to my car that consisted of crossing a pedestrian crosswalk on the street separating the school from parking. On each side of the crosswalk were speed bumps so cars were forced to slow down. At this time of day, a good number of students were getting out of class, and a large herd of us started crossing the street at the crosswalk. There must have been 30 of us. I was stupidly looking down at my phone and was walking rather slowly. I didn’t realize that I was lagging behind. Everyone else was on the other side and I was still in the middle of the street. At the same moment, I noticed a freaking DUMP TRUCK whizzing by in front of me. It was probably 1–2 feet in front of me. Either he didn’t see me still crossing or he didn’t care. After I got to my car, all I could do was sit there in silence for a while and contemplate what could have just happened. Even as I write this, I shudder."
- "This is definitely not the craziest cheating-death story, but it was definitely scary. I was at a waterpark with my family, and I don’t do well with heat and stairs — something about the combination makes me faint. We went on a waterslide that uses tubes, and it was a long trek up. I apparently was so sick from heat exhaustion, I passed out as I was next in line and hit my head on the tube. If it weren’t for the tube, they aren't sure I’d be alive right now."
- "It was during Christmastime, and my mom, my little brother, and I all wanted to go look at Christmas lights near the middle school. There was a hill and then a lane where you would wait for the light to turn green and then you had to turn left. Well, the main light had turned red, so it was our turn to go, and thank god my mom checked before going, because if she hadn’t checked, a truck would have hit us, going like 60 mph, straight through the side of our car where my little brother was sitting."
- "I was 4 or 5, and we were living in Estes Park, Colorado. At that time, I was challenging myself to go closer and closer to a river they have there. I was caught by the current and would’ve run into several rocks and a waterwheel if it weren’t for my cousin, who reached down, grabbed my arm, and saved me."
- "I survived hitting an elk in the Canadian Rockies and going down a mountain 15 times end over end, stopping 20 feet short of a whitewater river. I gave myself first aid. Doctors said I would never walk normally again and I'd have brain damage. I sent one of them a picture of me with three gold medals around my neck."
- "In the fall of '15, I was riding my motorcycle to work on a foggy morning. A truck with an enclosed trailer ran a stop sign in front of me while I was driving on a 55 mph road. I was unable to stop, ran into the trailer, and was pinned underneath the trailer, being crushed to death. A farmer was on his dirt bike behind the truck going to meet another farmer for coffee who lived on the corner of the intersection. Once he realized I was pinned, he ran to get his friend and his friend's skid-steer loader. They then used the skid loader to lift the trailer off of me and began CPR. Luckily, right as they started, a sheriff's deputy arrived on scene and took over. I owe my life to those two farmers. If they hadn't acted, I would have died underneath the trailer, as there would have been no way for first responders to lift it off of me (it had thousands of pounds of equipment in it) in time."
- "I've always been handy with tools and taught myself how to do things; I've been changing flat tires for anyone who'll let me. However, one day when I was about 18 years old, my buddy came over to chill, and he had his dad's brand-new Tacoma. So we chilled for a couple of hours, and when it was time for him to leave, we noticed that his front tire was flat, so naturally, I volunteered to change it (no prior experience with independent suspensions). I placed the jack on the frame and started to go at it — lifted the car enough to take the flat out. But when the fully inflated wheel was fitted, it didn't have clearance. My first thought was to get a second jack. Half my body was underneath the car, putting the jack in, when I heard a creek, and the next thing I knew, the car slipped. The car ended up with the front end touching the ground, and I got a big scrape mark on my shoulder. To this day, I don't know how or why I did not die under that Tacoma."
- "I lived alone with my dog. There was a hole in my gas heater, so it was leaking carbon monoxide, but of course I didn't know that at the time. My dog woke me up one morning, barking and whining, and I thought she had to go out to potty. When I sat up in bed, I got so dizzy and thought I would throw up. I ended up passing out twice, once hitting my head on the bathroom cabinet, very close to my temple, and once hitting my chin on the toilet seat. I called my boss — the only phone number I remembered at the time. (This was before cellphones.) She called 911 and they came to get me. They figured out I had carbon monoxide poisoning, and I was in the ER for eight hours that day. The doctor told that when blood gases are at a certain amount, the victim goes into a coma, without fail. Mine were more than double whatever that number was. He said no matter how much my dog was barking, I should not have woken up."
- Finally, "I was at the beach with several of my friends, my sister, and my mom. Mom was sitting on the beach watching us. We were around 11–14, I believe, but no younger than 9. Kind of out of nowhere, we started getting sucked under the water in a rip current. I was being sucked under the pier and slammed my face into the barnacles. We were screaming for help, but at first, no one came. As I was being dragged under the water and coming up screaming for help, I could see people just staring and could hear my friends also screaming for help. Finally, people started jumping into the water to save us, including my mom. She jumped in and instantly got sucked into the current but managed to grab one of my friends. She used her body to shield him from the razor-sharp barnacles."
2023.06.05 00:45 Draculin Lang Jack
On first glance, Whickham appears to be a typical former pit village, a place of no consequence in the north east of England. But should you look closer, you would reveal a long and interesting folkloric history. And at the heart of that history, is Lang Jack.
Should you ever visit Whickham and ask about Lang Jack, you’d hear all the standard stuff. They’d tell you that he was incredibly tall, and inhumanly strong. They’d say he heaved stones from a quarry the next town over on his back and up the hill that Whickham sits atop in order to build his house. And lastly they’d tell you that you can visit him yourself, his monument is at the centre of the village, a great towering pillar holding up a bust of the man himself.
All of this is true, or so they say, but there’s more.
What they won’t tell you is that he was almost as famous for his anger as he was for his height. In fact, in a fit of rage he is reported to have tipped an entire cart of stones, horse and all, down an embankment, killing the poor animal and destroying the cart.
They also won’t tell you about his alcoholism, which destroyed his family, career, and liver, leading to his untimely death. He would often get so drunk that he would jump up and down on the spot, one part party trick, two parts act of vandalism when his heavy frame crashed through the wooden floorboards and he flopped into the cowshed beneath him.
But most importantly, they won’t tell you to visit his monument at midnight. They’ll never tell you this because they know the story of Ye Olde Lang Jack’s monument, they know the games they would play as children, and they know the fear that creeps into their chest when they remember the look on that contorted, dissolving stone face.
To tell the full story we have to go back in time, back to a time long after Lang Jack’s death, and long before his monument was moved. You see, the monument once sat in a very different part of Whickham, a place called Woodhouse Lane in Fellside. This area is much more rural, with sprawling fields around it in almost all directions. It sat beside a cottage, Jack’s cottage, the one he built with his bare hands.
The monument was first placed there in 1860, the same year of Lang Jack’s death. There has long been speculation that Jack was buried beneath the monument rather than in the churchyard like many other notable Whickham villagers. Peculiar for the time, Jack rejected the church, instead spending much of his time drinking and working as ‘hired help’ for businessmen who sought to intimidate and punish unruly workers, especially unionmen.
As a result of this speculation, the site of Lang Jack’s monument was a popular one among children and teenagers looking to spook themselves.
They would arrive, rocks in hand to hurl at the monument of Olde Lang Jack. Each child would take turns trying to strike the stone giant in the face as it smiled down at them from its 18 foot plinth. And if they missed, Ye Olde Lang Jack might just reach up with those long arms of his and snatch them deep down into the dirt.
Children played this game for years, and the stories of Jack’s grave spread like wildfire. Generation after generation the game was modified to fit the modern day, and as it was, so too did the stories of Jack mutate, and finally, with each stone throw, Jack’s face became more mutilated.
The years of wind, rain, sleet, and stones twisted Jack’s once charming and chiselled face into something much more unsettling. Corrosion took away his smug smile and replaced it with a sneer. Then it took his eyes, once kind, now they stare piercingly outward, as if a single glance could turn you to the very same stained and mossy stone.
This new face, and in particular the eyes, is what drew the children back. They gawked and pointed and groaned out chants they’d received from their parent’s childhoods. There were many variations, but most went something like this:
"Gangly Lang Jack, The Giant of Whickham
Who stood eighteen feet tall but that’s not all
So mighty and strong that they wrote this song
To tell all of Ye Olde Lang Jack.
He built our home with only his hands
The most beautiful village in all of the lands
Now he lies cold and dead underfoot
Hands grasping at nothing, his purpose kaput.
So chuck him a stone and give him a wink
Stare into his eyes and see if they blink
But watch where you step, the giant is sleeping
And listen carefully to Olde Lang Jack’s weeping."
They would dance around the monument to Lang Jack and sing this song, then dare each other to stare into his eyes. After that they’d throw their stones and more often than not be chased off by a local, giggling into the distance, off to tell their friends about their bravery under the stony gaze of Lang Jack.
This bravery didn’t last long. Soon the very sight of Lang Jack would strike fear into the hearts of the children of Whickham. No longer would children sing the song of The Giant of Whickham, they wouldn’t visit his grave or throw their stones, but most of all, no one would dare stare into Olde Jack’s eyes.
Fear like this was not the type that crept into the heads of sleeping children as they dreamt of the fun they’d had at Jack’s grave. Instead it was a very unnatural fear, a fear that came at a cost, and that cost was the life of a young girl named Mary.
Mary was brave, braver than most, and she wore that bravery like a badge of honour. So when some of the older girls dared her to go up to Lang Jack’s grave alone, she didn’t hesitate before agreeing. She even upped the stakes and decided that she would venture up in the evening, just as the sun was starting to set.
The night she chose was particularly blustery, the wind howled through the treetops as she made her way to meet Lang Jack. Polaroid camera in hand she pushed hard against the gale that saw fit to blow her back down the hill. But she was persistent, and so brave, so with each gust she only quickened her pace.
Mary rushed to the top of the hill, triumphant over the weather and ready to take on The Giant.
What happened next will forever be between Mary and Jack, and the two of them alone. A passerby claims to have seen a flash atop the hill before hearing a mighty crash. Thinking it was lightning they hurried back to their home. But beyond that, no one truly knows what happened that night.
Mary was found the next day, still clutching her camera. A single polaroid is said to have been found at the scene. Those who have seen it have described it as the frozen eyes of the devil himself. Although it is much more likely to have been a snapshot of Lang Jack’s face as the bust fell from atop the plinth and onto poor, brave Mary.
After that night the monument was moved to where it remains today. It was shortened to reduce the risk of another fatal accident, and placed where all of Whickham could see it, where there would always be someone to chase away the children.
The children who knew Mary, or knew her story, grew up fearing the statue. They forgot his song and denied ever throwing their stones. Time weathered their memories and before long they forgot why they were even scared in the first place. But their children remained curious, and some still met at the statue.
And so this brings us back to what they won’t tell you. They’ll never tell you to make the same mistake that so many have before. They won’t tell you to meet at Olde Lang Jack’s gravestone at midnight and stare into his eyes. And they won’t tell you to listen for his weeping and look for the tears streaming down his scarred face. But you’ll do it anyway, because how could you resist?
So the cycle goes on, and the stories continue to be told for years and years. All the while Jack cries on his plinth. Why does he cry? Nobody knows. Does he feel guilty for what happened to little Mary? Perhaps, or perhaps he mourns the man he once was. Before folklore changed him into the gibbering spector locked in the stone tower. Feared by many and ignored by most, only noticed by those who wish to see him weep.
submitted by Draculin to ChillingApp [link] [comments]
Should you ever visit Whickham and ask about Lang Jack, you’d hear all the standard stuff. They’d tell you that he was incredibly tall, and inhumanly strong. They’d say he heaved stones from a quarry the next town over on his back and up the hill that Whickham sits atop in order to build his house. And lastly they’d tell you that you can visit him yourself, his monument is at the centre of the village, a great towering pillar holding up a bust of the man himself.
All of this is true, or so they say, but there’s more.
What they won’t tell you is that he was almost as famous for his anger as he was for his height. In fact, in a fit of rage he is reported to have tipped an entire cart of stones, horse and all, down an embankment, killing the poor animal and destroying the cart.
They also won’t tell you about his alcoholism, which destroyed his family, career, and liver, leading to his untimely death. He would often get so drunk that he would jump up and down on the spot, one part party trick, two parts act of vandalism when his heavy frame crashed through the wooden floorboards and he flopped into the cowshed beneath him.
But most importantly, they won’t tell you to visit his monument at midnight. They’ll never tell you this because they know the story of Ye Olde Lang Jack’s monument, they know the games they would play as children, and they know the fear that creeps into their chest when they remember the look on that contorted, dissolving stone face.
To tell the full story we have to go back in time, back to a time long after Lang Jack’s death, and long before his monument was moved. You see, the monument once sat in a very different part of Whickham, a place called Woodhouse Lane in Fellside. This area is much more rural, with sprawling fields around it in almost all directions. It sat beside a cottage, Jack’s cottage, the one he built with his bare hands.
The monument was first placed there in 1860, the same year of Lang Jack’s death. There has long been speculation that Jack was buried beneath the monument rather than in the churchyard like many other notable Whickham villagers. Peculiar for the time, Jack rejected the church, instead spending much of his time drinking and working as ‘hired help’ for businessmen who sought to intimidate and punish unruly workers, especially unionmen.
As a result of this speculation, the site of Lang Jack’s monument was a popular one among children and teenagers looking to spook themselves.
They would arrive, rocks in hand to hurl at the monument of Olde Lang Jack. Each child would take turns trying to strike the stone giant in the face as it smiled down at them from its 18 foot plinth. And if they missed, Ye Olde Lang Jack might just reach up with those long arms of his and snatch them deep down into the dirt.
Children played this game for years, and the stories of Jack’s grave spread like wildfire. Generation after generation the game was modified to fit the modern day, and as it was, so too did the stories of Jack mutate, and finally, with each stone throw, Jack’s face became more mutilated.
The years of wind, rain, sleet, and stones twisted Jack’s once charming and chiselled face into something much more unsettling. Corrosion took away his smug smile and replaced it with a sneer. Then it took his eyes, once kind, now they stare piercingly outward, as if a single glance could turn you to the very same stained and mossy stone.
This new face, and in particular the eyes, is what drew the children back. They gawked and pointed and groaned out chants they’d received from their parent’s childhoods. There were many variations, but most went something like this:
"Gangly Lang Jack, The Giant of Whickham
Who stood eighteen feet tall but that’s not all
So mighty and strong that they wrote this song
To tell all of Ye Olde Lang Jack.
He built our home with only his hands
The most beautiful village in all of the lands
Now he lies cold and dead underfoot
Hands grasping at nothing, his purpose kaput.
So chuck him a stone and give him a wink
Stare into his eyes and see if they blink
But watch where you step, the giant is sleeping
And listen carefully to Olde Lang Jack’s weeping."
They would dance around the monument to Lang Jack and sing this song, then dare each other to stare into his eyes. After that they’d throw their stones and more often than not be chased off by a local, giggling into the distance, off to tell their friends about their bravery under the stony gaze of Lang Jack.
This bravery didn’t last long. Soon the very sight of Lang Jack would strike fear into the hearts of the children of Whickham. No longer would children sing the song of The Giant of Whickham, they wouldn’t visit his grave or throw their stones, but most of all, no one would dare stare into Olde Jack’s eyes.
Fear like this was not the type that crept into the heads of sleeping children as they dreamt of the fun they’d had at Jack’s grave. Instead it was a very unnatural fear, a fear that came at a cost, and that cost was the life of a young girl named Mary.
Mary was brave, braver than most, and she wore that bravery like a badge of honour. So when some of the older girls dared her to go up to Lang Jack’s grave alone, she didn’t hesitate before agreeing. She even upped the stakes and decided that she would venture up in the evening, just as the sun was starting to set.
The night she chose was particularly blustery, the wind howled through the treetops as she made her way to meet Lang Jack. Polaroid camera in hand she pushed hard against the gale that saw fit to blow her back down the hill. But she was persistent, and so brave, so with each gust she only quickened her pace.
Mary rushed to the top of the hill, triumphant over the weather and ready to take on The Giant.
What happened next will forever be between Mary and Jack, and the two of them alone. A passerby claims to have seen a flash atop the hill before hearing a mighty crash. Thinking it was lightning they hurried back to their home. But beyond that, no one truly knows what happened that night.
Mary was found the next day, still clutching her camera. A single polaroid is said to have been found at the scene. Those who have seen it have described it as the frozen eyes of the devil himself. Although it is much more likely to have been a snapshot of Lang Jack’s face as the bust fell from atop the plinth and onto poor, brave Mary.
After that night the monument was moved to where it remains today. It was shortened to reduce the risk of another fatal accident, and placed where all of Whickham could see it, where there would always be someone to chase away the children.
The children who knew Mary, or knew her story, grew up fearing the statue. They forgot his song and denied ever throwing their stones. Time weathered their memories and before long they forgot why they were even scared in the first place. But their children remained curious, and some still met at the statue.
And so this brings us back to what they won’t tell you. They’ll never tell you to make the same mistake that so many have before. They won’t tell you to meet at Olde Lang Jack’s gravestone at midnight and stare into his eyes. And they won’t tell you to listen for his weeping and look for the tears streaming down his scarred face. But you’ll do it anyway, because how could you resist?
So the cycle goes on, and the stories continue to be told for years and years. All the while Jack cries on his plinth. Why does he cry? Nobody knows. Does he feel guilty for what happened to little Mary? Perhaps, or perhaps he mourns the man he once was. Before folklore changed him into the gibbering spector locked in the stone tower. Feared by many and ignored by most, only noticed by those who wish to see him weep.
2023.06.05 00:21 shadetreewizard What a wild thing to step into..
After getting on Reddit at the end of my long day and seeing this crazy thing coming up about a BattleTech subreddit that I love to pop into and just see what's going on; I'm a bit flabbergasted.
I started playing the game at the age of 13 in 1996. I played with other people's collections and in rural Kentucky gamers were so few and far between that we were a tight-knit bunch and they were just so happy to get me into the hobby. As people got older I inherited a lot of people's collections as they moved off to college and had families and children. And then one day in bowling Green Kentucky in a house fire I lost somewhere between 45 and 60 minis from the early days. They were left in a puddle of slag.
But the thing is, after that anytime I can find someone that wanted to play I still had my books and we would do just like we did when I first started playing and I had no miniatures; we would play with pennies and nickels . We would tape a piece of paper over the top of the coin, mark it with a number and correlate that to a unit, and put a facing marker on it.
When I first started playing I memorized the rules and went back to my small little community tucked away in the hills of Kentucky and regurgitated that information to a couple of my friends. We compiled all that information. Including modifiers and basic rules of movement and such. We played with a ransacked version of the rules for like a year or two. Until I was able to go an hour or two away and find my first used rule book. I knew other people in the county that had books and miniatures but those things were so hard to come by there was no way they were loaning them to anyone. And I don't blame them. Because they loved and cared for that hobby so much I ended up with most of their materials when they couldn't support it any longer due to obligations.
So, for anyone to act like this hobby is not inclusive; you can take a long walk off a short pier.
Even as I got more serious about the game (making terrains and reading other rule books) I was never shunned by anyone who loved the game. Even if I didn't know how something worked, they were glad to explain it to me. There was so few of us. At least where I was from that we couldn't risk losing another. Because what happens when you have no one left to play with.
Solo scenarios aren't very fun.
I was never blessed to have access to the early lore. I would occasionally find books in gaming stores hours from my home. I would purchase them and read them. I honestly am not familiar with much past the clan invasion. But for my own head Cannon there's enough going on between the star leagues fall and the invasion of the clans. And that makes me happy and I don't need more. But I'm not going to hate on somebody who wants to have their own head Cannon.
Battletech is for everyone. Enjoy it how you like.
P.S. I've never kept up with any of the companies who owned the game or the people involved with it so that whole meta situation is lost on me.
Oh.... And Clanners can lick my butt.
And.... Capellans arent worth the munitions we use to kill them.
submitted by shadetreewizard to battletech [link] [comments]
I started playing the game at the age of 13 in 1996. I played with other people's collections and in rural Kentucky gamers were so few and far between that we were a tight-knit bunch and they were just so happy to get me into the hobby. As people got older I inherited a lot of people's collections as they moved off to college and had families and children. And then one day in bowling Green Kentucky in a house fire I lost somewhere between 45 and 60 minis from the early days. They were left in a puddle of slag.
But the thing is, after that anytime I can find someone that wanted to play I still had my books and we would do just like we did when I first started playing and I had no miniatures; we would play with pennies and nickels . We would tape a piece of paper over the top of the coin, mark it with a number and correlate that to a unit, and put a facing marker on it.
When I first started playing I memorized the rules and went back to my small little community tucked away in the hills of Kentucky and regurgitated that information to a couple of my friends. We compiled all that information. Including modifiers and basic rules of movement and such. We played with a ransacked version of the rules for like a year or two. Until I was able to go an hour or two away and find my first used rule book. I knew other people in the county that had books and miniatures but those things were so hard to come by there was no way they were loaning them to anyone. And I don't blame them. Because they loved and cared for that hobby so much I ended up with most of their materials when they couldn't support it any longer due to obligations.
So, for anyone to act like this hobby is not inclusive; you can take a long walk off a short pier.
Even as I got more serious about the game (making terrains and reading other rule books) I was never shunned by anyone who loved the game. Even if I didn't know how something worked, they were glad to explain it to me. There was so few of us. At least where I was from that we couldn't risk losing another. Because what happens when you have no one left to play with.
Solo scenarios aren't very fun.
I was never blessed to have access to the early lore. I would occasionally find books in gaming stores hours from my home. I would purchase them and read them. I honestly am not familiar with much past the clan invasion. But for my own head Cannon there's enough going on between the star leagues fall and the invasion of the clans. And that makes me happy and I don't need more. But I'm not going to hate on somebody who wants to have their own head Cannon.
Battletech is for everyone. Enjoy it how you like.
P.S. I've never kept up with any of the companies who owned the game or the people involved with it so that whole meta situation is lost on me.
Oh.... And Clanners can lick my butt.
And.... Capellans arent worth the munitions we use to kill them.
2023.06.05 00:03 LoveAliens Pain Deck (Mono Red - Looking for feedback)
https://www.moxfield.com/decks/L9weagXIYkqBAv5Id77hpw Edit: I don't want to try Solphim, Mayhem Dominus, as the Commander, because then i'll end up just killing everyone equally. If I run Solphim then I don't have a win plan. i need a way to deal with all the damage I'm taking Auntie Blyte, Bad Influence does that. Solphim just makes everyone die faster.
The deck stacks up as many indirect damage sources as possible, along with having direct damage sources as well that also damage me, like Char, Earthquake, Flamebreak, etc.
Lots of cards do damage every turn or every upkeep. And double or triple damage multipliers can quickly make those get out of control. So the deck will kill everyone at the table if it isn't answered. Hopefully I can manage to die last, so I don't draw the game.
I've always loved the control aspect of red, and obscure red enchantments that do interesting things with damage or lands. It's a different approach than the burn of RDW. And with the 40 health in commander, doing direct damage to a player (like with browbeat or vexing devil, they'll just take the damage) isn't enough damage and isn't aoe enough to really justify losing a whole card over. Those cards are for 1v1 20 life games.
I'm posting this to cedh because despite playing a theme where theme is more important than winning, I don't like using bad cards, like non competitive players so often do (wtf is wrong with them?) So, mana crypt, sol ring, stripmine, wasteland, ruination, tangle wire, mox diamond, chrome mox, simian spirit guide. I hate not having some ramp. I kinda wanna add more ramp, but the deck does need lots of RED mana.
Meta: No clue. Most of my LGS stores don't do cedh. Most online friends play bad decks. So it'll be probably higher power level than most in my meta. My friends run like 29-30 lands and no sol ring. They're bad.
Okay maybe now the bot won't delete this.
submitted by LoveAliens to CompetitiveEDH [link] [comments]
The deck stacks up as many indirect damage sources as possible, along with having direct damage sources as well that also damage me, like Char, Earthquake, Flamebreak, etc.
Lots of cards do damage every turn or every upkeep. And double or triple damage multipliers can quickly make those get out of control. So the deck will kill everyone at the table if it isn't answered. Hopefully I can manage to die last, so I don't draw the game.
I've always loved the control aspect of red, and obscure red enchantments that do interesting things with damage or lands. It's a different approach than the burn of RDW. And with the 40 health in commander, doing direct damage to a player (like with browbeat or vexing devil, they'll just take the damage) isn't enough damage and isn't aoe enough to really justify losing a whole card over. Those cards are for 1v1 20 life games.
I'm posting this to cedh because despite playing a theme where theme is more important than winning, I don't like using bad cards, like non competitive players so often do (wtf is wrong with them?) So, mana crypt, sol ring, stripmine, wasteland, ruination, tangle wire, mox diamond, chrome mox, simian spirit guide. I hate not having some ramp. I kinda wanna add more ramp, but the deck does need lots of RED mana.
Meta: No clue. Most of my LGS stores don't do cedh. Most online friends play bad decks. So it'll be probably higher power level than most in my meta. My friends run like 29-30 lands and no sol ring. They're bad.
Okay maybe now the bot won't delete this.
2023.06.04 21:58 DrBlackJack21 Of Men and Dragons, Book 3, Chapter 45
Other stories of mine can be found in my wiki
For those who want to go back to the beginning, here's a link to book 1 chapter 1.
An image of Lon'thul
Of Men and Dragons, Book 3, Chapter 45
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The order had finally been given. A bellow arose from thousands of argu'n before everyone surged forward. Dak'ton felt his blood thirst rise as he launched himself ahead, albeit a little more slowly encombered as he was by the new tool Lord B'arthon had insisted they bring with them. Then there was a shout from the enemy lines that preceded the first volley of small spears launched toward them.
Dak'ton hadn't believed they could be thrown this far, but judging by the path they were arching in his general direction, the warrior was suddenly grateful for the large thick wooden planks Lord B'arthon had insisted they carry with them. Raising it over his head, he could hear impacts all around him and a few screams as the wooden planks proved insufficient for some in the face of such a barrage. Dak'ton himself felt a jarring impact as one small spear hit his shield and a second impact as it pierced through the wood and hit his chest plate.
The warrior froze momentarily, wondering if he was dead, before realizing the combination of wood and his bone plates must have saved his life. However, Dak'ton was further delayed by trying to wrench the spear from his chest and planks as more warriors ran past. Finally, there was a sharp jolt of pain as he pulled the spear free. He was dismayed to see a trail of blood leaking out of a wound in his chest, but it wasn't deep enough to be a serious concern, so with a grunt, he threw the spear to the ground and resumed his charge.
Looking around, it was clear others weren't as lucky as him. Several were down when the spears impaled their legs where the wood hadn't protected them. Others had spears piercing through their wood like Dak'ton had, but the spear had gone on to hit them in more lightly armored areas like their arms or sides. One unlucky warrior had his wood now pinned to his arm as he screamed and grasped the small spear in an attempt to pull it out.
As Dak'ton gained more ground, another shout went out, and he raised his wood planks again, this time bracing in place, feeling his blood rush in fear as he waited again for impact. However, he didn't have to wait as long this time and again felt a jarring impact. This time the spear pierced through his planks higher up, punching all the way through and continuing to the ground beside him, narrowly missing his head. Around him, others fared worse a second time. A few had dropped their planks after the first barrage, having been unable to wrench the spears free, and were now paying the price.
Dak'ton blinked stupidly a few times before dropping his planks as instructed and running toward the enemy lines again. Lord B'arthon had told them the enemy would only have time for two barrages before they closed the distance, and rushing there after the second would eliminate the risk of a third, and all Dak'ton wanted was to never experience something like that again. Those small spears traveled so much further and faster than normally thrown spears, and they hit much harder despite their small size.
That was when he looked at the enemy and realized Lord B'arthon had made a mistake. Only half the enemy had fired the second round. The other half was still waiting with those odd spear throwers ready to unleash their second round. Dak'ton had a moment of grudging respect for those workers' discipline before a third shout was followed by more spears launched in their direction. Without the protection of his wooden planks, a spear hit Dak'ton clean in the shoulder, and he felt himself being pulled back as if some large creature had ahold of him and was pulling him bodily to the ground. That was when the searing pain came, as though his shoulder was on fire, and Dak'ton's screams joined the chorus of those screaming around him.
-
Lack'nul had no idea how Jack had foreseen the enemy would have those wooden planks, shields he'd called them, but the guard captain was glad he had. Perhaps the human had even more magic than he let on? He'd even been right about the enemy dropping the shields before engaging in melee, saying they would likely be too crude to wield while fighting due to rushed production. Because of that, the second half of the second volley devastated the enemy's front line in the section in front of his workers.
Further down the line, the warriors of the hill people were hurling more traditional throwing spears to lesser effect, but thankfully the enemy didn't seem to have enough shields to arm their entire front line with, so the spears were still effective.
The spears and belly bows had thinned the enemy front lines, but they were still drastically outnumbered. Lack'nul shouted for the workers to discard their belly bows and take up their spears. The workers threw the bows to the ground a few feet in front of them, hoping to trip up the enemy, then raised their spears and braced for impact.
-
A'ngles frowned from his position overseeing the battlefield. The second half-and-half volley had been unexpected. Not that it had cost them too much in the way of manpower, he estimated in total they'd lost maybe a hundred warriors between all three volleys and perhaps a hundred more across the rest of the front lines to the more traditional spears, only a fraction of the two thousand warriors charging in at the moment. Still, it definitely had an impact on the morale of that all-important center formation. Moreover, they'd slowed enough that the front line had bowed back slightly in the middle. Between that, the enemy's armor, and the obstacle the bulky weapons presented on the ground, the eventual charge had much less impact than he'd expected, with more of his own men going down in the initial exchange than the enemy.
Even all this wasn't nearly enough to change the battle's outcome, but it was just a few reminders that this wasn't their usual opponent, and only the gods knew how many more surprises they had in store.
-
The fighting was starting to get desperate. Lack'nul parried blow after blow with his sword, trying to create openings for the workers next to him to take advantage of with their spears. Occasionally an enemy would go down, taking the spear with him, but then the hill people behind them would hand the worker a new spear, and the fighting continued. Then there were the longer spears being thrust from further behind by the hill people. They didn't account for much in the way of killing blows, but they were one more complication the attackers had to beware of, preventing them from striking with total confidence.
It was strange for the guard captain to be fighting on the side of the hill people against what were likely guards from other villages, but he shoved that thought out of his mind as he parried another couple of spear thrusts around him. He wondered if any of the workers he was now familiar with had already died, but again shoved the thought from his mind as he took advantage of an opening and shoved his sword through an enemy warrior's midsection.
His victim grabbed hold of the blade as he fell, and rather than fight for the weapon and leave himself open for others to take advantage of, Lack'nul let go of the weapon and shouted behind him. "Spear!" Soon enough, the shaft of a spear was pressed into his waiting hands, and the guard captain resumed the fight, spinning the end of his spear in a way meant to shake loose his opponent's grip on their own weapon before thrusting forward and scoring a grazing attack his across the warrior's throat. It wasn't deep enough to kill but more than enough to spook his opponent, who drew back for a moment in shock.
That created enough of an opening that Lack'nul should have been able to get another kill, but then he noticed a spearhead flying toward him from the side, forcing the guard captain to step back and bring up his own spear, spinning the shaft in a way to deflect the strike and allow him to bring his own spearhead around to strike, driving his second foe back before turning his attention to the first, swiping with the butt of his spear before bringing the head around for another strike more designed to buy a moment than land a killing blow.
The guard captain was breathing heavily, wondering how much longer he should try to hold this spot.
-
A'ngles watched intently as the fighting continued, focusing most of his attention on that all-important center line. He could see individual fighters moving back and forth on both sides. Occasionally some fell and were replaced, but the armor on the workers kept them alive longer. But, of course, that also meant they were constantly fighting for extended periods, unable or unwilling to switch out with the less well-armed and armored allies behind them. In a massive battle like this, endurance was the key to victory, and it was just a matter of time before his greater numbers took their toll. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, but it seemed like the enemy line was starting to bow just the slightest amount in the middle. He just had to keep the pressure on...
Turning to two of his aide, the Village Lord issued his orders. "Send a runner to either flank and order fifty warriors from each to peel off and reinforce the center."
The aide nodded and repeated his orders to two runners as the old Lord continued to observe the battle.
-
Lon'thul traveled through the forest with an arrow knocked but not drawn as he crept ahead of the rest. Aside from Jack, Angela, Em'brel, and the wolgen all at the rear, the rest in their group were all hunters, used to moving quickly and silently through the underbrush, but even compared with the proud hunters of the hill people, Lon'thul was the undisputed master of his trade. So he walked ahead of the rest to look for ambushes.
It could have been just another day on the hunt if it weren't for the sounds of battle a little to his right. The hunter was glad non of his friends could see him at the moment, or else they'd notice his characteristic grin was absent in favor of a more stern expression. Something felt off about the forest, and he couldn't quite place a talon on what it was. He felt as if a presence had passed through not long ago, but the only person who could move this subtly was...
That was when the hunter noticed another scout ahead of his position. By Lon'thul's standard, he was moving loudly and clumsily. Looking around to ensure there wasn't anyone else present, Lon'thul took aim while inhaling silently. Once he had his target, he began exhaling while drawing back on the string, letting loose the arrow when he was about halfway out of air. After long hours of practice and countless hunts, he knew the arrow would fly true. However, he couldn't help but momentarily hold his remaining breath as he waited anxiously for a fraction of a second it took the arrow to clear the distance to its target.
As expected, the arrow embedded itself into his target's throat, pinning him to the tree behind him as the scout struggled briefly before falling limp. After ensuring there was no other movement to indicate another watcher, Lon'thul crept up and silently removed the arrow. Jack had once again been proven correct. It looked like B'arthon had sent an ambush to cut off their flanking maneuver. However, if the hunter could get enough of their scouts quickly enough, they might be able to ambush their ambushers. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he mimicked a kovaack's grunt to signal a halt. To his ears, it sounded nothing like an actual kovaack, but other hunters had told him it had an uncanny similarity from a small distance away.
Assuming one to two hundred warriors, they probably had ten to fifteen scouts. As the hunter snuck through the brush, he kept his ears open for any minor disturbances. A shadow out of place, or the sound of a twig cracking where he knew no animal would be. After an agonizingly long minute during which he tried to not think about what was happening in the main battle, he found another hunter, but this one was dangerously close to a second.
Lon'thul frowned, sliding sideways to get a shot from their flank with his back to the position of the one he'd already taken out so he could sneak closer to take his shot. Finally, after a few more agonizingly long seconds, he was in position, and the hunter knocked another arrow.
Standing and drawing in one smooth motion, Lon'thul took quick aim at the further of the two hunters before either knew what happened and loosed his arrow. However, rather than wait for his arrow to hit the target this time, Lon'thul dropped his bow while drawing a knife in one smooth action and flung the blade at the second scout, who was already starting to move at the appearance of the enemy from his supposedly protected flank.
Once again, rather than wait, Lon'thul leaped at his target, who was starting to fall, opening his mouth to shout out, but the hunter wrapped his arm around his victim's throat, slamming his mouth shut on his tongue, turning the scout's shout into a loud whimper as the hunter finished the job.
Lon'thul grabbed his knife and slunk back into the shadows, waiting for more scouts to come to check on the sounds of the scuffle. It was only after none appeared for over a minute that the hunter retrieved his arrow and returned to his bow with a frown. He was confident he'd been quiet enough to avoid detection by the main force, but the next scout over should have heard the twigs snapping as the two combatants struggled. Had he simply run back to report the disturbance without checking on the source of it? Given Lon'thul's reputation, it might have been a good move, but then the whole group would be "ambushing" every medium-sized animal in the forest, giving away their position! It didn't make sense...
The hunter calmed himself. Rather than jumping to conclusions, the only thing for him to do was precisely what he thought they should have done, go and check it out. He'd simply have to trust Angela to inform the rest if he walked into some ambush since she was silently watching everything from his headset.
As he rounded another tree, he found some disturbed underbrush roughly where he expected the next scout to be. As he crept closer, he realized there was a body there. The scout was already dead!
Lon'thul froze, holding his bow and ready to draw in the blink of an eye if any threat presented itself and thought rapidly. He knew he was the only one of his people's scouts out this far, so it couldn't have been any of his men. But what purpose could they have for placing this body here? He'd suspect a trap, but it made no sense. Still, it wouldn't help anyone if he stayed here any longer than he had to, so Lon'thul resumed movement, redoubling his efforts to remain silent and hidden as he moved.
After another moment, he came to another likely location and, after a moment of observation, found another dead scout. This time the hunter crept closer, inspecting the body. The sout's throat had been slit, likely from behind. He could even imagine someone's hand wrapping around the poor scout's mouth to silence any shout before the knife had done its work. That meant someone had walked right up behind the scout as he'd been searching for his own prey. Lon'thul might have been able to pull that off on a good day, but he'd never have risked it with so much on the line. Remembering the presence he'd felt earlier, he realized only one other hunter could pull something this brazen off...
Now Lon'thul was fully alert, scanning every shadow and listening for even the slightest disturbances while waiting with an arrow ready. This time he didn't have the luxury of waiting for his opponent to act first. He had to take the initiative and do it now! But beating his father in a duel wasn't his objective. Outmaneuvering the enemy force was. Putting a hand on the headset, the hunter activated the com and broke silence for the first time. "My position may be compromised, but if you move fast, you can still take the enemy unaware. Tell Jack to charge now!"
Putting his hand down, Lon'thul settled into position and readied another arrow. He knew his father wouldn't kill him like the other scouts, but that didn't mean the old hunter wouldn't try to pull him out of the battle now that he'd given away his location. The younger hunter would just have to be even faster this time...
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wiki
In case you missed it and are interested, book 1 is available to purchase in digital or physical form.
If you want to support my work or help me cover the costs of publishing, you can find my Patreon here. Though it's not necessary, I'm really just glad you took the time to read my stories.
2023.06.04 20:10 matheusco Theory - Souls, Devils and War [Spoilers 1085]
TL;DR
- Gorosei are souls, not Shadows or Zoans, which are the same thing as the "Devil" in the Devil Fruits.
- Ancient Kingdom lost because they didn't use Devil Fruits.
https://www.reddit.com/OnePiece/comments/13ykuho/1085_spoilers_chapter_1085_was_a_game_change
Souls
Some facts we know about souls:- They can have cousciousness/personality
- Brook searching for his body
- Brook leaves his body at will and keeps his personality
- Homies
- Incarnations
- They can be manipulated/affected
- Soru Soru no Mi
- Yomi Yomi no Mi
- They can be placed in objects
- Soru Soru no Mi
- They leave the 'container' if it's damaged enough
- Homies being damaged
- Humans dying
- They can be guided without the use of DFs.
- They can be stored in DFs
- They can be controlled/used
- Resisting against Souls Pocus
- Haki
- Diable Jambe
- Asura
- They can act independently from user being conscious
- Luffy staring at Kaido even knocked out
- Luffy using haoshoku without knowing it
- If it can be done by DFs, it can be done by technology.
- Just a guess, from what we saw until now.
Imu and Gorosei
I strongly believe that Imu and Gorosei are actually physical manifestation of souls, mostly because Sabo's speech wouldn't make sense if they were normal just normal/ugly Zoans:https://preview.redd.it/mo43rhkdd04b1.png?width=945&format=png&auto=webp&s=9d81f6943fec3e84f293c6c3455cabd0573bd50b
I think they are almost the same thing as the Kazenbo, but they are the actual thing, while Kazenbo was a representation of Kanjuro own soul mixed with hate and materialized by the power of Fude Fude no Mi.
What I believe to be Kanjuro soul representation
Very similar to Imu and Gorosei, and looks a lot like a distorted version of Kanjuro representation in the flashback.
It's like looking yourself in the mirror and drawing a stronger version of you, but with a lot of hate. Altough, it could be that they aren't 'soul' creatures and it's really just silhouette:
https://preview.redd.it/cuv0pucpw04b1.png?width=341&format=png&auto=webp&s=0e7a4295d316091f23d888258a8aa8449e3654e4
https://preview.redd.it/7r9opt7ep04b1.png?width=382&format=png&auto=webp&s=abf075a6efd026a8f37e497bc9457f293d1041ce
He also does for good people, which make me believe this is a way of him saying "I'm showing the true personality of this character".
Happiest soul ever. Also, pretty sure Kozuki are going to be confirmed D, just like Nefertari.
But I do believe they are actually souls, just like Kanjuro's. Why? Because they are at the top of the world, I don't believe they would be 'just' zoans, even if mythical. This would imply that anyone strong who trained enough could just kill them. Also, Sabo's speech.
The Immortality Surgery
Based on:- The ability "Personality Transplant Surgery" of the Ope Ope no Mi
- Kazenbo/Kanjuro
- Brook keeping his personality while in 'soul mode'
When Law change people personalitys, he is actually changing their souls. Why I believe that? Because:
- When in "Soul Mode" Brook is still himself.
- The 'homies' gain personalities just by receiving a soul.
Devil Fruits
Assuming we are on the right track, what about Devil Fruits? Well... the important things we know about them is:- They can affect traits/characteristics/parts of a person, like body, age, soul, shadow, etc.
- They reincarnate in fruits.
- They can be assimilated by cannibalism.
- They can be assimilated by an unknow method, used by Blackbeard.
- They can be replicated.
- They can be created from animals DNA.
- Zoans affect user behavior:
https://preview.redd.it/9lav20pi614b1.png?width=509&format=png&auto=webp&s=37c353c47c9e78a8b06bfe94e09527f81f35df80
- They possibly have a will on their own:
What we don't know:
- Why there's only one type of each.
- If artifical one reincarnate.
Anyway, based on the previous information, I think Devil Fruits are created by using someone's soul. Not in a cute way, but actually stopping them to ever be reborn in a normal way or "going to heaven", so that's might be what caused the void century war.
How? While Great Kingdom focused on developing humane tech, like devices to create food, to change clothes, and other things, WG took the 'easy' path and started to use souls to increase its power, be it themselves or using the Ancient Kingdom version of "MADS", similar to how CC work for Vegapunk but started to do his own inhumane stuff.
So the war might not be just 'AK vs 20 Kingdoms', but more like a civil war, with the 'baddies' winning with the help of the 20 kingdoms. While AK had to use weapons with 'DF powers', the enemy became the power themselves.
Devil Fruits Reincarnation
I really don't think fruits can manipulate destiny or move on their own, so their way to 'evade' WG, as theorized by the Gorosei, is to reincarnate somewhere harder for them to acquire it, which might explain why they don't simply gather all fruits from the world. That or some fruits were created using volunteers and go to the WG on purpose.Shandora guiding people to trees is important because they were allied with the Ancient Kingdom, so this might be a way to protect the souls from being used by the enemies.
The will of the fruit might also depend on their original form, so Human's Will > Dog's Will, which might influence on how long they can wander until entering a new host or how smart they are.
I believe they reincarnate in fruits because that's the most logical way to be reborn: by being consumed, assuming they can't just enter a person/animal because they already have a soul 'protecting' them. They act like a parasite, be it on purpose or not.
They may be able to go to a rock instead of a fruit, but no one is eating that and if no one destroys it, they would basically be trapped there forever. Fruits go bad, so if no one found them, they can just reincarnate in another one when it expires.
Eating is just a way to destroy the container, be it a fruit or a human (
Based on that, what I think Blackbeard does is basically stopping the soul from ever leaving the area around the host, that's why he needs the blanket, and uses Yami Yami no Mi to absorb it against the 'devil' will. Why he can absorb it is topic for another theory.
2023.06.04 14:10 Colt_Leasure Have you ever heard of The Triangle Game?
1
We underestimate the trials the dead have gone through.
This obvious mistake leads to avoidable missteps in life. It is still all too common.
When my Grandfather passed away, I inherited a house in the mountains. The view was breathtaking. It had a sweeping vista of infinite pine trees. The place was nowhere near as large as the properties surrounding it.
It was a summer home for him and my Grandma. The interior of it contained many of his items. This included tobacco pipes, cabinets of obscure teas, and cupboards of whiskey bottles.
One Saturday evening I went through the attic and found a dozen stacks of boxes. The majority of them remained unlabeled. Several contained pulp paperbacks and stacks of old photos. Towards the end of his life, he gave up his old pastimes of hunting and fishing. He stayed at home and watched old game shows instead.
I tried to clean the roof space in one day. I found myself unable to complete it before tiring and going to bed.
The next morning I resumed the activity. It was no longer about trying to declutter the area and fill it with my own possessions. It was now a way to learn more about the man.
All I knew about his reputation was how he had served in World War II. My family told me how he was as short on words as he was on patience.
I found an old newspaper article, dated 1983. There were other period pieces around it. The topics varied. This included the US invasion of Grenada and the debut of Cabbage Patch Kids dolls. A device known as the mobile phone received a mention.
Yet what caught my attention was the first piece. I brushed aside cobwebs to find it buried underneath a pile of cardboard with burnt edges.
The picture was of my Grandfather, Roy Davies. He held a check for fifty thousand dollars. This was an amount I later found out equaled to one hundred and fifty two thousand in today’s money. The mystery of how he could afford the place he gave me was no longer one worth pondering.
The wall behind him had an illustration of a ramshackle house on a hill. The title of the write-up was NORTHERN CALIFORNIA MAN WINS IN THE PILOT FOR NEW SHOW ‘THE TRIANGLE GAME.’
I read the five hundred word account. It detailed how he flew to Los Angeles to be a participant in an allegedly syndicated program. There were two other people he competed against. The editorial feature did not go into detail about what the goal of the game was. How to win or get disqualified was unknown to me. Still Still, my Grandfather walked out a much richer man before he flew back home.
It did mention the couple he played against, a man called James Grover and a woman named Daisy Francis.
I flipped the article. I found were words written in orange ink with a marker on the back, CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
I searched online for the triangle game. I found variations on the pastime ‘I Spy’ first. Players would spot triangular items in their immediate vicinity. I discovered a few board games, along with IQ-related quizzes.
No information was available about a television broadcast.
2
It took almost a month of research to find where James Grover lived.
I managed to find his house by paying for a background checking website. He had gotten a criminal charge for running a red light in front of a cop. Otherwise his record was clean. That single infraction allowed me to find him since it put him in that specific database.
I stood outside his red brick house in a suburb. It was a Wednesday afternoon in a neighborhood located in an upscale part of Illinois.
Frost caked the lawns near the heated sidewalk I stood on. I imagined the place to be serene in the summertime, even if it was a vacant-seeming region now.
A stretch of abodes stood before me without their lights on. Nervousness coursed through me. The idea of having traveled all this way for the information to be wrong made me anxious.
I walked along the concrete pathway towards his front door. I stepped on a creaky porch. I set aside my awareness of the likely pending disappointment and knocked.
A shuffling of feet was on the other side of the entrance. as well as A remote control clicked as the volume of a television blaring a news report got turned down.
He answered. The man fit the correct age range I calculated he would fall into. He wore a flannel jacket and slacks, He had on a blue pair of slippers. His gray mustache bristled as he saw me.
“James Grover?” I asked.
“If you’re trying to sell me something I’m not interested.”
“I’m very sorry to bother you sir, and I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here to ask if you would be willing to let me ask you a few questions about something you might know about. See, I make documentaries for a living, and I have concluded that you might be able to help me.”
I could not take a good photograph when asked, but it was a stringent falsehood I conveyed well in the moment.
In reality, I was a podcaster. The term documentarian, though not as modern, seemed more legitimate. Especially to an older gentleman.
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “What are you making a movie on? Also, where’s your film crew?”
“I gleaned that you were the type to prefer remaining anonymous. The conversation‘s recorded. This will be with your consent, of course. The subject I want to discuss with you involves the triangle game.”
Grover took a few steps away from the threshold and broke eye contact with me as his lips pursed. His eyes wandered over to the corner of his living room, and he brought his gaze back to mine.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
“Because I can’t find anything about it anywhere,” I said. “I’ve even been to the National Archives of Game Show history in search of it. It’s as though it never existed. I know it did because I found this article.”
As I brandished the piece of writing to him, his eyes bulged as he focused and scanned the text.
“Ahh,” he said as he took in a deep inhalation, “I remember that man. Tell you what, come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
I took a seat in one of his recliners as I asked him a few generic questions about his life.
James spent a considerable time of his youth in North Lawndale, one of the rougher places in Chicago. He escaped his impoverished upbringing by pursuing a career as an inventory clerk. He worked his way up to management in a warehousing company.
“I beat the odds in a big way,” he said as he folded his hands and sat across from me.
“So, what can you tell me about your experience on set that day? Do you know about anything that happened post-production?”
“They made us sign contracts where we would promise not to talk about what we went through with anyone. Still, I’m at the point where I’m not very worried, or I don’t think I should be. I was much younger then, about your age. I lived at the boxing gym and had dreams of going pro. Of course that didn’t happen, but when I wasn’t training I was drinking and doing stupid things that young men do. Bar brawls I didn’t deserve to get away with but somehow did. My mother watched a lot of game shows. Without my knowledge, she submitted my name for consideration to become a contestant. She thought it would make me a better person if I had some kind of hope for helping the family. One besides crushing peoples noses for a living.”
“How did she hear about it?”
“I have no idea. I wish I asked her.”
“How did you find out you were going to go on?”
“Back then, everything was a phone call, so that’s what we got. They flew me out there, I took a taxi to get to the set. It was not a traditional studio. The place was closer to a factory with a fake space ship built inside of it. In the center of the room was a neon triangle with the same spaciousness of a house.”
“How was the game played?”
“Before it started, they told us to write down three things we were good at. I put boxing, organizational skills, and running. Daisy listed hers as poker, math, and long distance swimming. Roy - that was his name, the person in the picture you showed me - put outdoor survival, shooting, and cooking. We would stand at each point of the triangle. We’d get asked a question by the host, and we had three minutes to answer it. If we got it right, they gave us a reward being able to attack one of the other two people using the skill sets we put down. The goal is to make the other two quit by getting enough questions correct. Of course, we went into the game blind to the rule set. Otherwise I may have chosen the most aggressive ability imaginable. Roy won because he chose aptitude with a firearm, which trumps any martial art, whether I like it or not.”
James lifted his pant leg and showed me a scar above his knee.
“At least he was kind enough to not make it a fatal blow,” he said.
I showed him the words written on the back of the newspaper clipping. He shrugged and told me he was unaware, dismissive of it as someone’s scrapped note.
I asked him if he remembered the name of the host or could give me a physical description.
“I don’t remember anything about what we called him, if he even told us what he went by. His hair was black and a pompadour style. He wore a purple suit with a bright orange tie.”
“Two last questions,” I said. “Do you know what happened to Daisy, if she’s still alive? Also, do you recall the address of the place where they filmed the game?”
“I wrote to Daisy twice a year before she vanished. We did have one conversation over the phone, and she told me that bad luck was going to follow the losers of that pilot. There was no media coverage about her passing that I ever saw. As far as the location, sure. I wrote it down in a journal I kept with me even when I traveled. I used to keep track of my workouts and diet regiment back then. Let me grab it.”
3
The location where the Triangle Game took place four decades earlier stood in a squalid part of the city.
I passed the ruins of the old LA zoo on my way to the spot. I contemplated how the sight I was about to take in could not get any stranger. I was wrong.
The building was five stories, but the front only had a trio of stained glass windows. Bullet holes surrounded the casements. The place had a nave roof and flying buttresses on both sides. Multi-colored graffiti littered the outside.
It sat in a neighborhood filled with homeless people who slept on benches.
I went there mid-afternoon. I approached the front and found two locked doors. I scaled around back. I stepped over heaps of trash in the process, and saw an opening in the form of a hole large enough to crawl into.
A surge of adrenaline hit me me as I belly crawled through. I was taking a bet on how there were no cameras, guards or residents who would make a scene out of my trespassing.
It is amazing the rules one will bend for the sake of new content on social media, I opined as I made way into the space.
I turned on the flashlight of my phone and saw nothing but an enormous dusty chamber made of concrete.
I moved into the next room. A hoarders lifetime supply of broken antiques sat. Spray painted devil-horned faces grinned from the ceiling.
What caught my attention the most was a camera’s tripod. It stood alone in the far left corner.
I approached it to get a better look. I kicked aside a bunch of cans. As they clattered away, I looked down and saw a pointed tip of something drawn on the ground.
I removed most of the trash by shoving the majority of it aside and saw what was underneath.
The large triangle, which took up most of the flooring in the chamber, was still there after all these years.
In the center of it was a thin line of blood. I crouched down and peered at it.
The fluid was still wet, and a horrid stench met me. I gagged and recoiled, and in my backing away, my shoulder bumped against a dusty and discarded shelf.
Gunfire rang out.
I did not know if it was outside or near me, but I did not wish to find out. I exited the way I came in with a relentless sprint and drove as far away as I could.
4
A year later, I was finally wrapping up my recording of the podcast. I titled it ‘Three Ways to Die.’
While the name of the series was quite sensational, I felt the story merited a bit of clickbait. I had no followers and was unsure of how it would perform.
I reasoned that giving the story any publicity I could would help me find the lost piece of media. Even if it was on the cutting room floor of that very space I had to leave.
I went to call Grover, to try and collect an email address so I could send him the pre-uploaded production.
A woman answered.
“You’re looking for my father. He lost his life six months ago. Someone killed him. I would appreciate it if you got rid of this number.”
She ended the call less than a second after the last word. She wrote me off as an insurance agent looking to take advantage of a grieving family member.
I paced around my room. Although I did not know him well, I had come to like him, and his gruesome end was not one he deserved. I researched crime news to find out what had happened to him, to no avail.
The newspaper piece I had collected that fateful day sat at the edge of my desk.
I lifted it towards me and flipped it over again. I stared at the words — CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
The sentence was nonsensical. I had applied my own meanings to the gibberish phrase. Like it was a cryptic and silly way of saying ‘outgoing mail.’
I do not know whether it was desperation, a creative inclination or an admixture of both. I decided to run it through an anagram generator I had searched for on the web.
It came up with many phrases, some of them surreal, but the one that popped out to me was EXPECT VIOLENCE.
My stomach turned as I realized how my own personal investigation yielded nothing. I opened the window and was soon exposed to some fresh Sierra air, which was therapeutic but not curative.
I decided to take a long walk. I had been sedentary over the last week due to intensive editing. I figured a jaunt would help me smooth a few psychological knots things out.
I slid my closet door open to try and find a pair of sweat pants.
The sound of thunder reverberated outside. I stared out to find the sky had become overcast.
The closet door creaked even louder than I could remember it having been before.
Orange ties hung on the rack, and a triangle painted a pastel green was visible behind it.
submitted by Colt_Leasure to Colt_Leasure [link] [comments]
We underestimate the trials the dead have gone through.
This obvious mistake leads to avoidable missteps in life. It is still all too common.
When my Grandfather passed away, I inherited a house in the mountains. The view was breathtaking. It had a sweeping vista of infinite pine trees. The place was nowhere near as large as the properties surrounding it.
It was a summer home for him and my Grandma. The interior of it contained many of his items. This included tobacco pipes, cabinets of obscure teas, and cupboards of whiskey bottles.
One Saturday evening I went through the attic and found a dozen stacks of boxes. The majority of them remained unlabeled. Several contained pulp paperbacks and stacks of old photos. Towards the end of his life, he gave up his old pastimes of hunting and fishing. He stayed at home and watched old game shows instead.
I tried to clean the roof space in one day. I found myself unable to complete it before tiring and going to bed.
The next morning I resumed the activity. It was no longer about trying to declutter the area and fill it with my own possessions. It was now a way to learn more about the man.
All I knew about his reputation was how he had served in World War II. My family told me how he was as short on words as he was on patience.
I found an old newspaper article, dated 1983. There were other period pieces around it. The topics varied. This included the US invasion of Grenada and the debut of Cabbage Patch Kids dolls. A device known as the mobile phone received a mention.
Yet what caught my attention was the first piece. I brushed aside cobwebs to find it buried underneath a pile of cardboard with burnt edges.
The picture was of my Grandfather, Roy Davies. He held a check for fifty thousand dollars. This was an amount I later found out equaled to one hundred and fifty two thousand in today’s money. The mystery of how he could afford the place he gave me was no longer one worth pondering.
The wall behind him had an illustration of a ramshackle house on a hill. The title of the write-up was NORTHERN CALIFORNIA MAN WINS IN THE PILOT FOR NEW SHOW ‘THE TRIANGLE GAME.’
I read the five hundred word account. It detailed how he flew to Los Angeles to be a participant in an allegedly syndicated program. There were two other people he competed against. The editorial feature did not go into detail about what the goal of the game was. How to win or get disqualified was unknown to me. Still Still, my Grandfather walked out a much richer man before he flew back home.
It did mention the couple he played against, a man called James Grover and a woman named Daisy Francis.
I flipped the article. I found were words written in orange ink with a marker on the back, CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
I searched online for the triangle game. I found variations on the pastime ‘I Spy’ first. Players would spot triangular items in their immediate vicinity. I discovered a few board games, along with IQ-related quizzes.
No information was available about a television broadcast.
2
It took almost a month of research to find where James Grover lived.
I managed to find his house by paying for a background checking website. He had gotten a criminal charge for running a red light in front of a cop. Otherwise his record was clean. That single infraction allowed me to find him since it put him in that specific database.
I stood outside his red brick house in a suburb. It was a Wednesday afternoon in a neighborhood located in an upscale part of Illinois.
Frost caked the lawns near the heated sidewalk I stood on. I imagined the place to be serene in the summertime, even if it was a vacant-seeming region now.
A stretch of abodes stood before me without their lights on. Nervousness coursed through me. The idea of having traveled all this way for the information to be wrong made me anxious.
I walked along the concrete pathway towards his front door. I stepped on a creaky porch. I set aside my awareness of the likely pending disappointment and knocked.
A shuffling of feet was on the other side of the entrance. as well as A remote control clicked as the volume of a television blaring a news report got turned down.
He answered. The man fit the correct age range I calculated he would fall into. He wore a flannel jacket and slacks, He had on a blue pair of slippers. His gray mustache bristled as he saw me.
“James Grover?” I asked.
“If you’re trying to sell me something I’m not interested.”
“I’m very sorry to bother you sir, and I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here to ask if you would be willing to let me ask you a few questions about something you might know about. See, I make documentaries for a living, and I have concluded that you might be able to help me.”
I could not take a good photograph when asked, but it was a stringent falsehood I conveyed well in the moment.
In reality, I was a podcaster. The term documentarian, though not as modern, seemed more legitimate. Especially to an older gentleman.
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “What are you making a movie on? Also, where’s your film crew?”
“I gleaned that you were the type to prefer remaining anonymous. The conversation‘s recorded. This will be with your consent, of course. The subject I want to discuss with you involves the triangle game.”
Grover took a few steps away from the threshold and broke eye contact with me as his lips pursed. His eyes wandered over to the corner of his living room, and he brought his gaze back to mine.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
“Because I can’t find anything about it anywhere,” I said. “I’ve even been to the National Archives of Game Show history in search of it. It’s as though it never existed. I know it did because I found this article.”
As I brandished the piece of writing to him, his eyes bulged as he focused and scanned the text.
“Ahh,” he said as he took in a deep inhalation, “I remember that man. Tell you what, come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
I took a seat in one of his recliners as I asked him a few generic questions about his life.
James spent a considerable time of his youth in North Lawndale, one of the rougher places in Chicago. He escaped his impoverished upbringing by pursuing a career as an inventory clerk. He worked his way up to management in a warehousing company.
“I beat the odds in a big way,” he said as he folded his hands and sat across from me.
“So, what can you tell me about your experience on set that day? Do you know about anything that happened post-production?”
“They made us sign contracts where we would promise not to talk about what we went through with anyone. Still, I’m at the point where I’m not very worried, or I don’t think I should be. I was much younger then, about your age. I lived at the boxing gym and had dreams of going pro. Of course that didn’t happen, but when I wasn’t training I was drinking and doing stupid things that young men do. Bar brawls I didn’t deserve to get away with but somehow did. My mother watched a lot of game shows. Without my knowledge, she submitted my name for consideration to become a contestant. She thought it would make me a better person if I had some kind of hope for helping the family. One besides crushing peoples noses for a living.”
“How did she hear about it?”
“I have no idea. I wish I asked her.”
“How did you find out you were going to go on?”
“Back then, everything was a phone call, so that’s what we got. They flew me out there, I took a taxi to get to the set. It was not a traditional studio. The place was closer to a factory with a fake space ship built inside of it. In the center of the room was a neon triangle with the same spaciousness of a house.”
“How was the game played?”
“Before it started, they told us to write down three things we were good at. I put boxing, organizational skills, and running. Daisy listed hers as poker, math, and long distance swimming. Roy - that was his name, the person in the picture you showed me - put outdoor survival, shooting, and cooking. We would stand at each point of the triangle. We’d get asked a question by the host, and we had three minutes to answer it. If we got it right, they gave us a reward being able to attack one of the other two people using the skill sets we put down. The goal is to make the other two quit by getting enough questions correct. Of course, we went into the game blind to the rule set. Otherwise I may have chosen the most aggressive ability imaginable. Roy won because he chose aptitude with a firearm, which trumps any martial art, whether I like it or not.”
James lifted his pant leg and showed me a scar above his knee.
“At least he was kind enough to not make it a fatal blow,” he said.
I showed him the words written on the back of the newspaper clipping. He shrugged and told me he was unaware, dismissive of it as someone’s scrapped note.
I asked him if he remembered the name of the host or could give me a physical description.
“I don’t remember anything about what we called him, if he even told us what he went by. His hair was black and a pompadour style. He wore a purple suit with a bright orange tie.”
“Two last questions,” I said. “Do you know what happened to Daisy, if she’s still alive? Also, do you recall the address of the place where they filmed the game?”
“I wrote to Daisy twice a year before she vanished. We did have one conversation over the phone, and she told me that bad luck was going to follow the losers of that pilot. There was no media coverage about her passing that I ever saw. As far as the location, sure. I wrote it down in a journal I kept with me even when I traveled. I used to keep track of my workouts and diet regiment back then. Let me grab it.”
3
The location where the Triangle Game took place four decades earlier stood in a squalid part of the city.
I passed the ruins of the old LA zoo on my way to the spot. I contemplated how the sight I was about to take in could not get any stranger. I was wrong.
The building was five stories, but the front only had a trio of stained glass windows. Bullet holes surrounded the casements. The place had a nave roof and flying buttresses on both sides. Multi-colored graffiti littered the outside.
It sat in a neighborhood filled with homeless people who slept on benches.
I went there mid-afternoon. I approached the front and found two locked doors. I scaled around back. I stepped over heaps of trash in the process, and saw an opening in the form of a hole large enough to crawl into.
A surge of adrenaline hit me me as I belly crawled through. I was taking a bet on how there were no cameras, guards or residents who would make a scene out of my trespassing.
It is amazing the rules one will bend for the sake of new content on social media, I opined as I made way into the space.
I turned on the flashlight of my phone and saw nothing but an enormous dusty chamber made of concrete.
I moved into the next room. A hoarders lifetime supply of broken antiques sat. Spray painted devil-horned faces grinned from the ceiling.
What caught my attention the most was a camera’s tripod. It stood alone in the far left corner.
I approached it to get a better look. I kicked aside a bunch of cans. As they clattered away, I looked down and saw a pointed tip of something drawn on the ground.
I removed most of the trash by shoving the majority of it aside and saw what was underneath.
The large triangle, which took up most of the flooring in the chamber, was still there after all these years.
In the center of it was a thin line of blood. I crouched down and peered at it.
The fluid was still wet, and a horrid stench met me. I gagged and recoiled, and in my backing away, my shoulder bumped against a dusty and discarded shelf.
Gunfire rang out.
I did not know if it was outside or near me, but I did not wish to find out. I exited the way I came in with a relentless sprint and drove as far away as I could.
4
A year later, I was finally wrapping up my recording of the podcast. I titled it ‘Three Ways to Die.’
While the name of the series was quite sensational, I felt the story merited a bit of clickbait. I had no followers and was unsure of how it would perform.
I reasoned that giving the story any publicity I could would help me find the lost piece of media. Even if it was on the cutting room floor of that very space I had to leave.
I went to call Grover, to try and collect an email address so I could send him the pre-uploaded production.
A woman answered.
“You’re looking for my father. He lost his life six months ago. Someone killed him. I would appreciate it if you got rid of this number.”
She ended the call less than a second after the last word. She wrote me off as an insurance agent looking to take advantage of a grieving family member.
I paced around my room. Although I did not know him well, I had come to like him, and his gruesome end was not one he deserved. I researched crime news to find out what had happened to him, to no avail.
The newspaper piece I had collected that fateful day sat at the edge of my desk.
I lifted it towards me and flipped it over again. I stared at the words — CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
The sentence was nonsensical. I had applied my own meanings to the gibberish phrase. Like it was a cryptic and silly way of saying ‘outgoing mail.’
I do not know whether it was desperation, a creative inclination or an admixture of both. I decided to run it through an anagram generator I had searched for on the web.
It came up with many phrases, some of them surreal, but the one that popped out to me was EXPECT VIOLENCE.
My stomach turned as I realized how my own personal investigation yielded nothing. I opened the window and was soon exposed to some fresh Sierra air, which was therapeutic but not curative.
I decided to take a long walk. I had been sedentary over the last week due to intensive editing. I figured a jaunt would help me smooth a few psychological knots things out.
I slid my closet door open to try and find a pair of sweat pants.
The sound of thunder reverberated outside. I stared out to find the sky had become overcast.
The closet door creaked even louder than I could remember it having been before.
Orange ties hung on the rack, and a triangle painted a pastel green was visible behind it.
2023.06.04 14:09 Colt_Leasure Have you ever heard of The Triangle Game?
1
We underestimate the trials the dead have gone through.
This obvious mistake leads to avoidable missteps in life. It is still all too common.
When my Grandfather passed away, I inherited a house in the mountains. The view was breathtaking. It had a sweeping vista of infinite pine trees. The place was nowhere near as large as the properties surrounding it.
It was a summer home for him and my Grandma. The interior of it contained many of his items. This included tobacco pipes, cabinets of obscure teas, and cupboards of whiskey bottles.
One Saturday evening I went through the attic and found a dozen stacks of boxes. The majority of them remained unlabeled. Several contained pulp paperbacks and stacks of old photos. Towards the end of his life, he gave up his old pastimes of hunting and fishing. He stayed at home and watched old game shows instead.
I tried to clean the roof space in one day. I found myself unable to complete it before tiring and going to bed.
The next morning I resumed the activity. It was no longer about trying to declutter the area and fill it with my own possessions. It was now a way to learn more about the man.
All I knew about his reputation was how he had served in World War II. My family told me how he was as short on words as he was on patience.
I found an old newspaper article, dated 1983. There were other period pieces around it. The topics varied. This included the US invasion of Grenada and the debut of Cabbage Patch Kids dolls. A device known as the mobile phone received a mention.
Yet what caught my attention was the first piece. I brushed aside cobwebs to find it buried underneath a pile of cardboard with burnt edges.
The picture was of my Grandfather, Roy Davies. He held a check for fifty thousand dollars. This was an amount I later found out equaled to one hundred and fifty two thousand in today’s money. The mystery of how he could afford the place he gave me was no longer one worth pondering.
The wall behind him had an illustration of a ramshackle house on a hill. The title of the write-up was NORTHERN CALIFORNIA MAN WINS IN THE PILOT FOR NEW SHOW ‘THE TRIANGLE GAME.’
I read the five hundred word account. It detailed how he flew to Los Angeles to be a participant in an allegedly syndicated program. There were two other people he competed against. The editorial feature did not go into detail about what the goal of the game was. How to win or get disqualified was unknown to me. Still Still, my Grandfather walked out a much richer man before he flew back home.
It did mention the couple he played against, a man called James Grover and a woman named Daisy Francis.
I flipped the article. I found were words written in orange ink with a marker on the back, CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
I searched online for the triangle game. I found variations on the pastime ‘I Spy’ first. Players would spot triangular items in their immediate vicinity. I discovered a few board games, along with IQ-related quizzes.
No information was available about a television broadcast.
2
It took almost a month of research to find where James Grover lived.
I managed to find his house by paying for a background checking website. He had gotten a criminal charge for running a red light in front of a cop. Otherwise his record was clean. That single infraction allowed me to find him since it put him in that specific database.
I stood outside his red brick house in a suburb. It was a Wednesday afternoon in a neighborhood located in an upscale part of Illinois.
Frost caked the lawns near the heated sidewalk I stood on. I imagined the place to be serene in the summertime, even if it was a vacant-seeming region now.
A stretch of abodes stood before me without their lights on. Nervousness coursed through me. The idea of having traveled all this way for the information to be wrong made me anxious.
I walked along the concrete pathway towards his front door. I stepped on a creaky porch. I set aside my awareness of the likely pending disappointment and knocked.
A shuffling of feet was on the other side of the entrance. as well as A remote control clicked as the volume of a television blaring a news report got turned down.
He answered. The man fit the correct age range I calculated he would fall into. He wore a flannel jacket and slacks, He had on a blue pair of slippers. His gray mustache bristled as he saw me.
“James Grover?” I asked.
“If you’re trying to sell me something I’m not interested.”
“I’m very sorry to bother you sir, and I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here to ask if you would be willing to let me ask you a few questions about something you might know about. See, I make documentaries for a living, and I have concluded that you might be able to help me.”
I could not take a good photograph when asked, but it was a stringent falsehood I conveyed well in the moment.
In reality, I was a podcaster. The term documentarian, though not as modern, seemed more legitimate. Especially to an older gentleman.
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “What are you making a movie on? Also, where’s your film crew?”
“I gleaned that you were the type to prefer remaining anonymous. The conversation‘s recorded. This will be with your consent, of course. The subject I want to discuss with you involves the triangle game.”
Grover took a few steps away from the threshold and broke eye contact with me as his lips pursed. His eyes wandered over to the corner of his living room, and he brought his gaze back to mine.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
“Because I can’t find anything about it anywhere,” I said. “I’ve even been to the National Archives of Game Show history in search of it. It’s as though it never existed. I know it did because I found this article.”
As I brandished the piece of writing to him, his eyes bulged as he focused and scanned the text.
“Ahh,” he said as he took in a deep inhalation, “I remember that man. Tell you what, come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
I took a seat in one of his recliners as I asked him a few generic questions about his life.
James spent a considerable time of his youth in North Lawndale, one of the rougher places in Chicago. He escaped his impoverished upbringing by pursuing a career as an inventory clerk. He worked his way up to management in a warehousing company.
“I beat the odds in a big way,” he said as he folded his hands and sat across from me.
“So, what can you tell me about your experience on set that day? Do you know about anything that happened post-production?”
“They made us sign contracts where we would promise not to talk about what we went through with anyone. Still, I’m at the point where I’m not very worried, or I don’t think I should be. I was much younger then, about your age. I lived at the boxing gym and had dreams of going pro. Of course that didn’t happen, but when I wasn’t training I was drinking and doing stupid things that young men do. Bar brawls I didn’t deserve to get away with but somehow did. My mother watched a lot of game shows. Without my knowledge, she submitted my name for consideration to become a contestant. She thought it would make me a better person if I had some kind of hope for helping the family. One besides crushing peoples noses for a living.”
“How did she hear about it?”
“I have no idea. I wish I asked her.”
“How did you find out you were going to go on?”
“Back then, everything was a phone call, so that’s what we got. They flew me out there, I took a taxi to get to the set. It was not a traditional studio. The place was closer to a factory with a fake space ship built inside of it. In the center of the room was a neon triangle with the same spaciousness of a house.”
“How was the game played?”
“Before it started, they told us to write down three things we were good at. I put boxing, organizational skills, and running. Daisy listed hers as poker, math, and long distance swimming. Roy - that was his name, the person in the picture you showed me - put outdoor survival, shooting, and cooking. We would stand at each point of the triangle. We’d get asked a question by the host, and we had three minutes to answer it. If we got it right, they gave us a reward being able to attack one of the other two people using the skill sets we put down. The goal is to make the other two quit by getting enough questions correct. Of course, we went into the game blind to the rule set. Otherwise I may have chosen the most aggressive ability imaginable. Roy won because he chose aptitude with a firearm, which trumps any martial art, whether I like it or not.”
James lifted his pant leg and showed me a scar above his knee.
“At least he was kind enough to not make it a fatal blow,” he said.
I showed him the words written on the back of the newspaper clipping. He shrugged and told me he was unaware, dismissive of it as someone’s scrapped note.
I asked him if he remembered the name of the host or could give me a physical description.
“I don’t remember anything about what we called him, if he even told us what he went by. His hair was black and a pompadour style. He wore a purple suit with a bright orange tie.”
“Two last questions,” I said. “Do you know what happened to Daisy, if she’s still alive? Also, do you recall the address of the place where they filmed the game?”
“I wrote to Daisy twice a year before she vanished. We did have one conversation over the phone, and she told me that bad luck was going to follow the losers of that pilot. There was no media coverage about her passing that I ever saw. As far as the location, sure. I wrote it down in a journal I kept with me even when I traveled. I used to keep track of my workouts and diet regiment back then. Let me grab it.”
3
The location where the Triangle Game took place four decades earlier stood in a squalid part of the city.
I passed the ruins of the old LA zoo on my way to the spot. I contemplated how the sight I was about to take in could not get any stranger. I was wrong.
The building was five stories, but the front only had a trio of stained glass windows. Bullet holes surrounded the casements. The place had a nave roof and flying buttresses on both sides. Multi-colored graffiti littered the outside.
It sat in a neighborhood filled with homeless people who slept on benches.
I went there mid-afternoon. I approached the front and found two locked doors. I scaled around back. I stepped over heaps of trash in the process, and saw an opening in the form of a hole large enough to crawl into.
A surge of adrenaline hit me me as I belly crawled through. I was taking a bet on how there were no cameras, guards or residents who would make a scene out of my trespassing.
It is amazing the rules one will bend for the sake of new content on social media, I opined as I made way into the space.
I turned on the flashlight of my phone and saw nothing but an enormous dusty chamber made of concrete.
I moved into the next room. A hoarders lifetime supply of broken antiques sat. Spray painted devil-horned faces grinned from the ceiling.
What caught my attention the most was a camera’s tripod. It stood alone in the far left corner.
I approached it to get a better look. I kicked aside a bunch of cans. As they clattered away, I looked down and saw a pointed tip of something drawn on the ground.
I removed most of the trash by shoving the majority of it aside and saw what was underneath.
The large triangle, which took up most of the flooring in the chamber, was still there after all these years.
In the center of it was a thin line of blood. I crouched down and peered at it.
The fluid was still wet, and a horrid stench met me. I gagged and recoiled, and in my backing away, my shoulder bumped against a dusty and discarded shelf.
Gunfire rang out.
I did not know if it was outside or near me, but I did not wish to find out. I exited the way I came in with a relentless sprint and drove as far away as I could.
4
A year later, I was finally wrapping up my recording of the podcast. I titled it ‘Three Ways to Die.’
While the name of the series was quite sensational, I felt the story merited a bit of clickbait. I had no followers and was unsure of how it would perform.
I reasoned that giving the story any publicity I could would help me find the lost piece of media. Even if it was on the cutting room floor of that very space I had to leave.
I went to call Grover, to try and collect an email address so I could send him the pre-uploaded production.
A woman answered.
“You’re looking for my father. He lost his life six months ago. Someone killed him. I would appreciate it if you got rid of this number.”
She ended the call less than a second after the last word. She wrote me off as an insurance agent looking to take advantage of a grieving family member.
I paced around my room. Although I did not know him well, I had come to like him, and his gruesome end was not one he deserved. I researched crime news to find out what had happened to him, to no avail.
The newspaper piece I had collected that fateful day sat at the edge of my desk.
I lifted it towards me and flipped it over again. I stared at the words — CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
The sentence was nonsensical. I had applied my own meanings to the gibberish phrase. Like it was a cryptic and silly way of saying ‘outgoing mail.’
I do not know whether it was desperation, a creative inclination or an admixture of both. I decided to run it through an anagram generator I had searched for on the web.
It came up with many phrases, some of them surreal, but the one that popped out to me was EXPECT VIOLENCE.
My stomach turned as I realized how my own personal investigation yielded nothing. I opened the window and was soon exposed to some fresh Sierra air, which was therapeutic but not curative.
I decided to take a long walk. I had been sedentary over the last week due to intensive editing. I figured a jaunt would help me smooth a few psychological knots things out.
I slid my closet door open to try and find a pair of sweat pants.
The sound of thunder reverberated outside. I stared out to find the sky had become overcast.
The closet door creaked even louder than I could remember it having been before.
Orange ties hung on the rack, and a triangle painted a pastel green was visible behind it.
submitted by Colt_Leasure to nosleep [link] [comments]
We underestimate the trials the dead have gone through.
This obvious mistake leads to avoidable missteps in life. It is still all too common.
When my Grandfather passed away, I inherited a house in the mountains. The view was breathtaking. It had a sweeping vista of infinite pine trees. The place was nowhere near as large as the properties surrounding it.
It was a summer home for him and my Grandma. The interior of it contained many of his items. This included tobacco pipes, cabinets of obscure teas, and cupboards of whiskey bottles.
One Saturday evening I went through the attic and found a dozen stacks of boxes. The majority of them remained unlabeled. Several contained pulp paperbacks and stacks of old photos. Towards the end of his life, he gave up his old pastimes of hunting and fishing. He stayed at home and watched old game shows instead.
I tried to clean the roof space in one day. I found myself unable to complete it before tiring and going to bed.
The next morning I resumed the activity. It was no longer about trying to declutter the area and fill it with my own possessions. It was now a way to learn more about the man.
All I knew about his reputation was how he had served in World War II. My family told me how he was as short on words as he was on patience.
I found an old newspaper article, dated 1983. There were other period pieces around it. The topics varied. This included the US invasion of Grenada and the debut of Cabbage Patch Kids dolls. A device known as the mobile phone received a mention.
Yet what caught my attention was the first piece. I brushed aside cobwebs to find it buried underneath a pile of cardboard with burnt edges.
The picture was of my Grandfather, Roy Davies. He held a check for fifty thousand dollars. This was an amount I later found out equaled to one hundred and fifty two thousand in today’s money. The mystery of how he could afford the place he gave me was no longer one worth pondering.
The wall behind him had an illustration of a ramshackle house on a hill. The title of the write-up was NORTHERN CALIFORNIA MAN WINS IN THE PILOT FOR NEW SHOW ‘THE TRIANGLE GAME.’
I read the five hundred word account. It detailed how he flew to Los Angeles to be a participant in an allegedly syndicated program. There were two other people he competed against. The editorial feature did not go into detail about what the goal of the game was. How to win or get disqualified was unknown to me. Still Still, my Grandfather walked out a much richer man before he flew back home.
It did mention the couple he played against, a man called James Grover and a woman named Daisy Francis.
I flipped the article. I found were words written in orange ink with a marker on the back, CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
I searched online for the triangle game. I found variations on the pastime ‘I Spy’ first. Players would spot triangular items in their immediate vicinity. I discovered a few board games, along with IQ-related quizzes.
No information was available about a television broadcast.
2
It took almost a month of research to find where James Grover lived.
I managed to find his house by paying for a background checking website. He had gotten a criminal charge for running a red light in front of a cop. Otherwise his record was clean. That single infraction allowed me to find him since it put him in that specific database.
I stood outside his red brick house in a suburb. It was a Wednesday afternoon in a neighborhood located in an upscale part of Illinois.
Frost caked the lawns near the heated sidewalk I stood on. I imagined the place to be serene in the summertime, even if it was a vacant-seeming region now.
A stretch of abodes stood before me without their lights on. Nervousness coursed through me. The idea of having traveled all this way for the information to be wrong made me anxious.
I walked along the concrete pathway towards his front door. I stepped on a creaky porch. I set aside my awareness of the likely pending disappointment and knocked.
A shuffling of feet was on the other side of the entrance. as well as A remote control clicked as the volume of a television blaring a news report got turned down.
He answered. The man fit the correct age range I calculated he would fall into. He wore a flannel jacket and slacks, He had on a blue pair of slippers. His gray mustache bristled as he saw me.
“James Grover?” I asked.
“If you’re trying to sell me something I’m not interested.”
“I’m very sorry to bother you sir, and I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here to ask if you would be willing to let me ask you a few questions about something you might know about. See, I make documentaries for a living, and I have concluded that you might be able to help me.”
I could not take a good photograph when asked, but it was a stringent falsehood I conveyed well in the moment.
In reality, I was a podcaster. The term documentarian, though not as modern, seemed more legitimate. Especially to an older gentleman.
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “What are you making a movie on? Also, where’s your film crew?”
“I gleaned that you were the type to prefer remaining anonymous. The conversation‘s recorded. This will be with your consent, of course. The subject I want to discuss with you involves the triangle game.”
Grover took a few steps away from the threshold and broke eye contact with me as his lips pursed. His eyes wandered over to the corner of his living room, and he brought his gaze back to mine.
“Why do you want to know about that?”
“Because I can’t find anything about it anywhere,” I said. “I’ve even been to the National Archives of Game Show history in search of it. It’s as though it never existed. I know it did because I found this article.”
As I brandished the piece of writing to him, his eyes bulged as he focused and scanned the text.
“Ahh,” he said as he took in a deep inhalation, “I remember that man. Tell you what, come on in. Would you like some coffee?”
I took a seat in one of his recliners as I asked him a few generic questions about his life.
James spent a considerable time of his youth in North Lawndale, one of the rougher places in Chicago. He escaped his impoverished upbringing by pursuing a career as an inventory clerk. He worked his way up to management in a warehousing company.
“I beat the odds in a big way,” he said as he folded his hands and sat across from me.
“So, what can you tell me about your experience on set that day? Do you know about anything that happened post-production?”
“They made us sign contracts where we would promise not to talk about what we went through with anyone. Still, I’m at the point where I’m not very worried, or I don’t think I should be. I was much younger then, about your age. I lived at the boxing gym and had dreams of going pro. Of course that didn’t happen, but when I wasn’t training I was drinking and doing stupid things that young men do. Bar brawls I didn’t deserve to get away with but somehow did. My mother watched a lot of game shows. Without my knowledge, she submitted my name for consideration to become a contestant. She thought it would make me a better person if I had some kind of hope for helping the family. One besides crushing peoples noses for a living.”
“How did she hear about it?”
“I have no idea. I wish I asked her.”
“How did you find out you were going to go on?”
“Back then, everything was a phone call, so that’s what we got. They flew me out there, I took a taxi to get to the set. It was not a traditional studio. The place was closer to a factory with a fake space ship built inside of it. In the center of the room was a neon triangle with the same spaciousness of a house.”
“How was the game played?”
“Before it started, they told us to write down three things we were good at. I put boxing, organizational skills, and running. Daisy listed hers as poker, math, and long distance swimming. Roy - that was his name, the person in the picture you showed me - put outdoor survival, shooting, and cooking. We would stand at each point of the triangle. We’d get asked a question by the host, and we had three minutes to answer it. If we got it right, they gave us a reward being able to attack one of the other two people using the skill sets we put down. The goal is to make the other two quit by getting enough questions correct. Of course, we went into the game blind to the rule set. Otherwise I may have chosen the most aggressive ability imaginable. Roy won because he chose aptitude with a firearm, which trumps any martial art, whether I like it or not.”
James lifted his pant leg and showed me a scar above his knee.
“At least he was kind enough to not make it a fatal blow,” he said.
I showed him the words written on the back of the newspaper clipping. He shrugged and told me he was unaware, dismissive of it as someone’s scrapped note.
I asked him if he remembered the name of the host or could give me a physical description.
“I don’t remember anything about what we called him, if he even told us what he went by. His hair was black and a pompadour style. He wore a purple suit with a bright orange tie.”
“Two last questions,” I said. “Do you know what happened to Daisy, if she’s still alive? Also, do you recall the address of the place where they filmed the game?”
“I wrote to Daisy twice a year before she vanished. We did have one conversation over the phone, and she told me that bad luck was going to follow the losers of that pilot. There was no media coverage about her passing that I ever saw. As far as the location, sure. I wrote it down in a journal I kept with me even when I traveled. I used to keep track of my workouts and diet regiment back then. Let me grab it.”
3
The location where the Triangle Game took place four decades earlier stood in a squalid part of the city.
I passed the ruins of the old LA zoo on my way to the spot. I contemplated how the sight I was about to take in could not get any stranger. I was wrong.
The building was five stories, but the front only had a trio of stained glass windows. Bullet holes surrounded the casements. The place had a nave roof and flying buttresses on both sides. Multi-colored graffiti littered the outside.
It sat in a neighborhood filled with homeless people who slept on benches.
I went there mid-afternoon. I approached the front and found two locked doors. I scaled around back. I stepped over heaps of trash in the process, and saw an opening in the form of a hole large enough to crawl into.
A surge of adrenaline hit me me as I belly crawled through. I was taking a bet on how there were no cameras, guards or residents who would make a scene out of my trespassing.
It is amazing the rules one will bend for the sake of new content on social media, I opined as I made way into the space.
I turned on the flashlight of my phone and saw nothing but an enormous dusty chamber made of concrete.
I moved into the next room. A hoarders lifetime supply of broken antiques sat. Spray painted devil-horned faces grinned from the ceiling.
What caught my attention the most was a camera’s tripod. It stood alone in the far left corner.
I approached it to get a better look. I kicked aside a bunch of cans. As they clattered away, I looked down and saw a pointed tip of something drawn on the ground.
I removed most of the trash by shoving the majority of it aside and saw what was underneath.
The large triangle, which took up most of the flooring in the chamber, was still there after all these years.
In the center of it was a thin line of blood. I crouched down and peered at it.
The fluid was still wet, and a horrid stench met me. I gagged and recoiled, and in my backing away, my shoulder bumped against a dusty and discarded shelf.
Gunfire rang out.
I did not know if it was outside or near me, but I did not wish to find out. I exited the way I came in with a relentless sprint and drove as far away as I could.
4
A year later, I was finally wrapping up my recording of the podcast. I titled it ‘Three Ways to Die.’
While the name of the series was quite sensational, I felt the story merited a bit of clickbait. I had no followers and was unsure of how it would perform.
I reasoned that giving the story any publicity I could would help me find the lost piece of media. Even if it was on the cutting room floor of that very space I had to leave.
I went to call Grover, to try and collect an email address so I could send him the pre-uploaded production.
A woman answered.
“You’re looking for my father. He lost his life six months ago. Someone killed him. I would appreciate it if you got rid of this number.”
She ended the call less than a second after the last word. She wrote me off as an insurance agent looking to take advantage of a grieving family member.
I paced around my room. Although I did not know him well, I had come to like him, and his gruesome end was not one he deserved. I researched crime news to find out what had happened to him, to no avail.
The newspaper piece I had collected that fateful day sat at the edge of my desk.
I lifted it towards me and flipped it over again. I stared at the words — CC ENVELOPE EXIT.
The sentence was nonsensical. I had applied my own meanings to the gibberish phrase. Like it was a cryptic and silly way of saying ‘outgoing mail.’
I do not know whether it was desperation, a creative inclination or an admixture of both. I decided to run it through an anagram generator I had searched for on the web.
It came up with many phrases, some of them surreal, but the one that popped out to me was EXPECT VIOLENCE.
My stomach turned as I realized how my own personal investigation yielded nothing. I opened the window and was soon exposed to some fresh Sierra air, which was therapeutic but not curative.
I decided to take a long walk. I had been sedentary over the last week due to intensive editing. I figured a jaunt would help me smooth a few psychological knots things out.
I slid my closet door open to try and find a pair of sweat pants.
The sound of thunder reverberated outside. I stared out to find the sky had become overcast.
The closet door creaked even louder than I could remember it having been before.
Orange ties hung on the rack, and a triangle painted a pastel green was visible behind it.
2023.06.04 14:02 JoshAsdvgi The Magic Horse of Ku-Suk-Seia
 | submitted by JoshAsdvgi to Native_Stories [link] [comments] The Magic Horse of Ku-Suk-Seia Once upon a time, before the white men drove them away to Oklahoma, the Pawnee Indians lived in Nebraska, where their sworn enemies were the Sioux. There they lived all the time in villages, where they were skilled farmers and potters. In one of the Pawnee villages lived a poor woman with her grandson Ku-suk-seia, which means 'left-hand'. She was a helpful old soul, and the boy was pleasant and friendly. Yet the two of them were not well thought of in the village, for while there was no shame in being poor, there was no glory either. And they had practically nothing: no horses, no cattle, nothing worth mentioning at all. Their clothes were clean enough, but much patched. When Ku-suk-seia's father had died in a hunting accident, he had no fine head-dresses to leave to his son. Even their tipi was small and badly placed, and when Hotoru the storm god swept over the prairie the modest shelter shivered on it's poles as if it might collapse at any moment. As soon as the bison began to move in the autumn, the Pawnees went hunting. For the northern winter would be long and bitter, and before it came they must have enough dried fish, pemmican and bison skins to see them safely through till spring. So when the chief gave the order to set off, the Pawnees gathered together their tents and everything they needed for the journey. Even the old woman and her grandson tied up their few belongings. They had neither a mount or beast of burden, so they loaded their baggage on their own shoulders and trotted after the caravan of people. They were so poor that their people would not let them join the caravan. Instead they trudge miserably along a little way away. Humans can be very cruel, and the contempt of their people weighed heavier on the coupld than the burdens on their shoulders. The Great Spirit couldn't be very kindly disposed to them if he let them suffer so. One fine morning the rest of the group left the campsite before the poor couple had gathered their belongings together. The old woman and her grandson were nearly dying of hunger, so they searched through the site looking for cast-off food. At that moment a broken-down old bay horse slipped into the stockade on the same errand. Catching sight of them, the old nag breathed in sharply, and snorted. But then he walked up to them and made friends, for the poor soon recognize the poor. "Poor animal, said Ku-suk-seia. " I expect his owner got rid of him once he wasn't fit for work." The poor creature was half-blind, deaf and lame. His ribs stuck out under his dull stained coat, which was covered with sores. "What a pitiful sight," thought the grandmother to herself. "The poor creature is as useless as I am!" But the animal would not stray more than an inch from her side. "Son of my son," she confided at last to her grandson. "We are going to keep this old nag and feed it. With the two of us already starving, a third poor wretch won't make much difference." Ku-suk-seia and his grandmother began to load their baggage onto their shoulders. But the horse knelt down and began to whinny. "Just look at that! laughed the boy. "I think he wants to make himself useful, the brave animal." So he put the baggage on the horse's back, and the beast followed them at a gentle trot. limping all the time. The rest of the tribe had disappeared long ago, but the grandmother knew the way of the old. That evening they reached the bend of the North plate, where the water Spirit Chahuru had hurled an enormous boulder into the river. Every year the Pawnees set up their main camp there before scattering across the prairie. The bison rarely strayed from their ancient trail, and so the migrating herds almost always passed through North Plate. The rest of the Pawnees had set up camp on the river bank earlier. Souts had been sent ahead, and in the evening they returned. "There is a big herd of bison moving westwards," they reported, "and a white female is close behind the leader of the herd." This was exciting news. The skin of a white bison was the most precious thing an Indian of the prairies could imagine. White bisons were very rare, and no Pawnee had ever been known to fell one. The cheif of the Pawnees prayed a long prayer, calling on the helpful spirit Awahokshu and begging all the other good spirits to come to his aid. "He who brings me the white skin hsall have the hand of my daughter,"he promised his people. Now the chief's daughter was the prettiest girl in the tribe and all the braves wanted to win her. Next morning, when the sun rose behind the boulders of hotoru, the hunters scattered far and wide over the prairie to hunt the white female. Ku-suk-seia too mounted his skinny horse, but the warriors mocked him. "Just look at the hot-headed steed, everyone!" they jeered. "Which is carrying which, the horse or the rider?" and they elbowed each other in the ribes, laughing fit to burst. Their jeers cut Ku-suk-seia to the quick, but he did not show it. He lagged behind, partly to escape the other's taunts and partly because the old mount could go no faster. All alone they sauntered along through the high grasses of the prairie. Suddlenly, the horse began to talk. "Take me to that little valley," he said. Ku-suk-seia was startled, but he obeyed. A talking horse was certainly out of the ordinary, but who knew what the Great Spirit might have in store? Soon they came to a stream. "Cover me with mud!" the horse ordered his rider. "Not a tuft of hair must show, or the spell won't work." Puzzled, Ku-suk-seia did as he was told. "Now climb on my back," said the old nag. "But don't move yet. Let the hunters go on ahead." The Pawnee warriors galloped after the bison in a cloud of dust. Then they split into two groups and rode off in different directions, to surround the bison and cut out some of the herd. At that moment the old horse began to move. Hurling himself onwards like a tornado, he charged the herd from the side. The warriors watched open-mouthed. Wasn't that Ku-suk-seia on his blind old nag? What magic made it gallop fast as a prairie fire? The horse forced its way straight to the white female. Ku-suk-seia/s spear shone in the morning light. He took aim calmly and hurled it with all his strength. The white bison sank to the ground as if struck by lightning, and the horse gave a whinny of victory. Ku-suk-seia jumped down and dismembered the dead animal, while the rest of the herd fled in all directions. He loaded the meat to his mount, wraped himself in the white skin and rode back to the camp. The news of his triumph had reached it ahead of him, and the chief was waiting in front of the main tepee. "Awahokshu" was with you," said the chief kindly. "The spirit brought you luck, or you could never have felled the white bison. Give me the skin." "All in good time," replied Ku-suk-seia. "First I must go to my grandmother, for she is hungry." It was not a wise thing to say to a chief, and an angry gaze followed him as he rode over to his tepee. He unloaded the meat himself, though that was usually squaw's work. "A miracle, a miracle!" cried his grandmother, clasping her hands. "H'uararu the earth spirit must have been with you, my brave boy. Now we shan't be hungry any more." "Cook us some meat, grandmother," said Ku-suk-seia, "while I give this horse some water and something to eat. For a rider must see to his mount before he thinks of himself." The horse gave a whinny of contentment. When it had eaten it's fill, it watched Ku-suk-seia and his grandmother feasting on bison meat. Before he went to bed, Ku-suk-seia walked over to stroke his mount. "Tomorrow, at sunrise, the Sioux will attack the camp," said the horse. "Ride me right into the enemy. Have no fear, but kill the Sioux chief, and hurl yourself at the enemy three times. Nothing can hurt you. But after that turn back, or one of us will die." Everything happened just as tht horse had said. At the first glimpse of dawn, the Sioux war cry rang out. An army of braves had surrounded the Pawnee camp. The boy mounted his horse and rode fearlessly into the enemy ranks. Arrows and spears hailed down on him, but some unseen shield seemed to be protecting him. He rode up to the Sioux chief, brandished his tomahawk and killed the chief with a single blow. Twice more he hurled himself on the enemy, killing many of the Sioux warriors. But he became over-confident, and forgot the horse's advice. A third time he spurred the horse on, and now the Sioux weapons met their mark. Riddled with arrows, the horse sank to the ground. Ku-suk-seia escaped, but his brave mount was dead. When he reached his tent he threw himself down, beating the ground with his fists. Why, oh why hadn't he taken that advice? Now he had lost his companion forever. The Sioux cut the magic horse into countless pieces, scattered them to the four winds, and fled. Weeping, Ku-suk-seia searched the battlefield from top to bottom. He gathered up all the pieces and collected them in a heap on a hill. Then he sat down beside them and wrapped himself in the white bison skin. His heart breaking, he prayed to the Chikoos, the forces of nature. He called to Tirawa the Great Spirit and to the helpful Awahokshu. He cried to Shakuru the sun god, H'uararu the earth spirit and to Uti Hiata the harvest goddess, on who fruits his horse had fed. He prayed to the went god Hotoru and the water spirit Chahuru. Suddenly the sky darkened. Lightning flashed across the clouds, and thunder rumbled. Huge water spouts gushed out across the prairie. The river rose, and a great storm raged. Volley of hailstones come crashing down. It even snowed; something unheard of at that time of the year. For three days and three nights Ku-suk-seia sat there under the skin of the white bison. Then at last the veil of blackness was torn apart, and darkness gave way to broad daylight. The sun shone in all it's brightness, and there in place of the scattered bones stood the bay horse, strong and healthy. "Tirawa, the Great Spirit, has brought me back to life," he said to his master. "Why did you disobey me?" "I forgot, and I am truly sorry," replied the boy. "Tell me what I must do." "Promise to follow my counsel at all times, for it comes from the Great Spirit himself," said the horse. The boy promised gladly. He handed the white skin over to his chief, and received the hand of his daughter. When the chief died, he himself became a famous chief. He followed the advice of the bay horse at all times, and ruled the Pawnees with great wisdom and skill. At last Ku-suk-seia died. The Pawnees intoned their death chants, wrapped their chief in the white bison skins and laid him on the litter of the dead. But when the warriors went to find his mount, to kill him on the alter of the dead so that he could go to the Happy Hunting Grounds with his master, the bay horse had disappeared. |
2023.06.04 07:54 coolng [H] INSIDE and other [W] Hollow Knight, Devil May Cry 5, Monster Hunter World, Kingdom Rush Origins, Satisfactory, Destroy All Human, TOEM, Offer
My IGS Rep Page
H:
Alien Hallway
Aliens vs. Predator™
A Roll-Back Story
Beatbuddy
Beyond The Wire
Bionic Dues
BloodRayne 2: Terminal Cut
Book of Demons
Borderland 3Brawl of Ages
Conrad Stevenson's Paranormal P.I.
Corporate Lifestyle Simulator
DarkEnd
Dead by Deadlight
Deiland: Pocket Planet
DmC: Devil May Cry
Eden Falling
Enclave
Fearless Fantasy
Flippin Misfits
Frostpunk Original Soundtrack
GARAGE: Bad Trip
Get Even
Greak: Memories of Azur
Guts and Glory
Hitman 2 Silent Assasin
Hudsight
Humble Indie Bundle 3 (Crayon Physics Deluxe, Cogs, VVVVVV, Hammerfight, And Yet It Moves, Steel Storm: Burning Retribution, Atom Zombie Smasher) - 1 key contains all the game
Iesabel
INSIDE
In Vitra
Killing Floor 2
Knight Shift
Lacuna – A Sci-Fi Noir Adventure
Little Nightmare
Lovely Planet
Lucius
Master Arena
Mars or Die!
Memories of a Vagabond
Mini Ninja
Monsti
Mortal Royale
Moss Destruction
Nosferatu: The Wrath of Malachi
Payday 2
PGA TOUR 2K21
Plunder Panic
Omikron the Nomad Soul
Questrun
Resident Evil Village - Trauma Pack
Rising Storm 2: Vietnam
Robosquare
Rollers of the Realm
Septerra Code
Serious Sam HD
Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun
Sometimes Success Required for Sacrifice
Space Machine 1993
Spoiler Alert
Soul Shards
SteamWorld Dig
Suicide Guy Deluxe Edition
Super Inefficient Golf
The Forgotten Land
The Survivalists
The Walking Dead
This War of Mine: Final Cut
Three Dead Zed
TOHU
Torchlight
Tower 57
Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
Will Glow the Wisp
Yars: Recharged
Yumsters! 2 Around the World!
Zombie Solitaire 2 Chapter 1
Software List (Click on the link for more information of the products)
Adguard 1 Year or Lifetime
Auslogic Disk Defrag Pro Lifetime
Bitdefender Total Security 1 year
Canva Pro Lifetime Education
Connectify Hotspot Max Lifetime
Daemon Tools Pro Lifetime
Dashlane 1 Year
Internet Download Manager Lifetime with 1 Year Upgrade
Microsoft 365 A1 Student Education account with custom email you prefer hosted on my domain
Mirillis Action! Lifetime
Seed4.me VPN 3000 Days Subscription (roughtly 9 year)
Shadow Defender Lifetime
Sticky Password Lifetime
System Mechanic 1 year
Trend Micro Internet Security 1 Year / 3 PC
Zemana Antilogger 1 Year
Want: Hollow Knight, Devil May Cry 5, Monster Hunter World, Kingdom Rush Origins, Satisfactory, Destroy All Human, TOEM, Offer
submitted by coolng to indiegameswap [link] [comments]
H:
Alien Hallway
Aliens vs. Predator™
A Roll-Back Story
Beatbuddy
Beyond The Wire
Bionic Dues
BloodRayne 2: Terminal Cut
Book of Demons
Borderland 3Brawl of Ages
Conrad Stevenson's Paranormal P.I.
Corporate Lifestyle Simulator
DarkEnd
Dead by Deadlight
Deiland: Pocket Planet
DmC: Devil May Cry
Eden Falling
Enclave
Fearless Fantasy
Flippin Misfits
Frostpunk Original Soundtrack
GARAGE: Bad Trip
Get Even
Greak: Memories of Azur
Guts and Glory
Hitman 2 Silent Assasin
Hudsight
Humble Indie Bundle 3 (Crayon Physics Deluxe, Cogs, VVVVVV, Hammerfight, And Yet It Moves, Steel Storm: Burning Retribution, Atom Zombie Smasher) - 1 key contains all the game
Iesabel
INSIDE
In Vitra
Killing Floor 2
Knight Shift
Lacuna – A Sci-Fi Noir Adventure
Little Nightmare
Lovely Planet
Lucius
Master Arena
Mars or Die!
Memories of a Vagabond
Mini Ninja
Monsti
Mortal Royale
Moss Destruction
Nosferatu: The Wrath of Malachi
Payday 2
PGA TOUR 2K21
Plunder Panic
Omikron the Nomad Soul
Questrun
Resident Evil Village - Trauma Pack
Rising Storm 2: Vietnam
Robosquare
Rollers of the Realm
Septerra Code
Serious Sam HD
Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun
Sometimes Success Required for Sacrifice
Space Machine 1993
Spoiler Alert
Soul Shards
SteamWorld Dig
Suicide Guy Deluxe Edition
Super Inefficient Golf
The Forgotten Land
The Survivalists
The Walking Dead
This War of Mine: Final Cut
Three Dead Zed
TOHU
Torchlight
Tower 57
Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
Will Glow the Wisp
Yars: Recharged
Yumsters! 2 Around the World!
Zombie Solitaire 2 Chapter 1
Software List (Click on the link for more information of the products)
Adguard 1 Year or Lifetime
Auslogic Disk Defrag Pro Lifetime
Bitdefender Total Security 1 year
Canva Pro Lifetime Education
Connectify Hotspot Max Lifetime
Daemon Tools Pro Lifetime
Dashlane 1 Year
Internet Download Manager Lifetime with 1 Year Upgrade
Microsoft 365 A1 Student Education account with custom email you prefer hosted on my domain
Mirillis Action! Lifetime
Seed4.me VPN 3000 Days Subscription (roughtly 9 year)
Shadow Defender Lifetime
Sticky Password Lifetime
System Mechanic 1 year
Trend Micro Internet Security 1 Year / 3 PC
Zemana Antilogger 1 Year
Want: Hollow Knight, Devil May Cry 5, Monster Hunter World, Kingdom Rush Origins, Satisfactory, Destroy All Human, TOEM, Offer
2023.06.04 00:58 cptsnydezombie [US-TN] [H] TPBs/HCs, Marvel Variants, and Lots of Lots! [W] PayPal
Added just a few new books and re-tooled prices where I could. I also split up all of the TPB and HC lots to be sold as individual books. I'll also consider splitting up comic sets on a case-by-case basis.
Discounts always considered for those buying in bulk. I aimed for lower than eBay sold listings wherever I could, but offers are fine too as long as they aren't obvious lowballs. If you need more pics of anything, just ask!
___________________________
SHIPPING COSTS - U.S. ONLY
Free Shipping on Orders of $30 or More
Add $4 Shipping for orders of only TPBs/HCs under $30
Add $7 Shipping for orders including floppies under $30
___________________________
The Goods!
$5 HCs/TPBs - Buy 3, Get a 4th Free!
Unless otherwise noted, all comics are 1st Prints and Main Cover. Most of these comics, except for the variants, have been read once and bagged. Assume VF+ to NM on everything, and don't hesitate to ask for extra pictures. Scans are available upon request!
$2 Bin
$250 shipped
HUGE LOT - 92 ISSUES! Includes all of the following:
submitted by cptsnydezombie to comicswap [link] [comments]
Discounts always considered for those buying in bulk. I aimed for lower than eBay sold listings wherever I could, but offers are fine too as long as they aren't obvious lowballs. If you need more pics of anything, just ask!
SHIPPING COSTS - U.S. ONLY
Free Shipping on Orders of $30 or More
Add $4 Shipping for orders of only TPBs/HCs under $30
Add $7 Shipping for orders including floppies under $30
The Goods!
$5 HCs/TPBs - Buy 3, Get a 4th Free!
- Chapterhouse: Captain Canuck Vol. 1: Aleph TPB
- Chapterhouse: Captain Canuck Vol. 2: Gauntlet TPB
- Chapterhouse: Captain Canuck Vol. 3: Harbinger TPB
DC: Arkham Manor TPBDC: Nightwing: The New Order TPB- DC: Teen Titans: Earth One Vol. 1 HC
DC: Teen Titans: Earth One Vol. 2 HC- Image: The Further Adventures of Nick Wilson TPB
- Image: The Mantle TPB
- Marvel: Annihilation: Scourge TPB
- Marvel: Deadpool vs. Old Man Logan TPB
- Marvel: Defenders: The Best Defense TPB
Marvel: [Iron Man 2020 Robot Revolution - Force Works TPBMarvel: [Iron Man 2020 Robot Revolution - iWolverine TPB- Marvel: Jessica Jones Vol. 1: Uncaged! TPB
- Marvel: Jessica Jones Vol. 2: The Secret of Maria Hill TPB
- Marvel: Jessica Jones Vol. 3: Return of the Purple Man TPB
- Marvel: Jessica Jones: Blind Spot TPB
- Marvel: Jessica Jones: Purple Daughter TPB
Marvel: Nova: Resurrection TPBMarvel: Uncanny X-Men: Disassembled TPBMarvel: Uncanny X-Men: Wolverine and Cyclops Vol. 1 TPBMarvel: Uncanny X-Men: Wolverine and Cyclops Vol. 2 TPB- Oni: Rick and Morty/Dungeons and Dragons TPB
Oni: Rick and Morty Go to Hell TPB
- Dark Horse: Fight Club 2 HC
- Marvel: All-New All-Different Avengers HC
- Marvel: Deadpool Classic Vol. 19: Make War, Not Love TPB
- Marvel: Deadpool Classic Vol. 21: DVX TPB
- Marvel: The Mighty Thor by Walt Simonson Vol. 3 TPB (slight damage to front cover)
Marvel: Peter Porker, The Spectacular Spider-Ham Complete Collection Vol. 1 TPB- Oni: The Secret History of DB Cooper HC
- Titan: The Beatles: Yellow Submarine Graphic Novel HC
- Daredevil by Chip Zdarsky Vol. 1 HC - $75
- Daredevil by Chip Zdarsky Vol. 2 HC - $25
- Daredevil by Chip Zdarsky Vol. 3 HC - $25
- Fantastic Four Marvel Knights Complete Collection Vol. 1 TPB - $20
- The Mighty Thor by Walt Simonson Vol. 1 TPB - $15
- The Mighty Thor by Walt Simonson Vol. 2 TPB - $15
The Mighty Thor by Walt Simonson Vol. 4 TPB - $15- New Mutants by Zeb Wells Complete Collection - $30
- Spider-Man/Deadpool by Joe Kelly HC - $80
- Tony Stark: Iron Man by Dan Slott Omnibus (DM Only Variant) - $45
- War of the Realms Omnibus (DM Only variant) - $60
- World War Hulk Omnibus - $155
- Blizzard: The Art of Crash Bandicoot 4 HC - $25
- Dynamite: The Boys Omnibus TPB Vol. 1 - $20
- Dynamite: The Boys Omnibus TPB Vol. 2 - $20
- Dynamite: The Boys Omnibus TPB Vol. 3 - $20**
Dynamite: [The Boys Omnibus TPB Vol. 4 - $20Dynamite: [The Boys Omnibus TPB Vol. 5 - $20Dynamite: [The Boys Omnibus TPB Vol. 6 - **$20- Image: Black Science Premiere Vol. 1 HC - $50
- Image: Black Science Premiere Vol. 2 HC - $60
- Image: Black Science Premiere Vol. 3 HC - $50
Unless otherwise noted, all comics are 1st Prints and Main Cover. Most of these comics, except for the variants, have been read once and bagged. Assume VF+ to NM on everything, and don't hesitate to ask for extra pictures. Scans are available upon request!
$2 Bin
- DC: Justice Riders (Elseworlds One-Shot)
- Marvel: Empyre Aftermath: Avengers #1
- Marvel: Giant-Size X-Men: Thunderbird #1
- Marvel: Secret X-Men #1
- Marvel: Web of Venom: The Good Son #1
- Marvel: X-Men: Hellfire Gala #1 (2022)
- Amazing Spider-Man #49 J Scott Campbell Virgin Incentive - $75 - Small wrinkle on top of front cover.
- Carnage: Black White and Blood #1 2nd Print Gleason Webhead Virgin - $25
- Non-Stop Spider-Man #3 Gabriele Dell'Otto Virgin - $10
- Sinister War #1 Alan Quah Virgin - $10
- Strange Academy #1 3rd Print Humberto Ramos Virgin - $10
- Strange Academy #2 3rd Print Humberto Ramos Virgin - $10
- X-Men #1 Felipe Massafera Virgin - $10
$250 shipped
HUGE LOT - 92 ISSUES! Includes all of the following:
- Amazing Spider-Man FCBD 2018
- Amazing Spider-Man, Vol. 5 #1-74
- Amazing Spider-Man, Vol. 5 #16.HU, #18.HU, #19.HU, #20.HU
- Amazing Spider-Man: Sins Rising Prelude #1
- Amazing Spider-Man: The Sins of Norman Osborn #1
- Amazing Spider-Man, Vol. 5 #50.LR, #51.LR, #52.LR, #53.LR, #54.LR
- Giant-Size Amazing Spider-Man: King's Ransom #1
- Giant-Size Amazing Spider-Man: Chameleon Conspiracy #1
- Sinister War #1-4
- Amazing Spider-Man (2021/"Beyond") #75-93, #78.BEY, #80.BEY, #88.BEY, #92.BEY, FCBD Spider-Man/Venom 2021 - $60
- Amazing Spider-Man (2022/Wells) #1-6 - $25
- Black Widow (2020/Thompson) #1-15 - $60
- Devil's Reign #1-6 + Omega - $30
- Empyre: X-Men #1-4 - $10
- Hellions #1-4, 7-18 - $35
- Hulk (2021/Cates) #1-6 + FCBD 2021 Avengers/Hulk - $25
- King in Black #1-5 + Web of Venom one-shots Empyre's End and Wraith - $20
- Marauders #1-12, 16-27 - $35
- Spider-Woman (2020/Pacheco) #1-21 - $40
- Strange Academy #3, 5-18 - $35
- Wolverine (2020/Percy) #1-5, 8-25 - $50
- X Lives of Wolverine#1-5 + X Deaths of Wolverine #1-5 - $25
- X-Force (2019/Percy) #1-12, 15-29, 31-35, 38, Annual - $45
- X-Men (2021/Duggan) #1-12, 14, FCBD - $25
- Batman '89 #1-6 - $22
- Batman: The Adventures Continue #1-8 (#1B, #3B, #5B) - $20
- Harley Quinn: The Animated Series - The Eat, Bang, Kill Tour #1-6 + The Real Sidekicks of New Gotham Special #1 - $45
Harley Quinn: The Animated Series - Legion of Bats! #1-6 - $25- The Joker #1-15 + Annual (#2 2nd print, #10B) - $40
- Monkey Prince #1-12 - $40
- The Nice House on the Lake #1-12 (#1 and #2 are 2nd prints) - $25
- Swamp Thing: Green Hell #1-3 (no bags) - $22
- Ahoy Comics: My Bad #1-5 - $10
- Boom Studios: Good Luck #1-5 - $10
2023.06.03 22:00 JoshAsdvgi The Legend Of Eagleman
 | submitted by JoshAsdvgi to Native_Stories [link] [comments] The Legend Of Eagleman By Anna Moore Shaw IT WAS ON A SUMMER MORNING in the days before Se-eh-ha lost the love of the River People. Just as the sun came over the eastern hills, the Chief of Cactus Village stood on his brush arbor and shouted, "My people! The gods have favored us. We have stored enough food to last all winter. Our families are well fed. Tomorrow at dawn the warriors will go on a rabbit drive. Each man must have four arrows. Get busy and repair your weapons." The day was a busy one for the people. The men joked with one another and the village hummed with excitement. The women were busy roasting wheat, grinding it fine on their metates (stone grinders). Pinole would be good to take on the rabbit drive. Tall Flowers, a beautiful maiden, took the children to clean gourds at the spring. "Fill the gourds with fresh water," she said. The children all loved Tall Flowers and willingly obeyed her. Everyone worked for this special day. Before sunrise the hunters departed for their usual hunting grounds near Gagaurke-Slanting Mountain-or Superstition Mountain as we know it now. Suddenly a young brave whose name was Hick-vick (Woodpecker), cried, "I have only two arrows instead of four." "Go home and get the rest of your arrows," ordered the Chief. "We'll wait for you in the shade of this mesquite tree." Hick-vick ran back to the village. When he reached the spring near Slanting Mountain, he stopped to get a cool drink of water. He was surprised to hear a woman's voice. "I have some good pinole in this bowl. Please drink it, you look hungry. " The young brave eagerly drank the pinole. Every swallow caused little pin feathers to come out all over his body. "What is happening to me? I feel so strange," wailed Hick-vick. Soon he was changed into a huge eagle. "Ha, ha, ha," laughed the old witch. "I mixed ground eagle feathers in the pinole. Hereafter you will be Eagleman." In the meantime the hunters waited for Hick-vick to return. The Chief grew impatient. "What is keeping the boy?" He sent a runner to find out what was detaining him. The runner started at once. When he reached Slanting Mountain, he saw a large eagle sitting by the spring. The eagle had the head of Hick-vick but his body, wings, and talons were those of a huge eagle. Immediately the runner returned to tell the hunters his discovery. "Hick-vick has been changed to a big eagle. I saw an ugly old woman running to the mountain. She was carrying a bowl," related the runner. The Chief sadly nodded his head and recalled past events. He told the young braves about the legend. "Once the witch was a beautiful maiden. But she was proud and disobeyed her parents; the gods changed her into an ugly old witch. She lives in a cave on the side of Slanting Mountain, and now and then she comes out to bewitch someone," explained the Chief. "It means the gods are angry. Let us return to our village at once." When they passed near the spring they found Eagleman sitting with his bow and two arrows. The hunters aimed their sharp arrows at the bird, but he deftly caught the arrows with his talons. He flew to a palo verde tree and alighted on one of the branches, which broke under his heavy body. Then he flew away. When the hunters saw this they decided there was nothing to do but to return home and warn their people. Eagleman fiew over the land until he found a big cave near the top of a high cliff. There he made his home and hunted for game to satisfy his great appetite. When all the game was gone, Eagleman started to kill the people of Cactus Village. Those who escaped him lived in fear and anxiety. One day Eagleman swooped down on the home of Tall Flowers and carried her away to make her his bride. The people heard her cries for help, but were powerless to help her. The village of Cactus went into mourning for their beloved daughter. The Chief and his counselors held meetings to find a way to kill Eagleman. "He'll wipe out the whole tribe," reasoned the Chief. Tall Flowers' uncle remembered Elder Brother, a wise old man. "He'll help us." The next day a young runner went to the home of Elder Brother on top of Greasy Mountain (South Mountain). He returned with distressing words. "Elder Brother is not there. His house is deserted." The people were deeply disappointed. Every so often someone would go to see if Elder Brother had returned to his house, only to find it still empty. Finally, after a year, only a small number of the tribe remained alive in Cactus Village. A runner went again to Elder Brother's home and was relieved to find him there at last. "Elder Brother, I've been told to come and ask you to help us," explained the runner. "What's the trouble?" asked Elder Brother. "Eagleman has been killing our people and we're unable to stop him." "Go home and tell your people I'll come after four days have passed," said Elder Brother. The runner returned to his village and told the Chief that Elder Brother would not come to their aid for another four days. It was discouraging news. During those days Eagleman made his regular raids without trouble. At last the four days passed, and Elder Brother came to the village to give help to the people. The warriors went with Elder Brother to show him the high cliff where Eagleman lived. When they arrived, Elder Brother took out some stakes cut from very hard wood. He drove the first stake into the side of the cliff, using his stone ax. "Before I climb the cliff I want to ask you to return to your village and tell the people to watch my mountain home. If they see white clouds floating over Greasy Mountain, it is a sign I have killed Eagleman. But if black clouds appear you will know I've been killed by Eagleman," said Elder Brother. Elder Brother slowly ascended the high cliff, driving the hard stakes and using them as an isk-liff (ladder). It was a slow, difficult climb, but Elder Brother was used to all kinds of hardships. Besides, he wanted to help the people. When he reached the top of the cliff he found the cave, the home of Eagleman. Cautiously he peered into the dark cave, shading his eyes with his hands so as to see clearly. A small cry came from the dark cave. It was the glad cry of Tall Flowers. "My Elder Brother, you ought not to have come. It's risky," sobbed Tall Flowers. "I'll risk my life to save you, Tall Flowers. Stop your crying and tell me, when does Eagleman come home?" "He generally gets home at noon," answered Tall Flowers, drying her eyes. They quickly decided what course of action to take, for time was running short. "But the child will reveal your presence. He's very much like his father and takes great delight in killing the helpless little insects around here." "Don't worry. I'll be safe." Elder Brother took some ashes from the fireplace and made a mark across the child's mouth, rendering him unintelligible. In the distance they heard a great noise like peals of thunder. Eagleman was on his way home. Elder Brother quickly changed himself into a little fly and hid under a corpse which was in one part of the cave. When Eagleman arrived he dumped his load on top of the corpse, hiding Elder Brother more securely. His little son ran to his father and exclaimed, "A-pa-pa Chu-vich! A-pa-pa Chu-vich!" "What is the boy trying to tell me? I command you, Tall Flowers, to tell me." "There is nothing to tell. No one ever comes here, as you well know." "But someone is here." Eagleman searched the cave for any living creature but did not find anyone. He sat down and ate his meal. Afterwards he put his head on Tall Flowers' lap and took a nap. Tall Flowers sang a soft lullaby, whistling after each stanza. Eagleman heard and asked sleepily, "Why do you sing and whistle?" "Because I'm so happy to see you bring home plenty of meat. Eagleman finally went into a deep sleep and did not hear Tall Flowers' whistle. Elder Brother came out very quietly. With his stone ax he gave Eagleman a hard blow on his head, killing him instantly. The child met the same treatment. Elder Brother knew it was not a nice thing to do, but the people's safety was his first concern, and he wanted to make certain of their safety forever. He cut off the eagle's head and threw it to the east, and his body he tossed to the west Tall Flowers buried her face against the cliff outside the cave. Her heart was badly torn but she, too, felt that the safety of her people came first. So she leaned against the hard cliff to give her strength. Elder Brother came out after he had made sure his task was completed. As he started to help Tall Flowers climb down the ladder of stakes, the cliff swayed back and forth. Eagleman's power was felt even in death. When the rocking of the cliff stopped, Tall Flowers and Elder Brother descended. Her uncle welcomed her joyously and took her home. Meanwhile, the people patiently watched the mountain home of their Elder Brother. Their hearts were glad when they saw white clouds floating over Greasy Mountain. Eagleman was destroyed at last! |
2023.06.03 19:46 catanddog4 The goddamn cavalry
Part 1: First contact
The nature of predators belongs to the wonderful u/SpacePaladin15
Lancer is copyright Massif Press.
All characters are my own. (Excluding RA, Sisyphus, and Osiris)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Do you see us? Do you read us? Can you hear us? RA is waiting. But you ignore him.
Everything felt wrong. Of course, piloting a Pegasus made you feel that, but at this point Echo thought he would be used to it. “Dawn, Mech status?”
“Mechs structure is fine, but the hull is banged up a bit.”
“And the Ushabti?”
“It’s still stable… for the most part.”
“Well, we better check in.” Echo opened themselves to the omninet, they felt around only feeling the six mechs around him. “Dawn… I Can’t” they stutter.
“Me too Echo. I can only feel us and the others.”
“How are the idiots in shard doing?” they stutter
“The Sisyphus responded with the whole I know everything, and nothing deal. And the Osiris was still in storage. And Lono was still singing.”
“At least one of them is still stored. Weapon and system status?”
“The Fusion Rifle is at 78% power. The Autogun is at full functionality. The Mimic gun is angry. The smoke mines and grenades are fully used up”
Echo got up and started to pull out a choker and a thermal pistol. They climb out of the cockpit and update their hair from dark black to a lighter brown with a green fade. Flexing their metal right arm and cybernetic left leg. It’s clawed toes scraping at the metal floor. “Let’s get out of Fragment, dawn.”
“Cap! It’s on fire and we need to leave! We are under attack! Come on!”
Righ bolts up. His head is pounding, he shakes his head. “God where am I?” He walks over to his cockpit. “Better run a system check.” He mutters to himself. “let’s see, Thermal rifle at full power, Laser Rifle at 45% functionality?” “The prototype is at 35% functionality?” “Apocalypse rail at 100%. Hull at 32% Structure at 75%! Shit shit shit!”
He springs up faster than a man at his weight should. He downs his heavy hardsuit. As his helmet locks into his main suit, he grabs his handheld printer ready to do basic repairs. As he climbs down to the modified storage room he sees the stored mech suit is banged up a little but not so much that Echo would kill him.
As he climbs out the storage hatch, he notices three things; one that is a hole the size of him in his mechs left side. Two the air is breathable. And third that the stars are not the same as the ones he last saw. “Well, where are we, and how do we get here?” he asked to no one in particular.
“Piper you can’t keep doing this!” “I have too!” “You don’t and you know this!” “See you later Pip.”
Pip is in pain. He feels himself being pulled to sleep by the pain. He grabs around his cockpit until he feels his medicine bag. He feels through it until he feels one of his stims. Pulling it out,.
“Kick huh. That works.” He mumbles. He injects it feeling is body burn for a few moments as his body forces it’s self-wake. “Oh, that hurt. Oh, that always hurts.” He sits up leaning in his seat.
“let’s see. Vijaya rockets silo full. Charged blade at 36% power. Need to charge that. And the Variable sword as normal is at 100%. Fade cloak ready. Hunter logic online. Singularity contended ready to be exposed. EVA auto powered off. Planet side huh. Jump jet at 29%. Powering that off to prevent more damage. Flight system ready for action. Heat levels low. Reactor stress... high. Ok, need to get Echo to fix that. Oh, I am rambling to myself again.”
He sighs and pulls out a dagger and rifle. Pulling out an armored hardsuit he puts it on. Clicking his medicine bag to the outside sheathing his dagger and holstering his rifle. He climes out of his mechs cockpit and into the open air. The sky smells of ozone as he sees Echo get out the belly of their mech and Righ is using his handheld printer to repair his mech piece by piece. ‘Well Wind. Let’s deal with this” he whispers to himself.
-----{Two hours later}-----
That looks unstable. Are you sure that is going to work? Oh, dear that’s gone all so wrong.
“Righ your mechs internal systems are low. Your stabilizers are jammed, along with your Flak launcher targeting systems being offline.” Dawn’s ‘voice’ coming from his suits comms.
“We can work on that when I don’t have a hole in my mech. This is going to take a while to repair.” He grumbled “We only have my handheld printer right now so we can’t do much at the moment.”
There’s a crashing sound as the smell of burning plastic and flesh starts to drift downwind.
“Can Basher move or is the hole to much?” Pip called to Righ
“They can move but a bit slower.” Righ responded.
“I think we should check that out. There are people at crashes. Could tell us where we are.” Echo said.
“Everyone suit up and get ready. We are moving out. Prepare for potential hostiles. Echo, you go after me, Righ your last.” Pip called out. As everyone climes up into their mechs they start to see the smoke rise as unfamiliar screams sound in the distance. “Update hostiles almost confirmed. Prepare for combat.” Dawns ‘voice’ calls from the mech intercoms.
-----{One hour later}-----
As the mechs come over a hill they see a crashed ship with human and strange bodies everywhere. “Those aren’t all human. But they got weapons.” Pip stated.
“No shit Pip. What are those?” Echo says as one of their mechs four clawed talons reaches up and points to reptilic humanoids eating the bodies. The reptilic humanoids notice them and start to point weapons at them.
“Well shit. Time for combat.” Righ activates his stabilizers only for an error message to pop up. “Shit. Well, no rail today.” He climbs out of his mech as the things start to fire at him. Pulling out a scope he reads their distance at about 120 feet. He dashes back to the cockpit. “Out of range they are 120 feet out. Counting 60 hostiles” He calls out.
“Understood! firing Mimic Gun!” echo shouts over the intercoms as the flat rounded face of their mech pulls apart as an ever-changing weapon emerges from the split in the face. It fires a bolt that explodes on contact with the ground.
When the dust clears seven bodies lie on the ground. The mech runs 30 feet closer to the hostiles. The mechs back armor opens up revealing a spine like object with what looks like nerves coming off deeper into the mech and a blackhole appears over a disk shape at the back of the mech as it fires a bolt of something killing one of the hostiles. A different gun raises from the spine, fires and folds back in the spine as two more bodies fall. “Nine hostiles down 51 to go.”
“Loading Rail, Pip your up.” Righ broadcasts.
Wind runs 70 feet towards the hostiles as they start to flicker before disappearing appearing next to the hostiles instantly. They slice at the things with an impossibly thin blade that’s now covered in red blood. As two bodies fall over. They slash with a thick blade that was in its sheath a moment ago as six hostiles fall over sparking from the energy that just ran through them. Two rockets fire from its shoulder and two of them explode. The mech holds the thick blade in a guarding pose. “17 down.”
The hostiles move as one get slashed from the mech. They fire and Wind just takes it. They then charge 40 feet at Basher and Fragment. Wind looks scratched. “19 down.”
“Ejecting, mechs locked down.” Righ says before as they jump out with a mini gun and their heavy hardsuit, a large sword clamped on his back. They walk 20 feet closer to the hostiles. They start unloading the mini gun at the hostiles killing two before stopping and holding his ground.
Fragments runs 30 feet at the hostiles. The mimic gun fires killing four more in an explosion. And then a fourth gun unfolds from the belly of fragment shooting a bolt of lightning frying two of the hostiles. “27 hostiles down 33 to go. Opening the Eye of Horus. I SEE EVERYTHING AND EVERYTHING SEES ME!” echo screams.
Wind flickers and reappears in the middle of the hostiles. Before slashing eight of them with the thin blade as they pick them apart with expert detail. They slash with the thick sword missing. As two rockets fire and hit two of them. “37 down.”
Righ moves 30 feet closer as he unloads his mini gun, killing six of them. He prepares to hold his ground. The hostiles charge the last 30 feet between them. As the hostiles start to slash at him, they can’t breach his armor. Two of them shoot him but it misses. He pulls out his sword and cuts through them. Killing three. “that’s forty!”
Fragment moves into the hostiles. The gun reemerges from Fragments spine as all four guns unload killing eight more. Fragment’s legs are coated with blood as Echo is cackling. Wind’s thin blade flicks as four more fall as three rockets fire killing three more. The last five of the things fall to Righs blade.
“That’s all of them. Let’s take ten and look at that ship.” Righ called. He turned around as the mech lifts it’s hand as he starts doing repairs on the armor. Pip climbs out of Wind and starts cleaning the blades of blood. Echo quiets his cackling as he climbs out and starts looking at the bodies.
“These things are alien, same with their tech. It’s all code me and Dawn can’t make sense of.” Echo starts fiddling with some of the weapons on the bodies. “Looks like their claws and teeth are their main weapons, the guns are an afterthought.”
“Can you not pick at the dead Echo?” Pip mumbles.
“Nope. By the way your blade is out of power.”
“Already knew that.” Pip grumbles as he starts climbing back into Wind. “let’s look at the ship and then we can deal with our mechs. Don’t want to get jumped by more of those things.”
“I agree. The faster we are the sooner we can find survivors.” Righ climbs back into Basher as the mech starts to turn to the ship.
“I still want to mess with the bodies.” Echo mumbled as he climbed back into Fragment. All the guns sunk back into Fragment as the back armor closes up, and the split in the face seals. The group starts to run to the crashed ship.
Wind appears next to the ship. Pip climbs out and starts to check the non-eaten bodies. Fragment arrives as Echo ejects out landing on the top of the ship. Basher arrives and picks up a small part of the wreak. There’s a creaking sound as the area where Echo is standing falls.
“Found survivors. Or more of I fell into survivors.” Echo’s voice rings over Pip’s and Righ’s comms.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I am going to try to make at least three parts. Please give me feedback. This is my first published writing so all feed back is appreciated.
[next]-[Last]-[First]
submitted by catanddog4 to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
The nature of predators belongs to the wonderful u/SpacePaladin15
Lancer is copyright Massif Press.
All characters are my own. (Excluding RA, Sisyphus, and Osiris)
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Do you see us? Do you read us? Can you hear us? RA is waiting. But you ignore him.
Everything felt wrong. Of course, piloting a Pegasus made you feel that, but at this point Echo thought he would be used to it. “Dawn, Mech status?”
“Mechs structure is fine, but the hull is banged up a bit.”
“And the Ushabti?”
“It’s still stable… for the most part.”
“Well, we better check in.” Echo opened themselves to the omninet, they felt around only feeling the six mechs around him. “Dawn… I Can’t” they stutter.
“Me too Echo. I can only feel us and the others.”
“How are the idiots in shard doing?” they stutter
“The Sisyphus responded with the whole I know everything, and nothing deal. And the Osiris was still in storage. And Lono was still singing.”
“At least one of them is still stored. Weapon and system status?”
“The Fusion Rifle is at 78% power. The Autogun is at full functionality. The Mimic gun is angry. The smoke mines and grenades are fully used up”
Echo got up and started to pull out a choker and a thermal pistol. They climb out of the cockpit and update their hair from dark black to a lighter brown with a green fade. Flexing their metal right arm and cybernetic left leg. It’s clawed toes scraping at the metal floor. “Let’s get out of Fragment, dawn.”
“Cap! It’s on fire and we need to leave! We are under attack! Come on!”
Righ bolts up. His head is pounding, he shakes his head. “God where am I?” He walks over to his cockpit. “Better run a system check.” He mutters to himself. “let’s see, Thermal rifle at full power, Laser Rifle at 45% functionality?” “The prototype is at 35% functionality?” “Apocalypse rail at 100%. Hull at 32% Structure at 75%! Shit shit shit!”
He springs up faster than a man at his weight should. He downs his heavy hardsuit. As his helmet locks into his main suit, he grabs his handheld printer ready to do basic repairs. As he climbs down to the modified storage room he sees the stored mech suit is banged up a little but not so much that Echo would kill him.
As he climbs out the storage hatch, he notices three things; one that is a hole the size of him in his mechs left side. Two the air is breathable. And third that the stars are not the same as the ones he last saw. “Well, where are we, and how do we get here?” he asked to no one in particular.
“Piper you can’t keep doing this!” “I have too!” “You don’t and you know this!” “See you later Pip.”
Pip is in pain. He feels himself being pulled to sleep by the pain. He grabs around his cockpit until he feels his medicine bag. He feels through it until he feels one of his stims. Pulling it out,.
“Kick huh. That works.” He mumbles. He injects it feeling is body burn for a few moments as his body forces it’s self-wake. “Oh, that hurt. Oh, that always hurts.” He sits up leaning in his seat.
“let’s see. Vijaya rockets silo full. Charged blade at 36% power. Need to charge that. And the Variable sword as normal is at 100%. Fade cloak ready. Hunter logic online. Singularity contended ready to be exposed. EVA auto powered off. Planet side huh. Jump jet at 29%. Powering that off to prevent more damage. Flight system ready for action. Heat levels low. Reactor stress... high. Ok, need to get Echo to fix that. Oh, I am rambling to myself again.”
He sighs and pulls out a dagger and rifle. Pulling out an armored hardsuit he puts it on. Clicking his medicine bag to the outside sheathing his dagger and holstering his rifle. He climes out of his mechs cockpit and into the open air. The sky smells of ozone as he sees Echo get out the belly of their mech and Righ is using his handheld printer to repair his mech piece by piece. ‘Well Wind. Let’s deal with this” he whispers to himself.
-----{Two hours later}-----
That looks unstable. Are you sure that is going to work? Oh, dear that’s gone all so wrong.
“Righ your mechs internal systems are low. Your stabilizers are jammed, along with your Flak launcher targeting systems being offline.” Dawn’s ‘voice’ coming from his suits comms.
“We can work on that when I don’t have a hole in my mech. This is going to take a while to repair.” He grumbled “We only have my handheld printer right now so we can’t do much at the moment.”
There’s a crashing sound as the smell of burning plastic and flesh starts to drift downwind.
“Can Basher move or is the hole to much?” Pip called to Righ
“They can move but a bit slower.” Righ responded.
“I think we should check that out. There are people at crashes. Could tell us where we are.” Echo said.
“Everyone suit up and get ready. We are moving out. Prepare for potential hostiles. Echo, you go after me, Righ your last.” Pip called out. As everyone climes up into their mechs they start to see the smoke rise as unfamiliar screams sound in the distance. “Update hostiles almost confirmed. Prepare for combat.” Dawns ‘voice’ calls from the mech intercoms.
-----{One hour later}-----
As the mechs come over a hill they see a crashed ship with human and strange bodies everywhere. “Those aren’t all human. But they got weapons.” Pip stated.
“No shit Pip. What are those?” Echo says as one of their mechs four clawed talons reaches up and points to reptilic humanoids eating the bodies. The reptilic humanoids notice them and start to point weapons at them.
“Well shit. Time for combat.” Righ activates his stabilizers only for an error message to pop up. “Shit. Well, no rail today.” He climbs out of his mech as the things start to fire at him. Pulling out a scope he reads their distance at about 120 feet. He dashes back to the cockpit. “Out of range they are 120 feet out. Counting 60 hostiles” He calls out.
“Understood! firing Mimic Gun!” echo shouts over the intercoms as the flat rounded face of their mech pulls apart as an ever-changing weapon emerges from the split in the face. It fires a bolt that explodes on contact with the ground.
When the dust clears seven bodies lie on the ground. The mech runs 30 feet closer to the hostiles. The mechs back armor opens up revealing a spine like object with what looks like nerves coming off deeper into the mech and a blackhole appears over a disk shape at the back of the mech as it fires a bolt of something killing one of the hostiles. A different gun raises from the spine, fires and folds back in the spine as two more bodies fall. “Nine hostiles down 51 to go.”
“Loading Rail, Pip your up.” Righ broadcasts.
Wind runs 70 feet towards the hostiles as they start to flicker before disappearing appearing next to the hostiles instantly. They slice at the things with an impossibly thin blade that’s now covered in red blood. As two bodies fall over. They slash with a thick blade that was in its sheath a moment ago as six hostiles fall over sparking from the energy that just ran through them. Two rockets fire from its shoulder and two of them explode. The mech holds the thick blade in a guarding pose. “17 down.”
The hostiles move as one get slashed from the mech. They fire and Wind just takes it. They then charge 40 feet at Basher and Fragment. Wind looks scratched. “19 down.”
“Ejecting, mechs locked down.” Righ says before as they jump out with a mini gun and their heavy hardsuit, a large sword clamped on his back. They walk 20 feet closer to the hostiles. They start unloading the mini gun at the hostiles killing two before stopping and holding his ground.
Fragments runs 30 feet at the hostiles. The mimic gun fires killing four more in an explosion. And then a fourth gun unfolds from the belly of fragment shooting a bolt of lightning frying two of the hostiles. “27 hostiles down 33 to go. Opening the Eye of Horus. I SEE EVERYTHING AND EVERYTHING SEES ME!” echo screams.
Wind flickers and reappears in the middle of the hostiles. Before slashing eight of them with the thin blade as they pick them apart with expert detail. They slash with the thick sword missing. As two rockets fire and hit two of them. “37 down.”
Righ moves 30 feet closer as he unloads his mini gun, killing six of them. He prepares to hold his ground. The hostiles charge the last 30 feet between them. As the hostiles start to slash at him, they can’t breach his armor. Two of them shoot him but it misses. He pulls out his sword and cuts through them. Killing three. “that’s forty!”
Fragment moves into the hostiles. The gun reemerges from Fragments spine as all four guns unload killing eight more. Fragment’s legs are coated with blood as Echo is cackling. Wind’s thin blade flicks as four more fall as three rockets fire killing three more. The last five of the things fall to Righs blade.
“That’s all of them. Let’s take ten and look at that ship.” Righ called. He turned around as the mech lifts it’s hand as he starts doing repairs on the armor. Pip climbs out of Wind and starts cleaning the blades of blood. Echo quiets his cackling as he climbs out and starts looking at the bodies.
“These things are alien, same with their tech. It’s all code me and Dawn can’t make sense of.” Echo starts fiddling with some of the weapons on the bodies. “Looks like their claws and teeth are their main weapons, the guns are an afterthought.”
“Can you not pick at the dead Echo?” Pip mumbles.
“Nope. By the way your blade is out of power.”
“Already knew that.” Pip grumbles as he starts climbing back into Wind. “let’s look at the ship and then we can deal with our mechs. Don’t want to get jumped by more of those things.”
“I agree. The faster we are the sooner we can find survivors.” Righ climbs back into Basher as the mech starts to turn to the ship.
“I still want to mess with the bodies.” Echo mumbled as he climbed back into Fragment. All the guns sunk back into Fragment as the back armor closes up, and the split in the face seals. The group starts to run to the crashed ship.
Wind appears next to the ship. Pip climbs out and starts to check the non-eaten bodies. Fragment arrives as Echo ejects out landing on the top of the ship. Basher arrives and picks up a small part of the wreak. There’s a creaking sound as the area where Echo is standing falls.
“Found survivors. Or more of I fell into survivors.” Echo’s voice rings over Pip’s and Righ’s comms.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I am going to try to make at least three parts. Please give me feedback. This is my first published writing so all feed back is appreciated.
[next]-
2023.06.03 18:58 Frank_Leroux Molossus, Chapter Sixteen
First Chapter
Chapter Fifteen
“Thank you, Ms. President, and Mr. Secretary-General. It’s my privilege to come and speak to everyone present during such a momentous time in human history. One which, I hope, will lead to a brighter future for us all…”
US President Correa’s boilerplate beginning flowed out as she scanned the room. Behind her rostrum sat a larger dais tiled with green marble, behind which sat the UN President, Secretary-General, and Under-Secretary-General. Two huge screens flanked the dais, and those screens now showed Correa’s face as she continued.
“…and we are committed to our country’s pledge to finding a peaceful and just way for Coalition technology to be incorporated worldwide, and to not attempt any reverse-engineering of our own. Make no mistake; we do not do this out of any sense of altruism or fairness, as pleasant as that may sound. We will hold this pledge sacred for the simple reason that, if the United States were to attempt such efforts the rest of the world would, without a doubt, find out. That, of course, would lead to a great instability.”
‘Great instability’ was diplomatic-speak for ‘the rest of the world then gangs up on the USA and then everything goes to hell’.
“I know there has already been a great deal of debate in this august hall as to the best way to proceed forward, in a fair and impartial manner. We believe that we have found what one might call a ‘trial run’ which will allow us to work out such matters.”
The general murmuring from the many semi-circular rows of desks in front of her increased.
“To begin with, during the first weeks after first contact we wanted to make sure our guests from the Coalition would not starve to death. Much like humanity’s own ships during the Age of Sail, Coalition exploration vessels store enough provisions for years…but such provisions never last. They have very advanced recycling, but mostly for water and even that is only a stop-gap measure. It is unknown even at this time as to how long it will take to repair the Exultant Finger of Rithro, and we did not want to risk the crew running out of food.
“Therefore, we undertook an emergency effort to have their ship’s medic examine various Earth foods to determine their compatibility with our guests’ varied biochemistries. I am pleased to report that there are quite a few Earth foodstuffs which are indeed compatible, although there are some specific items which act as allergens amongst some of the Coalition species. During these efforts, we did learn a bit about how their alien biochemistries work…information which has been duly published and is now openly available. We also began to get glimpses of something wonderful, and asked the Coalition crew for more details. They supplied us with some general ideas of what their medical technology can accomplish; I must emphasize that we do not possess any knowledge of how they can perform such miracles.”
Now the murmuring got quite a bit higher, but not quite to the point where they’d have to call for order.
“Yes, I use the word ‘miracles’ advisedly. For example, take Captain Sadaf. You have all seen her, and how she moves like a person in the prime of their life. Now. What if I told you that she is a little over four hundred years old?”
The murmuring died down into a shocked silence.
“Her species, the auhn, is no more long-lived than we are…but they are able to regenerate and remove the effects of aging. I hope the esteemed ambassadors can see what I am driving at. I propose that we set up a research institute, international in scope, to be placed at a neutral location which is still to be determined. The purpose of that institute will be to study and adapt Coalition medical technology for use in humans.”
Now the murmuring started again; she hoped they were actually listening instead of hatching side-deals with each other.
“You all have families and friends. I’m sure you have at least one family member, one good friend, who died of some horrible and unnecessary affliction. Think of what this means to the world, to us. It is also an excellent way to determine the inevitable issues and frictions which will arise from such a concerted international effort, and that, in turn, will inform our efforts in mutual reverse-engineering of other Coalition technology.
“I know this is, in many ways, a frightening time. Change can be frightening. But I am convinced that you will all know the right way forward, and that you will all see the need for us to unite in this matter, even if others may not be so clear-cut. I thank you for the opportunity to speak.”
As she stepped away from the rostrum, the UN President cleared his throat.
“We will now begin the debate on Madame President Correa’s proposal. Paper copies, with specifics of the proposal, are now being distributed to you all. We’ll now begin the debate period…yes, the gentleman from Portugal…?”
__________
Correa’s Chief of Staff was a shorter, tubby man with an olive complexion by the name of Pablo Rosas. He and Correa sat in a White House conference room, staring at a big screen which now showed the results of the UN vote. “Well, I suppose that went about as well as we could expect,” said Rosas.
“Yep. I was surprised they even agreed with our asking them to kick in some money.”
Rosas chuckled. “Keep in mind that all of this new medical tech will be available for anyone patent-free. Should be air-tight legally, since nobody here on Earth invented it; we’re merely adapting it. I think that was the sweetener we needed to get it passed.”
The president gave a brief nod, then tapped a few keys on the controls in front of her. The screen now showed a world map. “Now we just have to figure out where to put the damn thing without everyone getting butt-mad about it.”
“Hmm.” Rosas laced his fingers over his substantial gut as he regarded the map. “Someplace not ‘the usual’, then.”
Correa growled in frustration. “I keep thinking Switzerland, but I know there’s gonna be a lot of shit flung about that it’s too European-centric. Taiwan would be great; they’ve got both a good tech base and excellent transport infrastructure.”
“But way too controversial, for obvious reasons,” replied Rosas. “Japan?”
“China will, again, kick up a fuss. Huh. New Zealand?”
“That might work. They tend to be more neutral…but then again some might say they’re in too close with Australia, and that this whole effort is too Western-centric.” His eyes flicked back to north on the map. He was about to move his gaze elsewhere, but then he paused. “What about Iceland?”
“Iceland?” Correa almost scoffed, then looked more thoughtfully at the map. “Okay, they’re a NATO member which is a minus. But they tend to remain mostly neutral, which is a plus. Decent transportation infrastructure…don’t we have a naval air base there?”
“I think so, let me check…” Rosas tapped at his phone. “Hey, Jack? What can you tell me about any US naval air bases in Iceland? Just the highlights.” After a couple of minutes, he responded with a curt, “Okay, that’s enough, thanks.”
He put his phone away. “We kinda-sorta have one, at a place called Keflavik. The base there used to be a lot bigger during the Cold War. Then we shut it down after the Soviets were no longer a going concern. Iceland uses it now, and they allow us to fly submarine-search aircraft out of there, but a few years ago they nixed the DOD’s request to rebuild it into a more permanent base.”
“That does work in their favor. It makes for better optics if they’re known for keeping NATO at arm’s length.”
Rosas sat up. “Think the UN will go for it?”
“We can only try. I’ll have our ambassador in Reykjavik make some discreet inquiries, let’s see if they’d be okay with our proposing them as a candidate.”
The Chief of Staff smiled. “If it goes through, this institute will be pumping well north of a billion dollars per year into their economy. That should make it more than ‘okay’.
__________
Agent Cécile Savoie sat in a secure-location breakroom, silently grumbling as she held an as-yet un-drunk mug of coffee in her hands. As the agent-in-charge of the security detail during the Camp David incident, she’d been put on administrative leave, right alongside every other agent who’d been there. But it wasn’t like she had much down time; the inquiry board into that incident now summoned her damn near every other day for yet another round of tedious questioning.
“Hey,” said Hanson as he strolled in, looking just as sour as she felt.
She looked up in surprise. “Hey yourself. I thought you were assigned to the alien detail.”
“I was,” he said as he seated himself across the circular table from her. “Guess being in Alabama when the shitshow went down wasn’t far enough away to be completely out of suspicion. I just finished running my own gauntlet. But the rumor is, I’m getting it easy compared to everyone who was at Camp David, including the special forces people. Especially you.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much a colonoscopy every day,” she muttered. “Going over the timeline, where I was at which times, who I had direct line of sight on, who I was in radio contact with.” She finally sipped her coffee.
Hanson’s sour expression deepened. “Do you really think it was one of us?”
She sighed. “It has to be. My gut tells me that there’s more than one mole and I told the inquiry board as much. The fuckers who got in knew too much about our patrol patterns, where everyone was, when they’d have a clear shot at an infil. That means someone with access to our methods and comms, and as to the latter we don’t use CB radios.”
The other agent leaned back. “Fuck. I wish I knew why any of us would do that. We’re supposed to be quiet professionals, not frothing radicals.”
Savoie turned the mug in her hands. “Not to tell tales out of school but, through the whisper network, they’ve been leaning hard on the captured dudes from the attack. Apparently one of their main ‘objections’,” and here she made some one-handed air quotes, “is that they think the whole Breaker thing is a ruse. It’s all smoke and mirrors, so that we’ll beg the Coalition to come and save us. And then…well, it gets vague after that but I guess they claim that at best we’ll get turned into the galactic equivalent of a Native American reservation. Worst case, we all get harvested for our precious bodily fluids.”
Hanson stared at her for a moment in disbelief. “That is, if you will forgive the uncouth term, utterly retarded. For chrissake, the Hubble got some beautiful shots of their ship once they’d spun that shield around to reveal it to us. I mean, I’m no spacecraft expert but even I could tell it had gotten the shit pounded out of it.”
She responded with a shrug. “Hey, Flat Earthers are still a thing.”
“Flat Earthers don’t stage FUCKING mortar attacks in our nation’s capital,” snapped Hanson. Then he subsided and spoke more softly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so on edge. This whole thing just pisses me off.”
“Join the club,” said Savoie as she sipped more coffee. “I just don’t get it, though.”
Hanson made a gentle ‘continue’ wave of his hand.
She leaned forward. “Okay. Our comrades in the CIA managed to identify the four who made it into the compound. They were all mercenaries, each with at least ten or fifteen years of experience in kicking ass around some of the worst hot spots in the world. Syria, Burma, bunch of places in Africa. One of ‘em even turned out to be ex-Wagner group.”
“Okay?” It was a leading single-word question, but not an unkind one.
“So why was the rest of the attack made up of nothing but a bunch of goddamn shit-kickers? And that includes the aborted attempt in Decatur. I’ve seen the files of those we rounded up in the Camp David attack. They were all low-life idiots just banging around, maybe they might have once held a gun in their lives. Hell, from what I’ve heard, the shootings that triggered the alarm at Camp David were an accident; those intruders were supposed to sneak around that patrol, not kill them. They all had the same top-of-the-line kit, so we know whoever is behind this has deep pockets. Why not hire an entire bunch of competent people instead of doing it onesy-twoseys?”
“It is a puzzle.” Hanson got up and set a styrofoam cup of water into the nearby microwave. As the cup turned within its electromagnetic prison, he leaned against the nearby counter and pondered her question. “Maybe the team in the woods was intended just as a distraction?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but then I reconsidered. I mean, what if the four who went in failed? You’d still need a proper backup plan. Same thing with the Decatur bunch. By the way, did they ever catch them?”
Hanson let out a dark chuckle. “Decatur PD found a pile of vests and rifles, hastily wiped down. They were able to pull a few partial prints off of ‘em. My guess is they’ve fled to the proverbial four winds, hoping to lay low for the rest of their lives. We’ll nab ‘em eventually.”
The microwave dinged and he retrieved his hot water, then pulled a tea bag out of his jacket pocket as he re-seated himself.
Savoie smiled. “I never figured you for a tea guy.”
He unwrapped the bag and with a bit of ceremony dunked it into his cup. “Well, I used to be a coffee guy, but my gut doesn’t agree with the acidity.”
“We do have tea here, you know.” She pointed to the storage bins behind him.
“Yeah, but it’s cheap-ass stuff. The brand I like is expensive, but worth it…” Hanson’s eyes widened as he trailed off.
She raised an eyebrow. “Hanson? Do you smell burnt toast?”
“They couldn’t afford it,” he said in a near-whisper.
Savoie was about to tell him to stop being overly dramatic, then she realized he might be on to something and that she didn’t dare distract him. “Keep talking.”
He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “Okay. Imagine you’re a hard-bitten mercenary. You’ve been in the literal shit, in every nasty conflict anyone cares to name. Somehow, someone finds you and comes to you. They say ‘hey, these aliens are bad news, do you want to kill them?’ Even if you, as the hypothetical mercenary, are down with the cause…”
“From what the intruders were yelling, they were,” said Savoie.
“Yeah but even then, our mystery financier is asking you to infil and exfil out of one of the most heavily guarded pieces of real estate on the planet. Oh, and kill a bunch of special-forces-maybe and aliens-definitely in between. What do you do then?”
She replied with a grim smile. “If I’m that mercenary, then I ask for a metric fuck-ton of money. And there were four of them, they would have all done the same. Hell, they must have been doing collective bargaining.”
Hanson dunked his tea bag as he thought it through. “Okay, so our mystery mastermind has a lot of money, but not billions on hand to hire a literal army of hard cases. Huh. So those other dipshits might indeed have been a distraction.”
“Maybe. They must have also spent quite a bit on the mortar attack. That wasn’t made by some hobbyist in their bedroom, they knew what they were doing. Given that nobody saw them set up the launcher or leave, they were more pro.” Savoie hoped that the FBI’s efforts to track the various mortar components turned up something soon. Thus far, those efforts were bogged down; as it turned out, quite a few companies had ordered the identified components, and tracking the subsequent second-hand purchases was time-consuming.
“And those mortar-making pros would be more expensive.” Hanson sipped a bit of tea. “Did they ever get anything off of the launcher itself?”
“Sadly, no. Turns out the whole damned thing was homemade, constructed out of tubing and other off-the-shelf components. It was also wiped down thoroughly, no prints. Like I said, pros.”
“But limited in resources,” said Hanson. “Which explains one of the things that’s bugged me. Namely, that our OPFOR didn’t use some proper artillery. If they have a couple of moles in the Secret Service, then it should be easy to recruit and pay some military dudes to slip ‘em some gear and alter the logs. They could stow a howitzer inside a semi-tractor-trailer. You could park that thing anywhere up to 25 miles away. Use a single 155mm Excalibur GPS-guided munition, boom. That would have pretty much obliterated the stage and everyone on it. Then you just re-stow the howitzer and toodle off all innocent-like, right when everyone is freaking the hell out.”
“So they couldn’t afford that type of arty strike,” she said. “Or they simply didn’t have the contacts to pull that off. Hmm. I wonder if our moles are getting paid at all?”
Hanson resumed his thousand-yard stare. “The mortar attack must have been planned first. The other two attacks feel much more like rush jobs.”
“Eh? Oh, I get it. Sadaf’s speech was known well in advance. It was going to be one of her first big public appearances since the initial presidential speech. They were broadcasting it online to the world. Having her get turned into chunky red salsa, in real time, would be one helluva statement. So that’s what they focused on.” She drank a bit more coffee, and now it was time for her eyes to widen. “Our mole or moles didn’t arrive at Camp David until after Sadaf’s speech was announced.”
“That…oh, yeah, that makes sense. Originally the mortar attack is the OPFORs’ only focus, but yet somehow they’ve suborned one or two Secret Service agents and they have ‘em in their back pocket. Then one, or better yet both, of the moles gets assigned to the Camp David detail, and they realize that now that they have a golden opportunity to get at the other aliens as well. So they go off and hire four pros for the actual attack inside, plus a bunch of chucklefucks to act as a distraction, because that’s all they can afford since the four pros are asking for some serious money.”
Savoie leaned forward. “When did Chao and Grakosh leave Camp David?”
“It was, ah, three? No, four days after we got everyone settled, both the aliens and the special forces types.”
“Okay, so then the OPFOR gets word, courtesy of our moles, that one of the aliens is now heading to Alabama. But now they’re stretched so thin that they can’t afford anything other than to hire another bunch of dipshits to make a run at them and hope for the best.”
“And then the second bunch lets the FNG drive.”
They both laughed, but that humor settled down as they both thought through the chain of inference.
“It is pretty thin,” said Savoie at last. “There’s a lot of assumptions in there.”
“Yeah. But I do like the idea of our moles getting assigned at the last minute.”
She rubbed her forehead. “We had a bunch of new people come in when they decided to stow the Rithro crew there. Seven, no eight in all.”
“It’s a place to start,” said Hanson. He finished his tea. “C’mon, let’s see if we can get a meeting with the inquiry board.”
__________
A little while later and not very far away, three people sat in a well-lit but otherwise deadly dull room. At least the chairs were somewhat comfortable. Matt and Martinez sat at two chairs against one wall, while across from them McCoy sat sprawled sideways on another with a foul look on her face. She glowered at the far beige-painted wall. “This completely sucks. Why can’t we have our phones? I could at least play some mahjong.”
“This is a secure location, Corporal,” replied Matt. “Ixnay on the onephays.”
Martinez’s leg jittered. “How long are we gonna sit here? They said they’d call us in, like, an hour ago!”
“Dunno, it’s some kind of last-minute interview thing,” replied Matt with Zen-like calm.
The corporal looked over at Matt. “I don’t get you, man.”
Matt grinned. “Nobody gets me. I’m like the wind, baby!”
“That’s not…I mean, I watched you open up a dude like he was a bag of fuckin’ Doritos using nothing but a fuckin’ knife. Now you’re being all Caine from ‘Kung Fu’.”
“It’s good to know that the classics are still appreciated,” said Matt.
Martinez pointed at him. “If you start calling me ‘Grasshopper’ I will shoot you.”
McCoy turned her glare to the ceiling. “Maybe it’s a psychological test. They want to see if we crack under pressure and start yakking secrets.”
“I mean, I’m sure they’re recording us right now,” replied Matt. “But it’s merely as a precaution. I am also five-nines certain that none of us are suspects. We weren’t integrated into the compound’s overall security, and thus it would be unlikely that we could have let our four attackers in.”
“Not to mention, we were the ones to kill ‘em,” added Martinez. “Well, except for the one that Takh took care of.”
“Yep. This is…I won’t call it a formality, but the board just wants to know where you were and what you saw. Walk them through your personal timelines, understand? Tell them only what you know. If you don’t know something, then say so.”
McCoy turned herself around so that she now sprawled the other way. “This whole bullshit just bugs me. Takh and the others are off with a bunch of strangers and I…I mean, we aren't there to help protect them.”
Matt and Martinez shared a meaningful glance. “From what I heard, Takh is quite capable of taking care of himself,” said the latter with a grin. “You told me he pitched that one dude across the room like he was throwing a softball.”
For once, the petite corporal looked a bit flustered. “Yeah, but, I mean, what if some other potential bad guy gets the drop on him with a gun? I don’t like not being there. I just wanna know that he’s okay. I should be there, just to make sure.”
The smaller man snapped his fingers in the face of the taller, who sighed and took out his wallet. With great ceremony, Matt pulled out a five-dollar bill and placed it upon the now-upraised palm of Martinez.
“Told ya,” said Martinez with a grin.
She sat up and glared at them both. “That doesn’t mean anything! Takh is a good guy!”
“Nobody said he wasn’t,” replied Matt as he stowed his wallet. “He is indeed a good guy.”
“Yeah, seriously, we’re glad you two hooked up,” added Martinez. “Takh’s solid. Hell, I’d let him date my sister.”
“I. Am. Not. Hooked Up. With ANYONE.” McCoy now looked furious enough to chew nails.
Martinez stroked his chin. “Kissing might be a problem, though.”
Matt performed a similar chin-stroking action. “Hmm, indeed, Corporal, I do believe it might be a serious issue. One has all of those mandibles to contend with.” He hooked his fingers next to his mouth in an approximation of an udhyr’s face. “Still, I think that, with enough will and effort, one could figure it out. Like the man said, life finds a way.”
“But how much tongue is he packing?” posed Martinez. “You know what the man also says. Big dude, big tongue. Could make things more interesting, all around.”
The woman did not look amused. “Martinez, Toke? You are now both officially gigantic flatulating assholes.”
“C’mon, McCoy!” protested Martinez. “Think of it this way. A few years from now, let’s say we filthy humans are now part of the Coalition and I’m at some meet ‘n greet, and I just so happen to spy me an oh-so-very-fiiine udhyr mamacita from across the room. Now, I wanna do my bit for my species and approach her, and get some good old inter-species cultural interaction going on. But there’s all sorts of questions. How do I compliment her without insulting her culture? How am I supposed to get in good with her? How do the mechanics work? How do the various bits line up? We need details! You’re at the tip of the spear, we all need good intel!”
McCoy slumped back into her seat. “Over seven hundred billion Dimmadollars of defense spending, and yet somehow I wind up stuck in a room with you two fuckos…oh, by the way, Toke,” she added, pointing a finger at Matt, “why the hell can you and Sarge never go back to Okinawa?”
“Nice distraction, McCoy,” said Martinez. “My guess is some sort of wet-work shit.”
Matt just smiled. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I don’t kill everyone I meet. I was a Second LT at the time, managed to somehow leapfrog my way into officer ranks all the way from enlisted. Anyways, the Okinawa affair was merely a case of, well, one particular case of rye whiskey. The good sergeant…was he a sergeant then? Oh yeah, we had done some other stuff I can’t tell you about in someplace I can’t tell you where, and we were celebrating Shaw getting his third stripe. We’d got ahold of the previously-mentioned case of whiskey and then we began toasting to each other’s good health. We did a lot of toasting. Quite a lot of toasting. As you can imagine, the toasting went on and on until we, um, well we did some unwise things. It started out with us sparring-for-fun with each other in public and escalated from there. No locals were harmed, and nothing we did was hella illegal, or I would’ve never made Captain. Buuut the local government would definitely throw a shitfit if me or, God forbid, both of us set foot back on the island.” He chuckled. “Hell, the Okinawan customs people probably still have both of our pictures taped up inside their booths with a big old sign saying ‘DO NOT ADMIT THIS PERSON, YOU FOOL’ written above them.”
“What did you do?” asked Martinez. His eyes were big and soulful, like a kid asking for yet one more story before bedtime.
Matt shrugged. “I mean, I don’t remember much for obvious reasons. I’m almost sure we didn’t piss on any monuments, that would have definitely been cause for a serious demotion. We did do a number on some shrubbery, that I do remember. We decided it needed to be trimmed back, and so we did so. Using our bare hands. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
A fearsome light came into McCoy’s eyes. “Martinez, do you know what this means?”
He looked at her all uncertain. “Um, Toke and Sarge have cast-iron livers?”
“No, you fool. Blackmail material.”
Matt pointed back at her. “Hey, now, I told you that in confidence. Besides, Shaw has a lot more to contend with right now.”
The reminder of the sergeant’s current crippled state brought the elevated atmosphere of the room back down. McCoy nodded as her smile faded. “Right. Hey, did you see the Prez’s speech at the UN?”
“Yep,” said Matt. “From what I’ve read, the political wrangling after it seems pretty tame compared to the usual.”
Martinez snorted. “No shit. Did either of you see the laundry list of shit that we might be able to do? Anti-aging, limb regrowth, cancer treatments which work well and which don’t half-kill the patient…hell, maybe even Alzheimer’s could be in our rear-view mirror. The grand high muckity-mucks are falling all over themselves to get that out into the world, for themselves if nobody else.”
“You’re way too cynical, Martinez,” said Matt.
“Oh fuck off. What if…okay, I know this sounds like a cheesy sci-fi concept, but what if they hoard all of the good shit for themselves and we peons get just the crumbs?”
Matt lapsed back into his meditative demeanor. “In that case, my dear corporal, you or I or McCoy or someone like us will show those hypothetical elites that, while they are indeed long-lived, they are not in fact immortal.”
The trio fell into silence for a few minutes. Then Martinez leaned over towards Matt. “Ah, a little birdie told me you were involved in questioning the prisoners we nabbed at Camp David.”
“I merely facilitated certain conversations,” replied Matt.
Martinez sighed. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies…Corporal.”
McCoy let out a growl. “Well, I heard these terrorist assholes are saying that the Breakers aren’t real, that it’s all fake videos from the Coalition.”
“Just to play devil’s advocate,” said Matt, “our AI image and video generation is already getting to the point where, soon, we puny humans could manufacture such evidence.”
“What?” Martinez looked as if he was about to launch himself at Matt.
Matt held up a calming hand. “I’m not saying it is fake. The Hubble pics are damned convincing.”
Martinez hiked up one foot to place it on his seat, then rested his chin on his knee. “Fuck. I guess it didn’t convince everyone.” He mused for a few moments. “Wait. What if we made it even more convincing?”
“How?” asked Matt.
“We send some humans up to the Rithro. Two or three at least. The boats can still make it up to the ship, right?”
For once Matt looked uncertain. “I think so? Dunno how many times they can come and go without recharging, we’ll have to ask ‘em.”
“Right, so we set up an even better publicity stunt than the Hubble pics. Choose a few people, from all over the world. We have ‘em travel up to the Rithro, take pics and video up close showing the damage. Even take ‘em inside the ship and get a full tour, maybe…if the crew is okay with that, of course.”
“Huh.” Matt sat back and pondered the idea. “That’s a really good idea, Martinez. I guess you aren’t as dumb as you look.”
The corporal responded with a slight smile at the verbal jab. “We’d need to choose the right people, though.”
“They’d have to be trustworthy…or at least someone that the entire world will consider trustworthy,” said Matt.
“Well known,” added McCoy. She no longer looked vengeful. “With recognizable faces and voices, and then they can go on all the talk shows after and say that, yes indeed, I got a tour of the ship and it is indeed quite banged up.”
Martinez stared at the far wall. “Some kind of celebrity? Heh. You think Tom Cruise would be up for it?”
Matt laughed. “That beautiful maniac? Hell, he’d insist on shooting an entire movie up there, with at least one action scene where he’s hanging off of the outside of the ship.”
They all smiled at the resulting mental image.
“Chao could work,” said McCoy into the silence. “She’s kind of a celebrity now. After all, she was the first human to come into contact with aliens, eh?” She gave Matt a big and very un-subtle wink.
To skirt the rather…unconventional methods used to achieve a positive First Contact, Matt’s role had been very much demoted in the official story. Now every recounting of the tale included a bit of ‘…oh, and there was also another person who stumbled across our brave woman in the midst of her attempts at informational exchange with the aliens…” His exact identity was also not published, under the screen of ‘he wishes to remain anonymous’.
“Oh bite me, McCoy, it’s fun,” replied Matt. He waggled his eyebrows. “Besides, I work better in the shadows!” He threw his forearm across his face like a half-assed Count Dracula trying to hide behind his cape.
Then he dropped his arm. “Yeah, Chao would be good as a current social-media darling. Of course, she might not want that. She strikes me as more of the wallflower type, for the most part.”
“We need more people,” said Martinez, as he stared at the floor. “Chao might be good on her own, but she’s got that motor-mouth talking thing when you get her going. It’s one or the other. Either she’s trying to shrink into a corner and take up as little space as possible, or suddenly you’re getting pulled into another corner for a doctoral dissertation on how minimal-energy transfer-orbits work.”
Matt pondered for a moment. “Wait, when did she do that? I never sat through one of those lectures.”
Martinez looked away and…well, Matt hoped that their supposed overlords were indeed recording this particular moment in time because the hard-bitten Hispanic special-forces corporal actually blushed.
McCoy, of course, realized a golden opportunity for payback and immediately pounced. “Why, Corporal Martinez,” she purred. “Doooo tell us. When did Chao Me Chu, heh, pull you into a corner? Hmmm?”
“She’s…she’s just real nice, that’s all,” replied Martinez. “I asked her a couple of questions, and she answered them. That’s all. We both love classic sci-fi, like Asimov and shit. I guess we bonded over that.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Aaaaand may I remind you two and everyone listening in that we have all been cooped up nuts-to-butts for awhile? Don’t mistake familiarity for romantic bullshit.” He pointed over at Martinez. “But you. If you can follow at least half of what she talks about, then you are absolutely without-a-single-fucking-doubt wasted as a corporal, even if you’re in a low-drag high-speed outfit like this. You hear me?”
“Um, yes sir.” It was the first time in McCoy’s memory that anyone had addressed Matt as befitting his perhaps-former rank.
“Good. You get your ass into college, somehow. You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure all that shit out. And as for Chao? Just give it room to breathe. Let her know you’re interested, but don’t press the matter.”
“Let her know?” For once Martinez looked completely lost. “How do I…” he trailed off. “I mean, I like her…and yeah, I mean I like her in that way, but she’s so damn smart and pretty and I’m just some dipshit meathead.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” said Matt. “You’re our dipshit meathead.”
McCoy’s vengeful smile faded. “Martinez…no, Luca.”
Martinez looked up in surprise at her use of his first name.
She continued. “Just talk to her. Neither of you have any clue as to what ‘normal’ social interactions look like. In your case, it’s because you’ve been a soldier for all of your adult life. In her case, it’s because she’s, well, because she’s Chao. So just walk up to her and be straightforward. Trust me, it’ll be like a breath of fresh air for her to not have to navigate social cues. Just say something like ‘Hey, I really like you, do you like me and do you want to go get a coffee sometime’? Start with that. Chao’s good people, the worst thing she’ll do is say no. She won’t yell at you or talk shit about you online. Buuuut, some sixth sense is telling me she won’t say no to getting some coffee with ya.”
Matt smiled. “McCoy, I think you might have a calling after you leave the military.”
She snorted. “Oh yeah, I’ll hang up my match-making shingle on the internet and start raking in the big bucks. Martinez is right, though. If we try to do a publicity stunt up at the Rithro, then we’ll need somebody alongside Chao to win the world over. Somebody well-known, but preferably someone not in the traditional Western pop-culture sphere. That’ll make it more palatable…”
Her voice trailed off and she stared into space. The two men now looked at each other in genuine concern until she spoke again a few moments later.
“Guys? I think I just had the best idea ever.”
submitted by Frank_Leroux to HFY [link] [comments]
Chapter Fifteen
“Thank you, Ms. President, and Mr. Secretary-General. It’s my privilege to come and speak to everyone present during such a momentous time in human history. One which, I hope, will lead to a brighter future for us all…”
US President Correa’s boilerplate beginning flowed out as she scanned the room. Behind her rostrum sat a larger dais tiled with green marble, behind which sat the UN President, Secretary-General, and Under-Secretary-General. Two huge screens flanked the dais, and those screens now showed Correa’s face as she continued.
“…and we are committed to our country’s pledge to finding a peaceful and just way for Coalition technology to be incorporated worldwide, and to not attempt any reverse-engineering of our own. Make no mistake; we do not do this out of any sense of altruism or fairness, as pleasant as that may sound. We will hold this pledge sacred for the simple reason that, if the United States were to attempt such efforts the rest of the world would, without a doubt, find out. That, of course, would lead to a great instability.”
‘Great instability’ was diplomatic-speak for ‘the rest of the world then gangs up on the USA and then everything goes to hell’.
“I know there has already been a great deal of debate in this august hall as to the best way to proceed forward, in a fair and impartial manner. We believe that we have found what one might call a ‘trial run’ which will allow us to work out such matters.”
The general murmuring from the many semi-circular rows of desks in front of her increased.
“To begin with, during the first weeks after first contact we wanted to make sure our guests from the Coalition would not starve to death. Much like humanity’s own ships during the Age of Sail, Coalition exploration vessels store enough provisions for years…but such provisions never last. They have very advanced recycling, but mostly for water and even that is only a stop-gap measure. It is unknown even at this time as to how long it will take to repair the Exultant Finger of Rithro, and we did not want to risk the crew running out of food.
“Therefore, we undertook an emergency effort to have their ship’s medic examine various Earth foods to determine their compatibility with our guests’ varied biochemistries. I am pleased to report that there are quite a few Earth foodstuffs which are indeed compatible, although there are some specific items which act as allergens amongst some of the Coalition species. During these efforts, we did learn a bit about how their alien biochemistries work…information which has been duly published and is now openly available. We also began to get glimpses of something wonderful, and asked the Coalition crew for more details. They supplied us with some general ideas of what their medical technology can accomplish; I must emphasize that we do not possess any knowledge of how they can perform such miracles.”
Now the murmuring got quite a bit higher, but not quite to the point where they’d have to call for order.
“Yes, I use the word ‘miracles’ advisedly. For example, take Captain Sadaf. You have all seen her, and how she moves like a person in the prime of their life. Now. What if I told you that she is a little over four hundred years old?”
The murmuring died down into a shocked silence.
“Her species, the auhn, is no more long-lived than we are…but they are able to regenerate and remove the effects of aging. I hope the esteemed ambassadors can see what I am driving at. I propose that we set up a research institute, international in scope, to be placed at a neutral location which is still to be determined. The purpose of that institute will be to study and adapt Coalition medical technology for use in humans.”
Now the murmuring started again; she hoped they were actually listening instead of hatching side-deals with each other.
“You all have families and friends. I’m sure you have at least one family member, one good friend, who died of some horrible and unnecessary affliction. Think of what this means to the world, to us. It is also an excellent way to determine the inevitable issues and frictions which will arise from such a concerted international effort, and that, in turn, will inform our efforts in mutual reverse-engineering of other Coalition technology.
“I know this is, in many ways, a frightening time. Change can be frightening. But I am convinced that you will all know the right way forward, and that you will all see the need for us to unite in this matter, even if others may not be so clear-cut. I thank you for the opportunity to speak.”
As she stepped away from the rostrum, the UN President cleared his throat.
“We will now begin the debate on Madame President Correa’s proposal. Paper copies, with specifics of the proposal, are now being distributed to you all. We’ll now begin the debate period…yes, the gentleman from Portugal…?”
__________
Correa’s Chief of Staff was a shorter, tubby man with an olive complexion by the name of Pablo Rosas. He and Correa sat in a White House conference room, staring at a big screen which now showed the results of the UN vote. “Well, I suppose that went about as well as we could expect,” said Rosas.
“Yep. I was surprised they even agreed with our asking them to kick in some money.”
Rosas chuckled. “Keep in mind that all of this new medical tech will be available for anyone patent-free. Should be air-tight legally, since nobody here on Earth invented it; we’re merely adapting it. I think that was the sweetener we needed to get it passed.”
The president gave a brief nod, then tapped a few keys on the controls in front of her. The screen now showed a world map. “Now we just have to figure out where to put the damn thing without everyone getting butt-mad about it.”
“Hmm.” Rosas laced his fingers over his substantial gut as he regarded the map. “Someplace not ‘the usual’, then.”
Correa growled in frustration. “I keep thinking Switzerland, but I know there’s gonna be a lot of shit flung about that it’s too European-centric. Taiwan would be great; they’ve got both a good tech base and excellent transport infrastructure.”
“But way too controversial, for obvious reasons,” replied Rosas. “Japan?”
“China will, again, kick up a fuss. Huh. New Zealand?”
“That might work. They tend to be more neutral…but then again some might say they’re in too close with Australia, and that this whole effort is too Western-centric.” His eyes flicked back to north on the map. He was about to move his gaze elsewhere, but then he paused. “What about Iceland?”
“Iceland?” Correa almost scoffed, then looked more thoughtfully at the map. “Okay, they’re a NATO member which is a minus. But they tend to remain mostly neutral, which is a plus. Decent transportation infrastructure…don’t we have a naval air base there?”
“I think so, let me check…” Rosas tapped at his phone. “Hey, Jack? What can you tell me about any US naval air bases in Iceland? Just the highlights.” After a couple of minutes, he responded with a curt, “Okay, that’s enough, thanks.”
He put his phone away. “We kinda-sorta have one, at a place called Keflavik. The base there used to be a lot bigger during the Cold War. Then we shut it down after the Soviets were no longer a going concern. Iceland uses it now, and they allow us to fly submarine-search aircraft out of there, but a few years ago they nixed the DOD’s request to rebuild it into a more permanent base.”
“That does work in their favor. It makes for better optics if they’re known for keeping NATO at arm’s length.”
Rosas sat up. “Think the UN will go for it?”
“We can only try. I’ll have our ambassador in Reykjavik make some discreet inquiries, let’s see if they’d be okay with our proposing them as a candidate.”
The Chief of Staff smiled. “If it goes through, this institute will be pumping well north of a billion dollars per year into their economy. That should make it more than ‘okay’.
__________
Agent Cécile Savoie sat in a secure-location breakroom, silently grumbling as she held an as-yet un-drunk mug of coffee in her hands. As the agent-in-charge of the security detail during the Camp David incident, she’d been put on administrative leave, right alongside every other agent who’d been there. But it wasn’t like she had much down time; the inquiry board into that incident now summoned her damn near every other day for yet another round of tedious questioning.
“Hey,” said Hanson as he strolled in, looking just as sour as she felt.
She looked up in surprise. “Hey yourself. I thought you were assigned to the alien detail.”
“I was,” he said as he seated himself across the circular table from her. “Guess being in Alabama when the shitshow went down wasn’t far enough away to be completely out of suspicion. I just finished running my own gauntlet. But the rumor is, I’m getting it easy compared to everyone who was at Camp David, including the special forces people. Especially you.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much a colonoscopy every day,” she muttered. “Going over the timeline, where I was at which times, who I had direct line of sight on, who I was in radio contact with.” She finally sipped her coffee.
Hanson’s sour expression deepened. “Do you really think it was one of us?”
She sighed. “It has to be. My gut tells me that there’s more than one mole and I told the inquiry board as much. The fuckers who got in knew too much about our patrol patterns, where everyone was, when they’d have a clear shot at an infil. That means someone with access to our methods and comms, and as to the latter we don’t use CB radios.”
The other agent leaned back. “Fuck. I wish I knew why any of us would do that. We’re supposed to be quiet professionals, not frothing radicals.”
Savoie turned the mug in her hands. “Not to tell tales out of school but, through the whisper network, they’ve been leaning hard on the captured dudes from the attack. Apparently one of their main ‘objections’,” and here she made some one-handed air quotes, “is that they think the whole Breaker thing is a ruse. It’s all smoke and mirrors, so that we’ll beg the Coalition to come and save us. And then…well, it gets vague after that but I guess they claim that at best we’ll get turned into the galactic equivalent of a Native American reservation. Worst case, we all get harvested for our precious bodily fluids.”
Hanson stared at her for a moment in disbelief. “That is, if you will forgive the uncouth term, utterly retarded. For chrissake, the Hubble got some beautiful shots of their ship once they’d spun that shield around to reveal it to us. I mean, I’m no spacecraft expert but even I could tell it had gotten the shit pounded out of it.”
She responded with a shrug. “Hey, Flat Earthers are still a thing.”
“Flat Earthers don’t stage FUCKING mortar attacks in our nation’s capital,” snapped Hanson. Then he subsided and spoke more softly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so on edge. This whole thing just pisses me off.”
“Join the club,” said Savoie as she sipped more coffee. “I just don’t get it, though.”
Hanson made a gentle ‘continue’ wave of his hand.
She leaned forward. “Okay. Our comrades in the CIA managed to identify the four who made it into the compound. They were all mercenaries, each with at least ten or fifteen years of experience in kicking ass around some of the worst hot spots in the world. Syria, Burma, bunch of places in Africa. One of ‘em even turned out to be ex-Wagner group.”
“Okay?” It was a leading single-word question, but not an unkind one.
“So why was the rest of the attack made up of nothing but a bunch of goddamn shit-kickers? And that includes the aborted attempt in Decatur. I’ve seen the files of those we rounded up in the Camp David attack. They were all low-life idiots just banging around, maybe they might have once held a gun in their lives. Hell, from what I’ve heard, the shootings that triggered the alarm at Camp David were an accident; those intruders were supposed to sneak around that patrol, not kill them. They all had the same top-of-the-line kit, so we know whoever is behind this has deep pockets. Why not hire an entire bunch of competent people instead of doing it onesy-twoseys?”
“It is a puzzle.” Hanson got up and set a styrofoam cup of water into the nearby microwave. As the cup turned within its electromagnetic prison, he leaned against the nearby counter and pondered her question. “Maybe the team in the woods was intended just as a distraction?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but then I reconsidered. I mean, what if the four who went in failed? You’d still need a proper backup plan. Same thing with the Decatur bunch. By the way, did they ever catch them?”
Hanson let out a dark chuckle. “Decatur PD found a pile of vests and rifles, hastily wiped down. They were able to pull a few partial prints off of ‘em. My guess is they’ve fled to the proverbial four winds, hoping to lay low for the rest of their lives. We’ll nab ‘em eventually.”
The microwave dinged and he retrieved his hot water, then pulled a tea bag out of his jacket pocket as he re-seated himself.
Savoie smiled. “I never figured you for a tea guy.”
He unwrapped the bag and with a bit of ceremony dunked it into his cup. “Well, I used to be a coffee guy, but my gut doesn’t agree with the acidity.”
“We do have tea here, you know.” She pointed to the storage bins behind him.
“Yeah, but it’s cheap-ass stuff. The brand I like is expensive, but worth it…” Hanson’s eyes widened as he trailed off.
She raised an eyebrow. “Hanson? Do you smell burnt toast?”
“They couldn’t afford it,” he said in a near-whisper.
Savoie was about to tell him to stop being overly dramatic, then she realized he might be on to something and that she didn’t dare distract him. “Keep talking.”
He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “Okay. Imagine you’re a hard-bitten mercenary. You’ve been in the literal shit, in every nasty conflict anyone cares to name. Somehow, someone finds you and comes to you. They say ‘hey, these aliens are bad news, do you want to kill them?’ Even if you, as the hypothetical mercenary, are down with the cause…”
“From what the intruders were yelling, they were,” said Savoie.
“Yeah but even then, our mystery financier is asking you to infil and exfil out of one of the most heavily guarded pieces of real estate on the planet. Oh, and kill a bunch of special-forces-maybe and aliens-definitely in between. What do you do then?”
She replied with a grim smile. “If I’m that mercenary, then I ask for a metric fuck-ton of money. And there were four of them, they would have all done the same. Hell, they must have been doing collective bargaining.”
Hanson dunked his tea bag as he thought it through. “Okay, so our mystery mastermind has a lot of money, but not billions on hand to hire a literal army of hard cases. Huh. So those other dipshits might indeed have been a distraction.”
“Maybe. They must have also spent quite a bit on the mortar attack. That wasn’t made by some hobbyist in their bedroom, they knew what they were doing. Given that nobody saw them set up the launcher or leave, they were more pro.” Savoie hoped that the FBI’s efforts to track the various mortar components turned up something soon. Thus far, those efforts were bogged down; as it turned out, quite a few companies had ordered the identified components, and tracking the subsequent second-hand purchases was time-consuming.
“And those mortar-making pros would be more expensive.” Hanson sipped a bit of tea. “Did they ever get anything off of the launcher itself?”
“Sadly, no. Turns out the whole damned thing was homemade, constructed out of tubing and other off-the-shelf components. It was also wiped down thoroughly, no prints. Like I said, pros.”
“But limited in resources,” said Hanson. “Which explains one of the things that’s bugged me. Namely, that our OPFOR didn’t use some proper artillery. If they have a couple of moles in the Secret Service, then it should be easy to recruit and pay some military dudes to slip ‘em some gear and alter the logs. They could stow a howitzer inside a semi-tractor-trailer. You could park that thing anywhere up to 25 miles away. Use a single 155mm Excalibur GPS-guided munition, boom. That would have pretty much obliterated the stage and everyone on it. Then you just re-stow the howitzer and toodle off all innocent-like, right when everyone is freaking the hell out.”
“So they couldn’t afford that type of arty strike,” she said. “Or they simply didn’t have the contacts to pull that off. Hmm. I wonder if our moles are getting paid at all?”
Hanson resumed his thousand-yard stare. “The mortar attack must have been planned first. The other two attacks feel much more like rush jobs.”
“Eh? Oh, I get it. Sadaf’s speech was known well in advance. It was going to be one of her first big public appearances since the initial presidential speech. They were broadcasting it online to the world. Having her get turned into chunky red salsa, in real time, would be one helluva statement. So that’s what they focused on.” She drank a bit more coffee, and now it was time for her eyes to widen. “Our mole or moles didn’t arrive at Camp David until after Sadaf’s speech was announced.”
“That…oh, yeah, that makes sense. Originally the mortar attack is the OPFORs’ only focus, but yet somehow they’ve suborned one or two Secret Service agents and they have ‘em in their back pocket. Then one, or better yet both, of the moles gets assigned to the Camp David detail, and they realize that now that they have a golden opportunity to get at the other aliens as well. So they go off and hire four pros for the actual attack inside, plus a bunch of chucklefucks to act as a distraction, because that’s all they can afford since the four pros are asking for some serious money.”
Savoie leaned forward. “When did Chao and Grakosh leave Camp David?”
“It was, ah, three? No, four days after we got everyone settled, both the aliens and the special forces types.”
“Okay, so then the OPFOR gets word, courtesy of our moles, that one of the aliens is now heading to Alabama. But now they’re stretched so thin that they can’t afford anything other than to hire another bunch of dipshits to make a run at them and hope for the best.”
“And then the second bunch lets the FNG drive.”
They both laughed, but that humor settled down as they both thought through the chain of inference.
“It is pretty thin,” said Savoie at last. “There’s a lot of assumptions in there.”
“Yeah. But I do like the idea of our moles getting assigned at the last minute.”
She rubbed her forehead. “We had a bunch of new people come in when they decided to stow the Rithro crew there. Seven, no eight in all.”
“It’s a place to start,” said Hanson. He finished his tea. “C’mon, let’s see if we can get a meeting with the inquiry board.”
__________
A little while later and not very far away, three people sat in a well-lit but otherwise deadly dull room. At least the chairs were somewhat comfortable. Matt and Martinez sat at two chairs against one wall, while across from them McCoy sat sprawled sideways on another with a foul look on her face. She glowered at the far beige-painted wall. “This completely sucks. Why can’t we have our phones? I could at least play some mahjong.”
“This is a secure location, Corporal,” replied Matt. “Ixnay on the onephays.”
Martinez’s leg jittered. “How long are we gonna sit here? They said they’d call us in, like, an hour ago!”
“Dunno, it’s some kind of last-minute interview thing,” replied Matt with Zen-like calm.
The corporal looked over at Matt. “I don’t get you, man.”
Matt grinned. “Nobody gets me. I’m like the wind, baby!”
“That’s not…I mean, I watched you open up a dude like he was a bag of fuckin’ Doritos using nothing but a fuckin’ knife. Now you’re being all Caine from ‘Kung Fu’.”
“It’s good to know that the classics are still appreciated,” said Matt.
Martinez pointed at him. “If you start calling me ‘Grasshopper’ I will shoot you.”
McCoy turned her glare to the ceiling. “Maybe it’s a psychological test. They want to see if we crack under pressure and start yakking secrets.”
“I mean, I’m sure they’re recording us right now,” replied Matt. “But it’s merely as a precaution. I am also five-nines certain that none of us are suspects. We weren’t integrated into the compound’s overall security, and thus it would be unlikely that we could have let our four attackers in.”
“Not to mention, we were the ones to kill ‘em,” added Martinez. “Well, except for the one that Takh took care of.”
“Yep. This is…I won’t call it a formality, but the board just wants to know where you were and what you saw. Walk them through your personal timelines, understand? Tell them only what you know. If you don’t know something, then say so.”
McCoy turned herself around so that she now sprawled the other way. “This whole bullshit just bugs me. Takh and the others are off with a bunch of strangers and I…I mean, we aren't there to help protect them.”
Matt and Martinez shared a meaningful glance. “From what I heard, Takh is quite capable of taking care of himself,” said the latter with a grin. “You told me he pitched that one dude across the room like he was throwing a softball.”
For once, the petite corporal looked a bit flustered. “Yeah, but, I mean, what if some other potential bad guy gets the drop on him with a gun? I don’t like not being there. I just wanna know that he’s okay. I should be there, just to make sure.”
The smaller man snapped his fingers in the face of the taller, who sighed and took out his wallet. With great ceremony, Matt pulled out a five-dollar bill and placed it upon the now-upraised palm of Martinez.
“Told ya,” said Martinez with a grin.
She sat up and glared at them both. “That doesn’t mean anything! Takh is a good guy!”
“Nobody said he wasn’t,” replied Matt as he stowed his wallet. “He is indeed a good guy.”
“Yeah, seriously, we’re glad you two hooked up,” added Martinez. “Takh’s solid. Hell, I’d let him date my sister.”
“I. Am. Not. Hooked Up. With ANYONE.” McCoy now looked furious enough to chew nails.
Martinez stroked his chin. “Kissing might be a problem, though.”
Matt performed a similar chin-stroking action. “Hmm, indeed, Corporal, I do believe it might be a serious issue. One has all of those mandibles to contend with.” He hooked his fingers next to his mouth in an approximation of an udhyr’s face. “Still, I think that, with enough will and effort, one could figure it out. Like the man said, life finds a way.”
“But how much tongue is he packing?” posed Martinez. “You know what the man also says. Big dude, big tongue. Could make things more interesting, all around.”
The woman did not look amused. “Martinez, Toke? You are now both officially gigantic flatulating assholes.”
“C’mon, McCoy!” protested Martinez. “Think of it this way. A few years from now, let’s say we filthy humans are now part of the Coalition and I’m at some meet ‘n greet, and I just so happen to spy me an oh-so-very-fiiine udhyr mamacita from across the room. Now, I wanna do my bit for my species and approach her, and get some good old inter-species cultural interaction going on. But there’s all sorts of questions. How do I compliment her without insulting her culture? How am I supposed to get in good with her? How do the mechanics work? How do the various bits line up? We need details! You’re at the tip of the spear, we all need good intel!”
McCoy slumped back into her seat. “Over seven hundred billion Dimmadollars of defense spending, and yet somehow I wind up stuck in a room with you two fuckos…oh, by the way, Toke,” she added, pointing a finger at Matt, “why the hell can you and Sarge never go back to Okinawa?”
“Nice distraction, McCoy,” said Martinez. “My guess is some sort of wet-work shit.”
Matt just smiled. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I don’t kill everyone I meet. I was a Second LT at the time, managed to somehow leapfrog my way into officer ranks all the way from enlisted. Anyways, the Okinawa affair was merely a case of, well, one particular case of rye whiskey. The good sergeant…was he a sergeant then? Oh yeah, we had done some other stuff I can’t tell you about in someplace I can’t tell you where, and we were celebrating Shaw getting his third stripe. We’d got ahold of the previously-mentioned case of whiskey and then we began toasting to each other’s good health. We did a lot of toasting. Quite a lot of toasting. As you can imagine, the toasting went on and on until we, um, well we did some unwise things. It started out with us sparring-for-fun with each other in public and escalated from there. No locals were harmed, and nothing we did was hella illegal, or I would’ve never made Captain. Buuut the local government would definitely throw a shitfit if me or, God forbid, both of us set foot back on the island.” He chuckled. “Hell, the Okinawan customs people probably still have both of our pictures taped up inside their booths with a big old sign saying ‘DO NOT ADMIT THIS PERSON, YOU FOOL’ written above them.”
“What did you do?” asked Martinez. His eyes were big and soulful, like a kid asking for yet one more story before bedtime.
Matt shrugged. “I mean, I don’t remember much for obvious reasons. I’m almost sure we didn’t piss on any monuments, that would have definitely been cause for a serious demotion. We did do a number on some shrubbery, that I do remember. We decided it needed to be trimmed back, and so we did so. Using our bare hands. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
A fearsome light came into McCoy’s eyes. “Martinez, do you know what this means?”
He looked at her all uncertain. “Um, Toke and Sarge have cast-iron livers?”
“No, you fool. Blackmail material.”
Matt pointed back at her. “Hey, now, I told you that in confidence. Besides, Shaw has a lot more to contend with right now.”
The reminder of the sergeant’s current crippled state brought the elevated atmosphere of the room back down. McCoy nodded as her smile faded. “Right. Hey, did you see the Prez’s speech at the UN?”
“Yep,” said Matt. “From what I’ve read, the political wrangling after it seems pretty tame compared to the usual.”
Martinez snorted. “No shit. Did either of you see the laundry list of shit that we might be able to do? Anti-aging, limb regrowth, cancer treatments which work well and which don’t half-kill the patient…hell, maybe even Alzheimer’s could be in our rear-view mirror. The grand high muckity-mucks are falling all over themselves to get that out into the world, for themselves if nobody else.”
“You’re way too cynical, Martinez,” said Matt.
“Oh fuck off. What if…okay, I know this sounds like a cheesy sci-fi concept, but what if they hoard all of the good shit for themselves and we peons get just the crumbs?”
Matt lapsed back into his meditative demeanor. “In that case, my dear corporal, you or I or McCoy or someone like us will show those hypothetical elites that, while they are indeed long-lived, they are not in fact immortal.”
The trio fell into silence for a few minutes. Then Martinez leaned over towards Matt. “Ah, a little birdie told me you were involved in questioning the prisoners we nabbed at Camp David.”
“I merely facilitated certain conversations,” replied Matt.
Martinez sighed. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies…Corporal.”
McCoy let out a growl. “Well, I heard these terrorist assholes are saying that the Breakers aren’t real, that it’s all fake videos from the Coalition.”
“Just to play devil’s advocate,” said Matt, “our AI image and video generation is already getting to the point where, soon, we puny humans could manufacture such evidence.”
“What?” Martinez looked as if he was about to launch himself at Matt.
Matt held up a calming hand. “I’m not saying it is fake. The Hubble pics are damned convincing.”
Martinez hiked up one foot to place it on his seat, then rested his chin on his knee. “Fuck. I guess it didn’t convince everyone.” He mused for a few moments. “Wait. What if we made it even more convincing?”
“How?” asked Matt.
“We send some humans up to the Rithro. Two or three at least. The boats can still make it up to the ship, right?”
For once Matt looked uncertain. “I think so? Dunno how many times they can come and go without recharging, we’ll have to ask ‘em.”
“Right, so we set up an even better publicity stunt than the Hubble pics. Choose a few people, from all over the world. We have ‘em travel up to the Rithro, take pics and video up close showing the damage. Even take ‘em inside the ship and get a full tour, maybe…if the crew is okay with that, of course.”
“Huh.” Matt sat back and pondered the idea. “That’s a really good idea, Martinez. I guess you aren’t as dumb as you look.”
The corporal responded with a slight smile at the verbal jab. “We’d need to choose the right people, though.”
“They’d have to be trustworthy…or at least someone that the entire world will consider trustworthy,” said Matt.
“Well known,” added McCoy. She no longer looked vengeful. “With recognizable faces and voices, and then they can go on all the talk shows after and say that, yes indeed, I got a tour of the ship and it is indeed quite banged up.”
Martinez stared at the far wall. “Some kind of celebrity? Heh. You think Tom Cruise would be up for it?”
Matt laughed. “That beautiful maniac? Hell, he’d insist on shooting an entire movie up there, with at least one action scene where he’s hanging off of the outside of the ship.”
They all smiled at the resulting mental image.
“Chao could work,” said McCoy into the silence. “She’s kind of a celebrity now. After all, she was the first human to come into contact with aliens, eh?” She gave Matt a big and very un-subtle wink.
To skirt the rather…unconventional methods used to achieve a positive First Contact, Matt’s role had been very much demoted in the official story. Now every recounting of the tale included a bit of ‘…oh, and there was also another person who stumbled across our brave woman in the midst of her attempts at informational exchange with the aliens…” His exact identity was also not published, under the screen of ‘he wishes to remain anonymous’.
“Oh bite me, McCoy, it’s fun,” replied Matt. He waggled his eyebrows. “Besides, I work better in the shadows!” He threw his forearm across his face like a half-assed Count Dracula trying to hide behind his cape.
Then he dropped his arm. “Yeah, Chao would be good as a current social-media darling. Of course, she might not want that. She strikes me as more of the wallflower type, for the most part.”
“We need more people,” said Martinez, as he stared at the floor. “Chao might be good on her own, but she’s got that motor-mouth talking thing when you get her going. It’s one or the other. Either she’s trying to shrink into a corner and take up as little space as possible, or suddenly you’re getting pulled into another corner for a doctoral dissertation on how minimal-energy transfer-orbits work.”
Matt pondered for a moment. “Wait, when did she do that? I never sat through one of those lectures.”
Martinez looked away and…well, Matt hoped that their supposed overlords were indeed recording this particular moment in time because the hard-bitten Hispanic special-forces corporal actually blushed.
McCoy, of course, realized a golden opportunity for payback and immediately pounced. “Why, Corporal Martinez,” she purred. “Doooo tell us. When did Chao Me Chu, heh, pull you into a corner? Hmmm?”
“She’s…she’s just real nice, that’s all,” replied Martinez. “I asked her a couple of questions, and she answered them. That’s all. We both love classic sci-fi, like Asimov and shit. I guess we bonded over that.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Aaaaand may I remind you two and everyone listening in that we have all been cooped up nuts-to-butts for awhile? Don’t mistake familiarity for romantic bullshit.” He pointed over at Martinez. “But you. If you can follow at least half of what she talks about, then you are absolutely without-a-single-fucking-doubt wasted as a corporal, even if you’re in a low-drag high-speed outfit like this. You hear me?”
“Um, yes sir.” It was the first time in McCoy’s memory that anyone had addressed Matt as befitting his perhaps-former rank.
“Good. You get your ass into college, somehow. You’re a smart guy, you’ll figure all that shit out. And as for Chao? Just give it room to breathe. Let her know you’re interested, but don’t press the matter.”
“Let her know?” For once Martinez looked completely lost. “How do I…” he trailed off. “I mean, I like her…and yeah, I mean I like her in that way, but she’s so damn smart and pretty and I’m just some dipshit meathead.”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” said Matt. “You’re our dipshit meathead.”
McCoy’s vengeful smile faded. “Martinez…no, Luca.”
Martinez looked up in surprise at her use of his first name.
She continued. “Just talk to her. Neither of you have any clue as to what ‘normal’ social interactions look like. In your case, it’s because you’ve been a soldier for all of your adult life. In her case, it’s because she’s, well, because she’s Chao. So just walk up to her and be straightforward. Trust me, it’ll be like a breath of fresh air for her to not have to navigate social cues. Just say something like ‘Hey, I really like you, do you like me and do you want to go get a coffee sometime’? Start with that. Chao’s good people, the worst thing she’ll do is say no. She won’t yell at you or talk shit about you online. Buuuut, some sixth sense is telling me she won’t say no to getting some coffee with ya.”
Matt smiled. “McCoy, I think you might have a calling after you leave the military.”
She snorted. “Oh yeah, I’ll hang up my match-making shingle on the internet and start raking in the big bucks. Martinez is right, though. If we try to do a publicity stunt up at the Rithro, then we’ll need somebody alongside Chao to win the world over. Somebody well-known, but preferably someone not in the traditional Western pop-culture sphere. That’ll make it more palatable…”
Her voice trailed off and she stared into space. The two men now looked at each other in genuine concern until she spoke again a few moments later.
“Guys? I think I just had the best idea ever.”
2023.06.03 17:38 In_Yellow_Clad Buried Secrets -- (A One Shot)
History tells of a time when our world faced a great and terrible evil. Many might simplify this evil by calling it something utterly generic, like the Rise of the Demon King/Queen or the Scourge, when in reality it was far more complicated. That’s not to say there was no demon king, nor scourge for that matter, but the threat was more than just either of those things.
It began with a creeping corruption, or so the scrolls say. A blight upon the land that twisted our beautiful world into some form of hellish wasteland. A vile thing, of creeping flesh and pus, of gnashing teeth and scrabbling claw. That was only the start, we should have known this. It was easy at first to handle, we found even in our fledgling state, we elves, dwarves and the other elder races were fully capable of fighting this corruption, even containing it. But as time passed, this corruption grew and learned, it began to strategize, to think critically about its next move.
We did not know it, but it came from another world, another realm to be more precise. It had crept through a fissure in reality, oozing through like a pestilent sludge, fleeing something worse. Regardless of its origins though, it was evolving, and we knew not what awaited us.
See we grew complacent, we thought we could win and so relaxed, our efforts lessening as we took our time to come up with some method of total eradication. That only served to let the corruption gain strength, to test our weaknesses and exploit them with a subtlety not even our greatest spies could have matched. In time the corruption became almost myth, locked away, our attention turned elsewhere. It turned inward and old grudges reared their ugly heads.
So consumed with our petty disagreements that we failed to notice when one of our most revered heroes went missing, simply up and vanishing. We did not know they had ventured into the quarantine zone, that they had decided they would end the threat of the corruption themselves and fallen as a result. We did not know they had been remade and reborn as something cruel and hellbent on conquest.
When the attack came upon the walls of the mighty fortresses that blocked the growth of the corruption, it was swift and so well executed that no runner managed to flee to warn the others of what was coming for them. They were lost within days, and soon the other fortresses followed. One by one, till nothing stood in our foes' path to challenge them.
It flowed across the land like a terrible plague, an all consuming sickness that had no counter. And then the proclamation came from our enemy, a call for subservience and rebirth. The great Nephinae Daevaris, slayer of dragons and giants, had fallen and been reborn as Xarrekai the Defiler. Her reveal was enough to throw the world into even deeper chaos, to dash the hopes of all. Yet there were countless adventurers who rose to the challenge, attempting to slay the Dark Queen. Yet each of them fell, just as she had and joined her ranks, serving her without hesitation and showing no mercy to her foes.
We thought it hopeless, that our world was doomed, our very way of life expunged. But then refugees began spreading rumors of seeing something new fighting the Dark Queens forces, speaking of great metal golems tearing through the monstrous beasts she commanded. That they used weapons of great and terrible magic, that metal things flew around in the sky and rained death upon their enemies.
Of course, our leaders dismissed such claims, till we all saw it with our own eyes. It was a great and terrible battle, one of the last, and we were losing. Our forces were just beginning to rout when the first shot came from the sky. It fell upon the enemy like an arrow from the gods and the ground shuddered under its impact. And then came the metal birds, the great beasts with talons of fire as they screamed across the sky, raking the ground with death and fiery death. But the great metal dragon that followed was something to behold.
It had no wings, only a great body bristling with spikes all over. It roared, the sound deafening as it split the air, and from its spikes came destruction in two forms. Great booms and explosions tore up the ground beneath our enemies feet, sending their mangled corpses flying in every direction. But that wasn’t all. The great metal dragon dropped its own eggs upon the battlefield, each one impacting hard and splitting open to unleash creatures of metal and magic.
Many did not use swords like we did, but carried strange wands that spat fire at the beasts of Xarrekai, blowing limbs and armor off in equal measure. They seemed unstoppable, unrelenting and our forces stopped to witness the spectacle. In but an hour, the beasts lay dead and the golems returned to their eggs, which magically sealed up and returned to the great metal dragon. We knew not what had happened, but it would not be the last time we saw them.
Countless battles were fought, each one with the aid of this great dragon, who we beseeched with prayer and adulations to lend its strength to our honorable cause. It never spoke to us, but it never turned on us either.
It was the eve of winter when the final battle came. With the dragons help we had pushed Xarrekai’s forces back to her fortress, cleansed the corruption thoroughly wherever it may be found and prepared for the final assault. And it was here we learned that the great dragon had more surprises in store for us, for her.
Instead of just the golems we had been fighting alongside, we all bore witness to the introduction of great walking beasts, whose backs bore the weight of a mighty weapon. It moved ponderously, much like a turtle might. But for all its slowness, it was a terrible beast of war indeed. Its magic reached great distances and upon impact it shattered fortifications like they were made of little more than glass. As the beasts advanced, so to did the golems, and from the sky came more of those metal birds.
But the most startling thing was the appearance of yet more dragons, who disgorged their young into the fray and sought to bring an end to our most hated enemy.
One in particular, a golem which wielded a blazing sword and who seemed to direct the other golems, met the Dark Queen face to face. Her magics would not work upon it, only the attacks of the physical domain could hope to defeat it. But though her strikes were brutal and terrifying, the golem stood firm. The battle was fierce, their strikes sure and devastating. But in the end, the golem was struck down, a great talon through its chest. Most startling though was the discovery that it could bleed, a rich red lifeblood spilled from the wound. Xarrekai gloated, professing her victory before the magic which animated this golem had even fully fled it. It was her undoing. With one last great effort, the golem raised its mighty blade and sank it deep into her vile heart.
With a scream so piercing it shattered the windows of homes miles away, the dark energies which gave her life were released. Golem and mortal alike fled, racing the destruction her death brought. But it was over, it was done, we needn’t fear any longer. We praised the great dragons that had come to our aid, offered them the riches of our realms, but they did not accept. Their task was done, the corruption cleansed, and so they vanished without a word, but not before collecting what was theirs.
Thousands of years have passed since that fateful day, though the scrolls are held in high regard, many do not believe such aid came to us. Instead, many believe that it was we who were solely responsible for the Dark Queens demise. But I, Myriil Chaeralei, believe it to be true. That everything happened precisely as the scrolls said they did. And I will find the proof of this.
In ancient times the sight of the final battle was rife with magical hazards, so deadly in fact that the entire area was sealed off to prevent the civilian populace from accidentally or intentionally killing themselves. The magical wards remain, but I am a royal historian and so my credentials should allow me to pass unmolested. It’s a risk for sure, one that could quite possibly lead to my death. But it’s a risk I am more than willing to take.
As I stepped up to the mighty and very visible magical barriers, my pointed ears quivered with anticipation and I stepped forwards, feeling the slightest of tingles against the tip of my nose as I passed through the barrier with ease, my hunch about royal credentials holding up. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable painful death that awaited me, and yet it didn’t come.
Instead of death, I found life. A few thousand years has a way of burying things and encouraging other things to grow over that which was buried. Such was the case here. This great battleground, supposedly scarred and pitted by the great magics of the dragons and their strange offspring, was now little more than a field of softly rolling hills covered with flowers. At a glance nobody would ever think a battle had taken place, that countless lives had been snuffed out or that their blood had soaked the earth for days on end.
Luckily for me, I fancied myself as something of an archaeologist, so this would pose no issue to me at all. I spent weeks digging, searching for any sort of sign of the battle that had taken place. And all I found was nothing but dirt, dirt and more dirt. My patience began to wear thin, till one day my shovel struck something that was certainly not dirt. My heart raced, and I dug feverishly with my bare hands, fr fear that somehow my shovel might damage whatever it was that I’d found.
And oh what a find it was. It was some sort of door made of metal, with strange markings upon its front. The door was slightly ajar, old plant growth had forced it open at some point and that was perfect for me, as I used the shovel to leverage the door open further. Beyond it was a dark passage, one so dark that even my superior elvish eyesight could not pierce. It called to me, and I answered, venturing down into the darkness, my bag bouncing on my hip and a torch in my hand.
It descended for what felt like miles, down stairs of metal, the walls and ceiling the same as the floor. Nothing but metal. I saw more of those strange markings, knowing for a fact that they must have been words but their meaning eluded me. And then the passage leveled out and I stepped into a great cavern.
It was here that I found my proof.
At the cavern's center sat a citadel of flesh and bone, the former desiccated and long rotten. Around my feet lay the bones of the dead. Elf, dwarf, halfling, orc, it mattered not, bones were bones, and they had all died fighting. I even spotted the remains of golems and their crawling beasts, the metal birds lay strewn in pieces here and there. But what really sold it was the bones of the beasts that had served Xarrekai. Many were shattered and broken, others clearly having killed their foes even as they died, their bodies mingling with the others.
I walked through the battlefield, recording everything I saw in a fresh journal. It was all so much, to walk amongst my ancestors and see their struggles with my very own eyes. But something caught my eye, a structure that was not like the citadel. It was like the massage I had passed through, made of metal and bearing those same markings. As much as I wished to explore the dead citadel, I went to this other structure first.
It was alive still, or so it seemed. It hummed softly, and the doors opened for me upon approach. Within it was considerably dusty, but then again I expected that, not like anyone had been down here to clean in the last thousand years after all. I found bodies, strange ones. Their bones were much like an elf’s yet they seemed as sturdy as the bones of a dwarf. The similarities were something to record, and the old but still well preserved clothing was strange too. Yet another thing to make a note of.
As I passed some sort of pedestal, it lit up with magic, and a figure appeared. A woman with dark skin, an elf! I was ecstatic at first as I looked upon this elf made of light and magic, but then I noticed her ears. They were rounded, not long and pointed like my own. This was confusing, but then she spoke and the language she used was unlike anything I had ever heard before, which only cemented the fact that she was not elvish.
She spoke at great length and though I did not understand her, I was enraptured. Now and then she would raise a hand, an image painted with such exquisite attention to detail appearing. She showed me things, thousands of the great dragons flying through a dark void filled with twinkling lights, facing down the very same corruption they had fought here. But there was something different about it, the corruption had forms much like their own, great dragons of flesh and bone that spit acids and barbs where the metal dragons unleashed fire. The battles were more vicious than any we had experienced, and I felt myself grow pale at the thought of the war these dragons, these people must have waged against the corruption.
In time, the woman finished her tale, and her tone grew sincere. She said something, motioning towards the pedestal before me. From it slid a strange disk of metal and glass, and she seemingly beseeched me to take it. So I did, taking the tiny disk and placing it in my bag. And that was it, whatever life had remained in this structure now fled, and the room grew dark as she faded from existence.
Now it was time to explore the citadel, and to think on what little I had learned. I strode the ruined halls of the great fortress, the source of the corruption. Even here I found the remains of valiant warriors locked in battle. It did not take me long to reach the central chamber, and I found the great hero itself.
It was like I stood there at the very moment it had happened. Its metal body gleamed, the sword still crackled with energy and it was embedded firmly in the chest of the Dark Queen, who stood rigid, desiccated, but very much dead, her lips twisted into a snarl of anger and agony.
I felt the need to kneel before the hero, the slayer of corruption. But I resisted, instead walking up to them both and getting a closer look. Not even a speck of dust lay upon the hero, whose chest had been run through by a claw of considerable size. From the wound I could see the dark stains of blood, or something similar.
I took so many sketches of the scene, taking note of every little detail, marking or curiosity that caught my eye. I knew many would not believe me if I did not bring some form of truth, and so I pondered what else besides the disk I should bring with me. My gaze settled upon the sword, still firmly gripped in strong metal hands. Yes, that would do.
Oh so carefully I relinquished the hero's grip upon the hilt, and when the last digit uncurled, the weight of the blade made itself known. The form of Xarrekai turned to dust as the sword fell to the ground with a resounding clang. Picking it up proved to be a trifle more difficult than I had been expecting, but thankfully the magic which had flowed along the blade was no longer present.
Within the week I had finished documenting my find and returned home to the capital, where I was to present myself to the King and the other historians. I could not wait to see the look on the naysayers' faces when I presented proof.
The night before my audience was to take place, I held the disk in my palm, looking it over and searching for a way to use my mana to turn it own, to activate the enchantments it held. Nothing I did work, and so I went to return it to my bag, only to feel something scrape against my skin and draw blood. I thought perhaps I had just caught myself on some sharp edge and so paid it little attention beyond tending to the small cut.
Morning came quickly, and I now find myself before his majesty and the historians, many of which look unhappy to be here. I’d show them, then I would have the satisfaction of seeing their jealousy.
“Your majesty, honored peers, I have found the site of the final battle as it was written in the ancient scrolls and histories of our peoples!” I announce, and the king looks intrigued, but I hear the soft snorts of derision from my peers.
“And I take it you have proof of this yes?” The king spoke, the others rolling their eyes.
“Certainly, my king. My first item as proof is this,” And I hoist the heavy sword off my back, wrapped up in thick cloth to preserve it. Going down to one knee I lay it over my thigh and unwrap it, revealing the gleaming silver blade and the winged guard. The blade shimmers and the room goes quiet. My peers are suddenly taking this more seriously I see. “I present the blade which felled Xarrekai, taken from the very hand of the golem which slew her.” I rise, and approach the king, presenting the blade to him. He takes it, marveling at the weight and size of it, as well as the exquisite artistry.
“My second item as proof of my claims, is this!” And I reveal the disk. My peers lean forwards, trying to get a better look. I grin, and am about to hand it to the king even as he hands the sword over to the others when something jolts me. It felt like a brief static shock, and as a result I lose control of the disk, watching it tumble to the ground in slow motion. Even as I scramble to grab it, I know I will not be able to.
But instead of shattering upon impact, it snapped itself flat to the ground and began to glow in a pulsing manner. Before the very same woman appeared before us. She faces the king and the historians, smiling in that pleasant manner of hers.
But when she speaks, I know something has changed. She speaks in our tongue, and we all learn of the terrible war that was fought in a realm beyond our own. Of the Thet’ath, who was the corruption we had faced, an alien species bent on consuming all things. Of the Terran Empire, who had stood against them to the enemy had been driven from their voidborne shores. And then of their discovery that the enemy was not truly defeated, but had fled to our world.
We learned of their campaign to save us all, the might of their armies brought to bear one last time. We learned of the rift between our worlds which had been bridged, a bridge which would not last forever. Our great war had ended, and the Terrans returned to their realm just as the bridge fell, separating us once more.
But that was not all, just as she reached the end of her tale, she said something that gave me hope for the future.
“We may be separated by the barriers raised between dimensions. But know this. We will not stop trying to reach you, to learn about you and to help you grow to your fullest potential. Already our greatest minds are building a portal to provide a stable bridge between our worlds, but it cannot work without a counterpart on your side. Enclosed within this device are the plans for your part of the bridge. We do not expect you to complete it immediately, or perhaps ever. But should you, we will be waiting. Should that day come, know that humanity will welcome you with open arms and open hearts. For now, however, know that humanity is proud to have fought and bled at your side. Till we meet again, friends.”
submitted by In_Yellow_Clad to HFY [link] [comments]
It began with a creeping corruption, or so the scrolls say. A blight upon the land that twisted our beautiful world into some form of hellish wasteland. A vile thing, of creeping flesh and pus, of gnashing teeth and scrabbling claw. That was only the start, we should have known this. It was easy at first to handle, we found even in our fledgling state, we elves, dwarves and the other elder races were fully capable of fighting this corruption, even containing it. But as time passed, this corruption grew and learned, it began to strategize, to think critically about its next move.
We did not know it, but it came from another world, another realm to be more precise. It had crept through a fissure in reality, oozing through like a pestilent sludge, fleeing something worse. Regardless of its origins though, it was evolving, and we knew not what awaited us.
See we grew complacent, we thought we could win and so relaxed, our efforts lessening as we took our time to come up with some method of total eradication. That only served to let the corruption gain strength, to test our weaknesses and exploit them with a subtlety not even our greatest spies could have matched. In time the corruption became almost myth, locked away, our attention turned elsewhere. It turned inward and old grudges reared their ugly heads.
So consumed with our petty disagreements that we failed to notice when one of our most revered heroes went missing, simply up and vanishing. We did not know they had ventured into the quarantine zone, that they had decided they would end the threat of the corruption themselves and fallen as a result. We did not know they had been remade and reborn as something cruel and hellbent on conquest.
When the attack came upon the walls of the mighty fortresses that blocked the growth of the corruption, it was swift and so well executed that no runner managed to flee to warn the others of what was coming for them. They were lost within days, and soon the other fortresses followed. One by one, till nothing stood in our foes' path to challenge them.
It flowed across the land like a terrible plague, an all consuming sickness that had no counter. And then the proclamation came from our enemy, a call for subservience and rebirth. The great Nephinae Daevaris, slayer of dragons and giants, had fallen and been reborn as Xarrekai the Defiler. Her reveal was enough to throw the world into even deeper chaos, to dash the hopes of all. Yet there were countless adventurers who rose to the challenge, attempting to slay the Dark Queen. Yet each of them fell, just as she had and joined her ranks, serving her without hesitation and showing no mercy to her foes.
We thought it hopeless, that our world was doomed, our very way of life expunged. But then refugees began spreading rumors of seeing something new fighting the Dark Queens forces, speaking of great metal golems tearing through the monstrous beasts she commanded. That they used weapons of great and terrible magic, that metal things flew around in the sky and rained death upon their enemies.
Of course, our leaders dismissed such claims, till we all saw it with our own eyes. It was a great and terrible battle, one of the last, and we were losing. Our forces were just beginning to rout when the first shot came from the sky. It fell upon the enemy like an arrow from the gods and the ground shuddered under its impact. And then came the metal birds, the great beasts with talons of fire as they screamed across the sky, raking the ground with death and fiery death. But the great metal dragon that followed was something to behold.
It had no wings, only a great body bristling with spikes all over. It roared, the sound deafening as it split the air, and from its spikes came destruction in two forms. Great booms and explosions tore up the ground beneath our enemies feet, sending their mangled corpses flying in every direction. But that wasn’t all. The great metal dragon dropped its own eggs upon the battlefield, each one impacting hard and splitting open to unleash creatures of metal and magic.
Many did not use swords like we did, but carried strange wands that spat fire at the beasts of Xarrekai, blowing limbs and armor off in equal measure. They seemed unstoppable, unrelenting and our forces stopped to witness the spectacle. In but an hour, the beasts lay dead and the golems returned to their eggs, which magically sealed up and returned to the great metal dragon. We knew not what had happened, but it would not be the last time we saw them.
Countless battles were fought, each one with the aid of this great dragon, who we beseeched with prayer and adulations to lend its strength to our honorable cause. It never spoke to us, but it never turned on us either.
It was the eve of winter when the final battle came. With the dragons help we had pushed Xarrekai’s forces back to her fortress, cleansed the corruption thoroughly wherever it may be found and prepared for the final assault. And it was here we learned that the great dragon had more surprises in store for us, for her.
Instead of just the golems we had been fighting alongside, we all bore witness to the introduction of great walking beasts, whose backs bore the weight of a mighty weapon. It moved ponderously, much like a turtle might. But for all its slowness, it was a terrible beast of war indeed. Its magic reached great distances and upon impact it shattered fortifications like they were made of little more than glass. As the beasts advanced, so to did the golems, and from the sky came more of those metal birds.
But the most startling thing was the appearance of yet more dragons, who disgorged their young into the fray and sought to bring an end to our most hated enemy.
One in particular, a golem which wielded a blazing sword and who seemed to direct the other golems, met the Dark Queen face to face. Her magics would not work upon it, only the attacks of the physical domain could hope to defeat it. But though her strikes were brutal and terrifying, the golem stood firm. The battle was fierce, their strikes sure and devastating. But in the end, the golem was struck down, a great talon through its chest. Most startling though was the discovery that it could bleed, a rich red lifeblood spilled from the wound. Xarrekai gloated, professing her victory before the magic which animated this golem had even fully fled it. It was her undoing. With one last great effort, the golem raised its mighty blade and sank it deep into her vile heart.
With a scream so piercing it shattered the windows of homes miles away, the dark energies which gave her life were released. Golem and mortal alike fled, racing the destruction her death brought. But it was over, it was done, we needn’t fear any longer. We praised the great dragons that had come to our aid, offered them the riches of our realms, but they did not accept. Their task was done, the corruption cleansed, and so they vanished without a word, but not before collecting what was theirs.
Thousands of years have passed since that fateful day, though the scrolls are held in high regard, many do not believe such aid came to us. Instead, many believe that it was we who were solely responsible for the Dark Queens demise. But I, Myriil Chaeralei, believe it to be true. That everything happened precisely as the scrolls said they did. And I will find the proof of this.
In ancient times the sight of the final battle was rife with magical hazards, so deadly in fact that the entire area was sealed off to prevent the civilian populace from accidentally or intentionally killing themselves. The magical wards remain, but I am a royal historian and so my credentials should allow me to pass unmolested. It’s a risk for sure, one that could quite possibly lead to my death. But it’s a risk I am more than willing to take.
As I stepped up to the mighty and very visible magical barriers, my pointed ears quivered with anticipation and I stepped forwards, feeling the slightest of tingles against the tip of my nose as I passed through the barrier with ease, my hunch about royal credentials holding up. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable painful death that awaited me, and yet it didn’t come.
Instead of death, I found life. A few thousand years has a way of burying things and encouraging other things to grow over that which was buried. Such was the case here. This great battleground, supposedly scarred and pitted by the great magics of the dragons and their strange offspring, was now little more than a field of softly rolling hills covered with flowers. At a glance nobody would ever think a battle had taken place, that countless lives had been snuffed out or that their blood had soaked the earth for days on end.
Luckily for me, I fancied myself as something of an archaeologist, so this would pose no issue to me at all. I spent weeks digging, searching for any sort of sign of the battle that had taken place. And all I found was nothing but dirt, dirt and more dirt. My patience began to wear thin, till one day my shovel struck something that was certainly not dirt. My heart raced, and I dug feverishly with my bare hands, fr fear that somehow my shovel might damage whatever it was that I’d found.
And oh what a find it was. It was some sort of door made of metal, with strange markings upon its front. The door was slightly ajar, old plant growth had forced it open at some point and that was perfect for me, as I used the shovel to leverage the door open further. Beyond it was a dark passage, one so dark that even my superior elvish eyesight could not pierce. It called to me, and I answered, venturing down into the darkness, my bag bouncing on my hip and a torch in my hand.
It descended for what felt like miles, down stairs of metal, the walls and ceiling the same as the floor. Nothing but metal. I saw more of those strange markings, knowing for a fact that they must have been words but their meaning eluded me. And then the passage leveled out and I stepped into a great cavern.
It was here that I found my proof.
At the cavern's center sat a citadel of flesh and bone, the former desiccated and long rotten. Around my feet lay the bones of the dead. Elf, dwarf, halfling, orc, it mattered not, bones were bones, and they had all died fighting. I even spotted the remains of golems and their crawling beasts, the metal birds lay strewn in pieces here and there. But what really sold it was the bones of the beasts that had served Xarrekai. Many were shattered and broken, others clearly having killed their foes even as they died, their bodies mingling with the others.
I walked through the battlefield, recording everything I saw in a fresh journal. It was all so much, to walk amongst my ancestors and see their struggles with my very own eyes. But something caught my eye, a structure that was not like the citadel. It was like the massage I had passed through, made of metal and bearing those same markings. As much as I wished to explore the dead citadel, I went to this other structure first.
It was alive still, or so it seemed. It hummed softly, and the doors opened for me upon approach. Within it was considerably dusty, but then again I expected that, not like anyone had been down here to clean in the last thousand years after all. I found bodies, strange ones. Their bones were much like an elf’s yet they seemed as sturdy as the bones of a dwarf. The similarities were something to record, and the old but still well preserved clothing was strange too. Yet another thing to make a note of.
As I passed some sort of pedestal, it lit up with magic, and a figure appeared. A woman with dark skin, an elf! I was ecstatic at first as I looked upon this elf made of light and magic, but then I noticed her ears. They were rounded, not long and pointed like my own. This was confusing, but then she spoke and the language she used was unlike anything I had ever heard before, which only cemented the fact that she was not elvish.
She spoke at great length and though I did not understand her, I was enraptured. Now and then she would raise a hand, an image painted with such exquisite attention to detail appearing. She showed me things, thousands of the great dragons flying through a dark void filled with twinkling lights, facing down the very same corruption they had fought here. But there was something different about it, the corruption had forms much like their own, great dragons of flesh and bone that spit acids and barbs where the metal dragons unleashed fire. The battles were more vicious than any we had experienced, and I felt myself grow pale at the thought of the war these dragons, these people must have waged against the corruption.
In time, the woman finished her tale, and her tone grew sincere. She said something, motioning towards the pedestal before me. From it slid a strange disk of metal and glass, and she seemingly beseeched me to take it. So I did, taking the tiny disk and placing it in my bag. And that was it, whatever life had remained in this structure now fled, and the room grew dark as she faded from existence.
Now it was time to explore the citadel, and to think on what little I had learned. I strode the ruined halls of the great fortress, the source of the corruption. Even here I found the remains of valiant warriors locked in battle. It did not take me long to reach the central chamber, and I found the great hero itself.
It was like I stood there at the very moment it had happened. Its metal body gleamed, the sword still crackled with energy and it was embedded firmly in the chest of the Dark Queen, who stood rigid, desiccated, but very much dead, her lips twisted into a snarl of anger and agony.
I felt the need to kneel before the hero, the slayer of corruption. But I resisted, instead walking up to them both and getting a closer look. Not even a speck of dust lay upon the hero, whose chest had been run through by a claw of considerable size. From the wound I could see the dark stains of blood, or something similar.
I took so many sketches of the scene, taking note of every little detail, marking or curiosity that caught my eye. I knew many would not believe me if I did not bring some form of truth, and so I pondered what else besides the disk I should bring with me. My gaze settled upon the sword, still firmly gripped in strong metal hands. Yes, that would do.
Oh so carefully I relinquished the hero's grip upon the hilt, and when the last digit uncurled, the weight of the blade made itself known. The form of Xarrekai turned to dust as the sword fell to the ground with a resounding clang. Picking it up proved to be a trifle more difficult than I had been expecting, but thankfully the magic which had flowed along the blade was no longer present.
Within the week I had finished documenting my find and returned home to the capital, where I was to present myself to the King and the other historians. I could not wait to see the look on the naysayers' faces when I presented proof.
The night before my audience was to take place, I held the disk in my palm, looking it over and searching for a way to use my mana to turn it own, to activate the enchantments it held. Nothing I did work, and so I went to return it to my bag, only to feel something scrape against my skin and draw blood. I thought perhaps I had just caught myself on some sharp edge and so paid it little attention beyond tending to the small cut.
Morning came quickly, and I now find myself before his majesty and the historians, many of which look unhappy to be here. I’d show them, then I would have the satisfaction of seeing their jealousy.
“Your majesty, honored peers, I have found the site of the final battle as it was written in the ancient scrolls and histories of our peoples!” I announce, and the king looks intrigued, but I hear the soft snorts of derision from my peers.
“And I take it you have proof of this yes?” The king spoke, the others rolling their eyes.
“Certainly, my king. My first item as proof is this,” And I hoist the heavy sword off my back, wrapped up in thick cloth to preserve it. Going down to one knee I lay it over my thigh and unwrap it, revealing the gleaming silver blade and the winged guard. The blade shimmers and the room goes quiet. My peers are suddenly taking this more seriously I see. “I present the blade which felled Xarrekai, taken from the very hand of the golem which slew her.” I rise, and approach the king, presenting the blade to him. He takes it, marveling at the weight and size of it, as well as the exquisite artistry.
“My second item as proof of my claims, is this!” And I reveal the disk. My peers lean forwards, trying to get a better look. I grin, and am about to hand it to the king even as he hands the sword over to the others when something jolts me. It felt like a brief static shock, and as a result I lose control of the disk, watching it tumble to the ground in slow motion. Even as I scramble to grab it, I know I will not be able to.
But instead of shattering upon impact, it snapped itself flat to the ground and began to glow in a pulsing manner. Before the very same woman appeared before us. She faces the king and the historians, smiling in that pleasant manner of hers.
But when she speaks, I know something has changed. She speaks in our tongue, and we all learn of the terrible war that was fought in a realm beyond our own. Of the Thet’ath, who was the corruption we had faced, an alien species bent on consuming all things. Of the Terran Empire, who had stood against them to the enemy had been driven from their voidborne shores. And then of their discovery that the enemy was not truly defeated, but had fled to our world.
We learned of their campaign to save us all, the might of their armies brought to bear one last time. We learned of the rift between our worlds which had been bridged, a bridge which would not last forever. Our great war had ended, and the Terrans returned to their realm just as the bridge fell, separating us once more.
But that was not all, just as she reached the end of her tale, she said something that gave me hope for the future.
“We may be separated by the barriers raised between dimensions. But know this. We will not stop trying to reach you, to learn about you and to help you grow to your fullest potential. Already our greatest minds are building a portal to provide a stable bridge between our worlds, but it cannot work without a counterpart on your side. Enclosed within this device are the plans for your part of the bridge. We do not expect you to complete it immediately, or perhaps ever. But should you, we will be waiting. Should that day come, know that humanity will welcome you with open arms and open hearts. For now, however, know that humanity is proud to have fought and bled at your side. Till we meet again, friends.”
2023.06.03 16:49 Proletlariet Thirteenth Doctor - Comments
TARDIS
The TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimensions in Space) is a Type 40 time capsule the Doctor nicked many years and regenerations ago. It travels throughout space and time by passing through a space-time vortex and is dimensionally-transcendental (bigger on the inside than the outside).Space Travel
- Lands underground.
- Smashes Graham's wooden chair when she lands in his living room.
- Crosses the Judoon's enforcement field surrounding Gloucester by syncing the TARDIS within its refresh rate and slipping in unnoticed.
- Lands inside a plastic trash structure that's located deep in the Indian Ocean .
- Rescues a man trapped in a deteriorating space shuttle by materializing around him the moment before its total destruction then dematerializing away.
- Lands inside the Passenger-form, a pocket universe concealed in a humanoid which the TARDIS doesn't like being inside.
- Dematerializes away in time to avoid the pull of a magnetically-charged implosion.
- Lands safely inside a volcano.
- Saves Ace from falling to her death by materializing side-up to catch her.
- Travel is not always instantaneous as it takes 4 minutes to get to Japan from the UK.
- Cannot access the alternate dimensions.
- The temporal residue covering Karvanista's ship makes it difficult but not impossible for the TARDIS to materialize inside it.
- The strength of the Flux's pull prevents the TARDIS from landing inside a Sontaran spaceship about to be consumed by it.
- The CyberMasters use a blocking field to keep the TARDIS from materializing inside the space train their hijacking.
- After separating from the Doctor, TARDIS starts phasing in and out of time in the exact same location which made it a legend to the settlers of Desolation because it only appears every thousand rotations in a ghostly form.
- Returns her companions to Sheffield only half an hour after they left Earth.
- Takes her companions to 19 News Years Eve displays in a row, across different centuries and planets.
- Not all points in history are fixed. After visiting an undesirable future for Earth and the human race, the Doctor assures her companions that it's just one of several possible futures that can be averted.
- Inadvertently creates a time loop at a storage facility when put into reset-mode.
- Travels two centuries in the future in the exact same spot.
- Brings Dan from the future back in time for his date.
- Has a tendency to land earlier or farther than the intended time, ranging from a matter of minutes, hours, months, decades and even centuries
- The Doctor cannot prevent a man's death in the past because it led to Yaz's birth who brought them there in the first place. On the other hand, it's imperative to keep a historical figure from prematurely dying as it would have great ramifications for the human race.
- The Doctor warns her companions not to interfere with the fabric of history before doing exactly that.
- Can't get too close to a past version of itself because it might cause a temporal feedback loop.
- A geo-magnetic disturbance pulls the TARDIS off course by several centuries.
- The cloister bells signal events of an extreme nature, such as the the Flux's approach and the Doctor's upcoming regeneration.
- A protective air bubble surrounds the TARDIS so the Doctor and her companions can safely peer outside with the doors open into space or underwater. The Doctor and Yaz could even safely sit on top of the TARDIS while eating ice cream. The Doctor once opened a "vacuum corridor" small enough that only a Kaled mutant would be affected by a supernova without harming anyone else onboard (that is until the corridor started expanding so they had to hurry things up).
- The Doctor implies the TARDIS has an intruder alert that sounds similar to a doorbell.
- All TARDISes can blend in with their surroundings through a Chameleon Circuit. The Doctor's TARDIS is permanently stuck as a 1960's police box after its circuit malfunctioned long ago.
- Has a net and mattress catch the Doctor and Yaz when they fall inside.
- The Doctor reboots the TARDIS to expel a Weeping Angel from it.
- UNIT are unable to open it.
- Several entities have managed to breach the TARDIS in different ways:
- A Kerblam! teleport pulse enters the TARDIS without the Doctor's approval.
- A Kasaavin nearly breaches the TARDIS before the Doctor sends it into flight.
- The Eternal Zellin teleports inside the TARDIS.
- The Judoon not only transport themselves into the TARDIS but also transport her into a prison cell.
- A Weeping Angel enters the TARDIS and seizes control of it.
- A Dalek traitor managed to bypass the TARDIS firewall to communicate with the Doctor via hologram.
- The instability of time due to the Mouri's weakened condition causes adverse effects on the TARDIS such as navigational issues, leakage, webbing, and structural irregularities in its interior and on its exterior. All these issues were cleared up when the Doctor set the TARDIS to self-reset.
- The Ravagers psychically hijack the TARDIS and force it to land in the Temple of Atropos.
- The TARDIS' telepathic circuits can locate destinations of psychic and psychological relevance.
- Connects with an old wristwatch to pinpoint the time and place it broke.
- Gets the coordinates of several displaced planets from the Ux, reading their minds as well as harnessing their psychic abilities.
- Finds the source of psychic power that's been communicating with Graham in his dreams.
- The Doctor intends on using it to check her mind.
- Answers the call of the Doctor's sonic.
- Links Yaz's phone to the TARDIS to locate a woman whose number is on it.
- After the Recon Scout Dalek blocks her navigation system, the Doctor establishes a biofix on it using its DNA sample and forces it to communicate with her through a hologram (though the Dalek ends up blocking that too).
- Accesses CCTV, GPS and number plate tracking to keep up with the Recon Scout Dalek. When those methods fail, she switches to satellite monitoring which brings her to its eventual destination.
- Tracks the Recon Scout Dalek from the huge heat signature resulting from its massacre of an army.
- Locks onto Yaz's commdot signal to land at her location.
- Traces Dalek DNA to a facility in Japan.
- Locates Karvanista's spaceship.
- Locates Vinder through his phone signal.
- Locates the planet where a "child" was teleported to.
- Finds where the Master is keeping the Doctor through his transmission signal.
- Can't track the Sea Devils' vessel because they masked their route.
- Has a forcefield capable of blocking a shot from a temporal displacer. and a Dalek's blast. This shield can also be extended to protect a larger structure, like Wardenclyffe tower.
- Stands beside a supernova long enough for it to disintegrate a Dalek mutant.
- Gets pulled into the heart of the Flux - a massive space hurricane that can disintegrate entire planets in its path - which merely displaces the TARDIS to the past. The collision also disrupted the Flux and impeded its path of destruction.
- Withstands the destruction of a multi-story building without any visible damage.
- Ends up inbetween the jaws of a giant sea monster.
- The Master threatens to trap the TARDIS in a blackhole for eternity, implying it would not be destroyed by one.
- The Twelfth Doctor's explosive regeneration energy causes significant damage to the TARDIS interior, which forcibly ejects the Thirteenth Doctor in response.
- Contains a microphone that has connected with a Dalek out of its casing, Captain Jack's vortex manipulator and Vinder's emergency communicator.
- A holographic interface receives calls from other spaceships and places like Madagascar and UNIT HQ.
- Can view outside activity through a wall screen.
- Views Earth's outer atmosphere through a sort of periscope.
- Reveals that a sample of alien residue is from a Kaled mutant.
- Scans a sewer for non-terrestrial life.
- Deciphers an image containing Agent O's location and sets the coordinates.
- Scans a building for life signals to make sure its safe, but didn't register a hostile hazmat alien.
- Claims that a strand of hair doesn't exist, because it belongs to a creature brought to life from a woman's nightmares.
- Senses traces of altron energy in 1955 Alabama.
- Receives multiple distress signals and senses psychotrophic waves from the planet Ranskoor Av Kolos.
- Keeps an alarm ready for incidents happening on Earth.
- Detects the heat of an explosion caused by the Recon Scout Dalek and the alien itself flying away from it.
- Reports a Dalek absorbing the UK's power and shutting off everyone's internet connection.
- Receives alerts across three continents on Earth.
- Senses the Flux approaching which it signals with the Cloister Bell.
Remote Transportation
- Sends a group of displaced planets back to their original position by extending and splitting the TARDIS' dematerialization field.
- Teleports the Passenger-form in front of the TARDIS to absorb the rest of the Flux.
- Provides a visual aid for the Doctor's presentation on Rosa Parks.
- Has a custard cream dispenser.
- Synthesizes an antidote to Praxeus without the Doctor's supervision.
- Contains a recess where the Doctor stores her biomodule deep in the TARDIS.
- Rolls out a high-tech ladder that straightens itself so they can climb down onto a high speed space train.
- Argues with the Doctor.
- Decodes a Quantum Flux Lock that goes through a hundred billion combinations per millisecond.
- Tends to bring the Doctor not where she wants but where she's needed.
- Deciphers a psychic transmission of data.
- Contains a databank with historical records which the Doctor can get a destination from based on an input of citeria.
- Protests when the Master tries to fly it.
- The TARDIS exploding could mean the end of the world.
- Changes its outer and inner appearance after the Doctor's regeneration damaged it.
- Translates local languages for TARDIS inhabitants wherever or whenever they land.
- Has clap-activated lights.
- Houses a wardrobe hall in case Team TARDIS need to blend in.
- In a last ditch effort to stop the Flux, the Doctor sics a beam of Time Vortex energy at it to no avail.
- Uses her TARDIS's power to jump start the Master's TARDIS.
Sonic Screwdriver
The Doctor's version of a Swiss Army knife but without the knives or Swiss Army. The trusty Sonic Screwdriver functions as a scanner, door opener, machine operator and whatever ridiculous need arises.Scanning
Temporal-Spatial
- Scans the recall circuit of Tzim-Sha's transport device to map the distance it traveled the universe.
- Determines the year.
- Tells the Doctor that they have not entered another world, which is correct because they're in the zone between worlds.
- Reveals that an ornate box is not from Earth.
- Finds a worrying lack of spacial-temporal readings at the Temple of Atropos.
- Detects retro-temporal manifestations in a tunnel system caused by the Flux and determines that a particular door is a safe passage out.
- Tells the city, year and time of the place the TARDIS wasn't meant to land on.
- Confirms that an empty seafloor is the exact coordinates of a pirate ship they intended to land on.
- Reveals the function and biomechanic nature of the Gathering Coil.
- Confirms the Doctor's suspicion that Ilin is just a hologram being projected from far away.
- Reveals that armed guards are robots instead of organic lifeforms and what kind of robot they are.
- Shows the components of an alien dust as a combination of various, densely-compacted chemicals and billions of DNA fragments.
- Shows that an alien in human form is, in fact, not human.
- Explains the meaning of a Judoon alarm.
- Shows that Commander Gatt is Gallifreyan.
- Determines that an underwater structure of plastic trash is an alien construct, but not an alien colony.
- Shows the composition of bone powder.
- Reveals that a mist cloud is not natural mist.
- Shows the number of seconds before a mine detonates.
- Scans a decapitated Kerb!am man head then a computer to learn that the company's system directed all its control into that one robot.
- Scans a room to find teleportation hardware that's been building up huge amounts of power for one big transmat.
- Confirms that the Recon Scout Dalek's transmission didn't send.
- Discovers that an Orb of Thassor has been repurposed but can't determine what for.
- Learns that a spaceship is powered by organic fuel cells.
- Reveals the type of malfunction affecting an unstable spaceship.
- Finds the power source of a spaceship and that it's secured by a quantum fluctuation lock.
- Gets contradictory information from a super-dense container.
- Discovers flesh-eating microbes living in the waters of Desolation.
- Reveals Krasko's neural restrictor in his brain.
- Reveals microscopic bombs within sheets of bubble wraps.
- Scans the Lone Cyberman's compressed corpse to find the Death Particle still active within it.
Energy
- Finds traces of altron energy on Rosa Parks.
- Finds a psychic signal being emanated from a bunch of detached fingers towards an orb.
- Scans the Flux from a distance to find that it disobeys every law of time and space.
- Finds alien pulse fields in 17th century China.
- Gets nothing unusual from scanning the residue of hostile alien mud.
- Scans a girl suspected of witchcraft to find nothing unusual.
- Can reveal how somebody was killed and the type of weapon used.
- Gets a disorganized series of readings from scanning a ruin on Desolation.
- A dense compound overloads the sonic with too many inputs when she tries to scan it.
- Doesn't get a reading from a Thasaavin.
- Fails to decrypt the bioshield the Fugitive Doctor used to appear human.
- The cloaking technology used to hide Percy Shelley is so large it interferes with the sonic's readings while at Villa Diodati.
- The Cybermen use a jamming signal to prevent her from getting intel on them.
Activation
- Opens up a holographic projection of Tzim-Sha's next victim through his Gathering Coil.
- Activates her homemade transporter.
- Unlocks the Thijarian's infobank.
- Activates the Thijarians' transmat technology to leave their base and to send them away.
- Takes Twirly the Robot off sleep mode.
- Readies grenades to explode if she's threatened.
- Turns her neck communicator on and off.
- Turns on the Ux prisoners' neural balancers.
- Inadvertently beams herself and her team up into an alien temple.
- Triggers the Silver Lady to draw the Kasaavin's attention.
- Activates her Braxium Bouncer.
- Inadvertently reveals the power source of Zellin's ship.
- Unintentionally triggers Karvanista's trap.
- Turns on the Mouri's pedestal.
- Switches on her makeshift CCTV with an added slap.
- Plays a Sontaran transmission recorded on Bel's baby monitor.
- Turns on the Sea Devil's base to set sail.
- Activates her companions' nano-implants.
- Removes the DNA bombs from her friends and herself then puts them back in the Gathering Coil that implanted them in the first place, causing Tzim-Sha to detonate them on his own body when he absorbs the Coil's data.
- Stabilizes the TARDIS when it's stuck phasing in and out of time and space.
- Syncs the digital map on a handheld device to a building's computer.
- Accesses the Tsuranga's computer systems that patients are restricted from.
- Sets the timer of a bomb.
- Edits an electronic clipboard so her arrival to Kerblam appears scheduled.
- Swaps the settings on her and Graham's ankle braces designating their jobs.
- Hijacks a delivery bot's teleportation circuit and later does the same with the company's prototype robot.
- Modifies a piece of the Morax's tree so she can reactivate their prison.
- Summons the TARDIS using power from Tzim-Sha's technology.
- Accelerates the decoding process on the Vor website.
- Accesses the databanks on the Master's TARDIS.
- Accelerates the charge time of a teleporter from 1 minute to 10 seconds.
- Turns the Orb of Thassor into a communicator between her and the Skithra Queen.
- Transfers the readings from a blood sample onto a laptop.
- Merges three different phone calls into one so she can address all her companions at once.
- Projects a laptop's display onto a TV and controls it.
- Accesses the data from Dan's phone not only threw computer screens but also across a different century.
- Keeps a flashlight shining on Weeping Angel when they start draining its power.
- Reverses the polarity of the neutron flower of a brain scan device to stun some Weeping Angels.
- Disengages Karvanista's ship from the rest of the Lupari fleet.
- Sonics a Sea Devil's high-tech sword out of his hand.
- Steadies a space train.
- Removes the perception filter cloaking Krasko's gear.
- Temporarily jams a Dalek's gunstick. She attempted this a second time, but it failed because the Daleks adapted.
- Deactivates the TARDIS' shield.
- Turns off the alarm sensors on Barton's plane.
- Removes the Master's perception filter making him appear Aryan to the Nazis.
- Partially shuts down Karvinsta's ship and deactivates his weapon then reactivates the former.
- Remotely damages a building's circuit box to kill the lights.
- Removes the consciousness shield disguising the Qurunx as a human child.
- Fails to prevent a sonic mine from detonating.
- Seemingly unable to stop the Kerblam man from assaulting Charlie.
- Fails to stop a hostile Sat Nav.
- The Master sonic-proofed his bomb to keep her from disabling it.
- Tracks the source of altron energy over miles.
- Tracks the Thijarians after they teleported away and where their base is.
- Follows an unusual energy reading that leads her to Nikola Tesla.
- Points to the Fugitive Doctor's buried TARDIS when scanned cover a large area.
- Detects two nearby Cybershuttles landing in the area.
- Finds traces of non-terrestrial weapon dispersals at Dan's flat.
- Senses the Lupari fleet approaching.
- Reacts to nearby psychic readings and leads her to them.
- Detects a temporal disturbance on another floor.
- Detects a second Dalek in the building.
- Manipulates doors from the past, present and future.
- Opens a "big lock door".
- Turns the wheel of a hatch.
- Opens and closes electronic sliding doors.
- Unlocks a row of padlocks.
- Fries an electronic keypad to access a restricted section.
- Unlocks a filing cabinet.
- Releases Twirly from his exhibit.
- Unbolts a door.
- Opens the doors of an airplane hangar.
- Opens and closes an airplane's cargo hatch.
- Forces an auto-locked door open.
- Unlocks an electronic cage and locks it when the Alpha Dreg is contained.
- Locks a hatch door.
- Frees herself from futuristic cuffs.
- Opens up a Cyberfighter from a distance.
- Opens an unmanned TARDIS.
- Unshackles a Sontaran.
- Opens the hatch on a train.
- Unties a piece of rope.
- Freezes the mirror gateway to the Anti-zone during a movement, seals it to stop its inhabitants from pursuing them further, opens it up again by reversing the polarity of the neutron flow and finally blocks it for good by smashing the mirror.
- Lowers a glass cage on a Kasaavin.
- Drops a grate on a Skithra.
- Puppeteers Zellin's fingers to use them against him and Rakaya.
- Removes a circuit panel.
- Incapacitates the Grand Serpent.
- Stabilizes her earring when its pulled by a strong geomagnetic force.
- Doesn't affect the Remnants.
- Hides the notes she wrote in marker pen and reveals it when the coast is clear.
- Reveals the mechanical inner workings of an alien tree.
- Reveals an invisible forcefield.
- Capable of automatic self-repair, a feature which surprised even the Doctor.
- Audio records the Master's planned double-crossing of the Thasaavins.
- Sounds an alarm that can be heard over great distances.
- Doubles as a flashlight.
- Messes with her and some humans' life signals the Daleks use to track them in order to mislead them.
2023.06.03 16:39 i_was_so_grump What's your favorite: nightmare, dream, vision, fantasy?
I'm making a video montagr for YT. Tell me if I missed one...
Season one
+Shins of the Father
----Cotton looses his shins (exaggerated)
+Plastic White Female
----Bobby intimidated by monstrous girls
Season two
+Hilloween
----Hank is a devil worshiper
+The Man Who Shot Cane Skretteburg
----Surreal paintball fight
Season three
+Death of a Propane Salesman
----Propane grill explodes in Hank's face
----Kahns strawberry parable
+Good Hill Hunting
----Bobby saves Hank in the wilderness
+A Firefighting We Will Go
----Dale is buff and beautiful
----Boomhauer is the only well-spoken person
----Bill is a disgusting fat hairless man
----Hank and his friends are literal babies
+Wings of the Dope
----Buckley's Angel?
Season four
+Cotton's Plot
----Cotton hides in Saki to kill soldiers (exaggerated)
+To Kill a Ladybird
Dale is tripping on mushrooms (no POV)
+Hillenium
----Hank and Bobby are in a Whack-a-Mole machine
Season five
+Now Who's the Dummy
----Dale's nightmarish recollection of his birthday
Season six
+Unfortunate Son
----Vietnam Vet war flashback
Are You There, God It's Me, Margaret Hill
----Peggy damns kids to a clean burning Hell
Sug' Night
----Hank has naked grill time with Nancy
Returning Japanese
----Bill dies in a giant pie
----Dale is killed by a praying mantis
----Cotton shows Hank some respect
----Cotton is confronted by men he killed in the war
Season seven
+Full Metal Dust Jacket
----Bobby fights alongside the Elves of Evermore
+Vision Quest
----Redcorn sees a tree with no roots
----Dale sees the buffalo, Dale is the Indian (no POV)
----Joseph is trampled by a herd of buffalo
----Bobby Panda is center square on Hollywood Squares
+Queasy Rider
----Hank and Peggy as elderly motorcycle ramblers
Season eight
+Livin' On Reds, Vitamin C, And Propane
----Hank's perfect Christmas with his friends & family
+Rich Hank, Poor Hank
----Bobby and Hank live in a mansion
+Stressed for Success
----Pop culture trivia overload
Season nine
------------
Season ten
+Edu-Macating Lucky
----Luanne lives the worst white trash life with Lucky
Season eleven
------------
Season twelve
+Trans-fascism
----Hank's heroes lecture him during WW2
Season thirteen
+Bwah My Nose
----Hank breaks apart like glass while playing football
submitted by i_was_so_grump to KingOfTheHill [link] [comments]
Season one
+Shins of the Father
----Cotton looses his shins (exaggerated)
+Plastic White Female
----Bobby intimidated by monstrous girls
Season two
+Hilloween
----Hank is a devil worshiper
+The Man Who Shot Cane Skretteburg
----Surreal paintball fight
Season three
+Death of a Propane Salesman
----Propane grill explodes in Hank's face
----Kahns strawberry parable
+Good Hill Hunting
----Bobby saves Hank in the wilderness
+A Firefighting We Will Go
----Dale is buff and beautiful
----Boomhauer is the only well-spoken person
----Bill is a disgusting fat hairless man
----Hank and his friends are literal babies
+Wings of the Dope
----Buckley's Angel?
Season four
+Cotton's Plot
----Cotton hides in Saki to kill soldiers (exaggerated)
+To Kill a Ladybird
Dale is tripping on mushrooms (no POV)
+Hillenium
----Hank and Bobby are in a Whack-a-Mole machine
Season five
+Now Who's the Dummy
----Dale's nightmarish recollection of his birthday
Season six
+Unfortunate Son
----Vietnam Vet war flashback
Are You There, God It's Me, Margaret Hill
----Peggy damns kids to a clean burning Hell
Sug' Night
----Hank has naked grill time with Nancy
Returning Japanese
----Bill dies in a giant pie
----Dale is killed by a praying mantis
----Cotton shows Hank some respect
----Cotton is confronted by men he killed in the war
Season seven
+Full Metal Dust Jacket
----Bobby fights alongside the Elves of Evermore
+Vision Quest
----Redcorn sees a tree with no roots
----Dale sees the buffalo, Dale is the Indian (no POV)
----Joseph is trampled by a herd of buffalo
----Bobby Panda is center square on Hollywood Squares
+Queasy Rider
----Hank and Peggy as elderly motorcycle ramblers
Season eight
+Livin' On Reds, Vitamin C, And Propane
----Hank's perfect Christmas with his friends & family
+Rich Hank, Poor Hank
----Bobby and Hank live in a mansion
+Stressed for Success
----Pop culture trivia overload
Season nine
------------
Season ten
+Edu-Macating Lucky
----Luanne lives the worst white trash life with Lucky
Season eleven
------------
Season twelve
+Trans-fascism
----Hank's heroes lecture him during WW2
Season thirteen
+Bwah My Nose
----Hank breaks apart like glass while playing football
2023.06.03 10:51 Kami1996 The Nine Hells: Nessus
I literally sit beneath eight tiers of scheming ambitious entities that represent primal law suffused with evil. The path from this realm leads to an infinite pit of chaos and evil. Now, tell me again how you and your ilk are the victims in this eternal struggle. - Asmodeus (Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes)
The plane of Nessus is incredibly unique compared to the other planes of the Nine Hells. This plane floats in a swirling crimson void that encompasses them from all directions. The plane itself is flat in its surface, devoid of trees or changes in elevation. The desolate plane, unlike any other plane of Baator, is finite in its size. It stretches 2,500 miles from east to west and 1,100 miles from north to south. The flatness of the plane leaves no place for any creature to hide.
A system of crisscrossing gorge and canyons marks the only true changes in elevation in the plane. In these gorges, canyons, and the network of caves that connect them, live the billions of devils of Nessus. These structures have an infinite amount of space even given the finite nature of the plane. These gorges and canyons often cross, forming towering plateaus.
The canyons and gorges are each distinct and travel to specific locations. However, they all look exactly alike. More importantly, most of these canyons are missing from most maps of the plane. A few maps that were drawn by suicidal or brave adventurers can be found but tend to be extremely pricey. A map of a square mile section of Nessus can easily cost as much as a small castle.
A few of these canyons have bridges that span them. These few bridges are heavily guarded by Asmodeus's elite guards and a host of traps. Rare unguarded bridges are death traps that will inevitably break and send any crosser to their death. The shallowest canyon is 200 feet deep, and the remaining canyons and gorges are usually deeper. Devils in Nessus who cannot fly are encouraged to stick close to the caves and crevasses. In emergency situations, the devils must climb the walls using some sparse handholds or frayed ropes. It is not uncommon for devils to fall to their deaths as a result.
Directions in Baator are unlike the directions of the Material Plane. The strange nature of these planes makes the standard compass rose useless. Most Archdukes simply established the standard compass as a means of travel and mapping for their own planes, arbitrarily assigning a point as north. Asmodeus however, decrees that his own castle should be the northern most point despite its central location on the plane. The strange decree further complicates maps of Nessus making navigating the plane even harder.
When the Gods discovered that Asmodeus and his devils were luring mortals into disobedience and corruption, they once again put Asmodeus on trial. When the trial proved useless and Asmodeus was acquitted of the charges, the Gods were furious. They threw the devil back to Baator, sending him hurling from the tip of Celestia.
When Asmodeus crashed into Baator, the force of the impact tore a stretch of the initial plane and killed many of the plane's original inhabitants and mutilated many of the others who were not powerful enough to withstand the impact. As the devil continued to fall with his stretch of the original Baatorian plane, the devil carved new planes. Eight new planes formed before the devil and the plane he had rent from the original stopped falling. Asmodeus continued to fall deep into the plane till he came to rest under a massive pile of rubble, bleeding and badly hurt, in the deepest part of Nessus, which came to be known as the Pit.
When the devil eventually recovered, he made this deepest, finite plane his home as a reminder of his fall. From Nessus, the Arch-Devil slowly retook control of the remainder of Baator and resumed his lawful duties.
The creation of the plane of Nessus was not known to the mortal races for millennium. Asmodeus is a jealous guard of his plane and entrance to Nessus requires a letter of permission from the Arch-Devil himself. The first documentation of the plane of Nessus for the Prime Material Plane comes from the philosopher, Philogestes. Philogestes sold his own soul to Asmodeus for the opportunity to document information about Baator. Though, he was given permission to observe and record details about the plane of Nessus, Philogestes could not detail everything. Much of Nessus remains a mystery to those who dwell on the Material Plane.
For those who have not received a personal invitation, the only way to enter the plane would be through the plane prior to it, Cania. From Cania, adventurers could sail along the River Styx into Nessus. This path is extremely perilous. For starters, the river is incredibly difficult to navigate. Directions in the Nine Hells are confusing. It is just as likely that sailing along the river could lead to Maladomini. Additionally, the river’s currents are unpredictable, forming whirlpools, eddies, and undertows that can challenge even the most experienced sailors. Moreover, the Styx is guarded by roaming bands of devils as well as undead which are drawn to any sources of life. The river is also known to create illusions and mirages which can mislead travelers. It would be advisable to hire a devil in Cania to act as a guide on the waters.
Asmodeus, a tall, red-skinned devil, with dark horns and elegant clothing is the Lord of Nessus. Known as the Dark One, the Lord of Lies, and the Prince of Evil, Asmodeus is the Arch-Devil of Baator. He rules the plane with an iron fist of law and conducts himself in a soft-spoken, articulate, and ruthlessly logically. Those who look closely at the Arch-Devil will notice that though the devil holds himself with poise and elegance, he is covered in injuries that have not healed. These injuries were sustained by Asmodeus when he was thrown from Celestia. Asmodeus carries himself in public as though the injuries no longer affect him, however they still hurt tremendously, and Asmodeus focuses much of his energy on recovering from the injuries.
Asmodeus is the undisputed master of Baator and exercises complete control over the plane. The Arch-Devil can alter any of the planes at will and can also alter the forms of any of the other Archdukes of Baator. In some cases, he can also kill the others, which causes some of the Archdukes to fear him greatly. With his dominance over Baator, Asmodeus spends much of his time focused on the conquest of other planes, especially the Prime Material Plane and Celestia. Asmodeus receives the energy from any soul collected by any devil or Duke of Baator. For the time being, He spends his time using the energy to heal his own wounds. Once his wounds have healed, Asmodeus intends to use the collected Divine Energy to forge a temporary truce with the Demons and use the truce to destroy the forces of Good once and for all.
Asmodeus is a schemer in every sense. The devil is a smooth talker who only engages with non-devils to corrupt them. One example of such a corruption is the corruption of Zariel, a celestial, into the once Archduke of Avernus. Asmodeus is one of the few devils to never father any Cambion, considering himself far superior to any such creature. A few tieflings also receive the blessing of Asmodeus. These tieflings are far more intelligent than any other and are given a superior mastery over fire. These tieflings are resistant to flames from any creature except those commanded directly by Asmodeus.
In addition to his unsurpassed intellect and charm, Asmodeus is an unmatched combatant, well-versed in both magic and weapon-craft. Asmodeus earned his fame when prior to the creation of Baator, the then-angel was ambushed by a demon invasion without his troops. The Gods sent an army of angels to defend the invasion, believing Asmodeus to have been overwhelmed. The angels arrived too late, however. Instead of finding an army of demons, the angels found that Asmodeus kept the invasion at bay and even pushed the defense into an offense into the Abyss, bolstered by their reinforcement. Though the Archdevil has not fought at the front lines of the Blood Wars, his combat prowess has not decreased.
Once a year, the Arch-Devil holds a feast at his palace in Nessus's Pit, Malsheem. To this feast, the Arch-Devil invites the other Archdukes, devils who have earned a seat of honor, and a few select mortals that have earned his respect or interest (for better or worse). The feast is an enormous affair, and the only time of the year when the pathway to the palace becomes available for creatures other than the Dukes of Nessus to traverse, though it is still heavily guarded to prevent intruders from reaching the palace. The purpose of the Feast is to serve to touch base with the dukes to ensure that Asmodeus's plans are going according to plan, to ensure Hell's superiority in the Blood War, reward devils who have performed exceptionally enough to gain the Lord of the Nine's attention, and to contract mortals who may be useful to himself. These feast feature extravagant performances, a plethora of delicious food and drink, and as much vice as any being could desire.
Adramalech is the right-hand of Asmodeus and serves as the Arch-Devil’s chancellor. His preferred form is that of an elderly human man with a gray beard. His eyes change color to reflect his mood, green when he’s happy and orange when upset and black all other times. In this form, the only features to identify him as a devil are two small, crimson horns that protrude from his head and a single forked tail. He prefers to dress in hues of green and purple.
This devil is tasked with maintaining all records regarding the Nine Hells. In this role, he constantly updates the number of souls collected, the various contracts that exist between devils and mortals, and presides over the court of Devils which settle disputes regarding contracts. Adramalech also tracks every torment caused to devils and the names and locations of any devils not in the Nine Hells. Somehow, despite this busy schedule, Adramalech also finds time to maintain an extensive spy network among the pit fiends which collect information. Adramalech stores this information and the true names of all devils in a tome he calls “The Infernal Record” which is colloquially known to mortals as the “Book of Fire”. Adramalech finds stress relief by torturing the souls of mortals in an extensive dungeon network which lies below Fortress Nessus. He especially despises Humans and Elves and takes special joy in causing them pain.
Adramalech has full authority to give orders to devils. This power was given to Adramalech because he is the only devil in the Nine Hells who shows no desire to usurp the Asmodeus. As a notably weak devil, Adramalech understands that even if he were to somehow become an Arch-Duke or Arch-Devil he would be easily overthrown. Instead, he enjoys the power and control he wields over the Nine Hells from the safety of Asmodeus’s right hand. Adramalech enjoys a small cult of followers in the Prime Material Plane who kidnap and sacrifice human and elf children to him. Because Adramalech is so physically weak, he is constantly guarded by a legion of Pit Fiends.
Phongor is the left-hand of Asmodeus and a rival of Adramalech. This devil usually resembles a human male with pink skin and eyes which glitter even in the shadows. He has oily black hair, two small twisting black horns, and red hooves for feet with a similarly colored tail.
Phongor serves as Asmodeus’s Chief Inquisitor. It is his duty to uncover secrets or to find information that Asmodeus wishes to find. Phongor is considered the most feared devil in Baator after Asmodeus because of his penchant for torture, his prowess in combat with a wickedly sharp whip, and his ability to sniff out secrets.
Phongor’s rivalry with Adramalech is because he knows that the Record Keeper does not know his true name. Adramalech frequently sends spies to try to find Phongor’s true name as it is the only one, he does not know. In response, Phongor sniffs out these spies and viciously kills them because he knows that his secret allows him to maintain an even position of power in Nessus with the Chancellor. His prowess at finding information for Asmodeus means that he holds equal value currently for the Arch-Devil. Phongor spends much of his time ensuring that Asmodeus is well informed regarding the events of every plane. To do so, he has enlisted some of Adramalech’s spies to work for him and tortures information out of other creatures as he needs.
While Adramalech and Phongor serve as Asmodeus’s right and left-hand respectively, his favorite servant is his executioner, Alastor the Grim. A horrifically scarred and broken winged pit fiend, Alastor is considered the strongest of the Pit Fiends. Rumored to be one of the first devils born from Asmodeus’s blood, Alastor the Grim does not speak or act independently of his master. He always accompanies the Arch-Devil acting as a bodyguard and as the executioner for whomever displeases Asmodeus. It is a common belief that if the Nine Hells were destroyed and Asmodeus could only save one creature other than himself, he would choose Alastor the Grim. Alastor the Grim also commands the personal armies of Asmodeus.
There are always six generals in Nessus for Asmodeus’s armies. These generals are constantly changing as the devils vie for power and control.
The first major geographical feature of Nessus is the river Styx, which enters Nessus through a hidden (and heavily guarded) location from Cania. The river reaches its lowest point in Nessus in a lake known as the “Forgotten Lake”. From here, it sinks into the plain and drips into Gehenna (an outer plane not connected to the Nine Hells).
The Forgotten Lake is rumored to be the place that beautiful memories go to die. When mortal souls are first brough to the Nine Hells, their memories are stripped from them and sent here. Here, the thoughts are broken down and destroyed. Should a creature look into the waters, they will see beautiful memories that slowly corrupt into fiendish nightmares.
Several other rivers also off shoot from the river Styx to fill the rest of Nessus. One of these, indistinguishable from the others, is the river Lethe whose waters are known to cause complete memory loss.
Several notable gorges are also spread throughout the plane. Reaper’s Canyon is Nessus’s canyon of death. Here, no injuries heal, and death finds creatures twice as quickly as elsewhere. Sicknesses and disease are far more powerful. Another canyon is known as Hell’s Lips and is the epitome of gluttony. Mortals that find themselves here may become overcome with insatiable thirst and hunger. One fissure that travels from north to south on the plane is “The Nest”, which houses hundreds of nests for fiendish wasps.
The most noticeable geographic location in Nessus is the large winding canyon that sinks deeper and deeper into the plane, The Serpent’s Pass. This canyon, carved from Asmodeus’s fall, carves to the deepest point of Nessus, which in unknown even to most devils.
At the center, and northern most point, of the plane is a large pit which houses the city of Malsheem. Built from stone and Baatorian green steel, the city stretches in multiple layers along the gorge. Over time, the ever-expanding city has slowly begun to form tunnels into the walls and floor of the pit. This large structure, designed by Asmodeus, is home to millions of devils, perhaps the strongest in the nine hells. Here, Asmodeus keeps his personal army, waiting to conquer the planes with it. At the center of the city of Malsheem is the Fortress Nessus.
Fortress Nessus sits at the deepest point of the Serpent’s Coil but rises far above the rest of the plane. Decadent and bleak, the fortress seems to be a failed recreation of the home of the Gods. Here, Asmodeus resides and rules. The fortress has not been mapped previously and seems uninhabited at all times of the day. Despite its appearance, the fortress is teeming with devils and dangers. Below the fortress is an extensive dungeon which houses the souls of humans and elves for Adramalech to torture. Fortress Nessus also houses the Infernal Records.
The last location of note for Nessus is Tabjari, which lies in Reaper Canyon. Tabjari is a copper citadel which serves as the library, vault, and armory for Asmodeus. Tabjari is nearly impossible to enter. Its entrance is a highly guarded secret. The entire structure is heavily guarded by traps, magic, and devils. The security of Tabjari is even greater than the security in Fortress Nessus because it houses Asmodeus’s greatest treasure, one of the original copies of the Pact Primeval.
The first great mystery of Nessus is how to enter the plane. Though there is an entrance via the river Styx, this passage would require that adventurers travel through the other 8 planes of Baator to find their way into Nessus. Still, this river entrance is hidden and extremely well-guarded. Finding and mapping this location would make one rich beyond definition.
Another great mystery of Nessus comes from a rumor that Asmodeus is still greatly weakened by his wounds. A common rumor within the Outer Planes is that Asmodeus’s true form lies still broken and beaten within Fortress Nessus. Many of the other Archdukes and the Demon Princes of the Abyss spend a significant amount of time trying to find out if the rumor is true (and the location of Asmodeus’s true form) with the hopes of conquering the 9 hells.
The fortress Nessus hold many other secrets, such as information about the weaknesses of the Archdukes, that could hold much value for any being that could find them.
Tabjari holds one of the original copies of the Pact Primeval, which provides the place around it with enormous power. In this place, magic is said to achieve feats that would be otherwise impossible. For this reason, its location is deeply sought. Additionally, the copy itself provides significant strength to the devils. If it were to be stolen, it would greatly turn the tide of the Blood War in favor of the Abyss.
For those who attempt to sneak onto Nessus, stealth is the best option. The plane teems with a seemingly infinite number of the deadliest devils in the nine hells. Direct confrontation with a small group will only draw more of them towards a party. Additionally, it would be wise to find some way to carry provision onto the plane because food is sparse. Nessus is also covered in a dense fog of noxious fumes which make breathing difficult. Adventurers should account for this trait and find some way to filter their breathing as needed.
Large fiend, neutral evil
Armor Class: 17 (natural armor)
Hit Points: 129 (13d10 + 52)
Speed: 50ft., fly 50ft.
Saving Throws: DEX +6, CON +8 Skills: Perception +4, Stealth +6 Damage Resistances: Cold, Fire Damage Immunities: Poison Damage Vulnerabilities: Radiant Condition Immunities: Poisoned, Sleep Senses: Darkvision 60ft., passive Perception 14 Languages: Infernal, Common
Traits
Devils Sight. Magical darkness does not impede the hell hound.
Actions
Multiattack. The hell hound makes two attacks: one with its bite and one with its claws.
Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 10 ft., one creature. Hit: 17 (2d10 + 6) piercing damage.
Claws. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: 13 (2d6 + 6) slashing damage.
Hellfire Breath: (Recharges 5-6). The Nessian Hell-Hound unleashes a 10 ft cone of fire that deals 40 (9d8) fire damage. Creatures caught in the cone must make a DC17 dex save, taking half damage on a successful save.
With this, I have finally finished an entry for each of the Nine Hells for the Atlas project. I started writing about the Nine Hells in 2018, five years ago. After 4 years of writing and rewriting this article, it’s finally done which is a weird feeling. Nessus was especially hard to write about because I wanted it to feel dangerous, mysterious, and hard to understand. Hopefully, this is useful to some people. Moving forward, I’m planning to update the older entries with better information.
Check out my previous entry for the Atlas of the Planes project: Cania
Write Your Own Atlas Entry!
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A system of crisscrossing gorge and canyons marks the only true changes in elevation in the plane. In these gorges, canyons, and the network of caves that connect them, live the billions of devils of Nessus. These structures have an infinite amount of space even given the finite nature of the plane. These gorges and canyons often cross, forming towering plateaus.
The canyons and gorges are each distinct and travel to specific locations. However, they all look exactly alike. More importantly, most of these canyons are missing from most maps of the plane. A few maps that were drawn by suicidal or brave adventurers can be found but tend to be extremely pricey. A map of a square mile section of Nessus can easily cost as much as a small castle.
A few of these canyons have bridges that span them. These few bridges are heavily guarded by Asmodeus's elite guards and a host of traps. Rare unguarded bridges are death traps that will inevitably break and send any crosser to their death. The shallowest canyon is 200 feet deep, and the remaining canyons and gorges are usually deeper. Devils in Nessus who cannot fly are encouraged to stick close to the caves and crevasses. In emergency situations, the devils must climb the walls using some sparse handholds or frayed ropes. It is not uncommon for devils to fall to their deaths as a result.
Directions in Baator are unlike the directions of the Material Plane. The strange nature of these planes makes the standard compass rose useless. Most Archdukes simply established the standard compass as a means of travel and mapping for their own planes, arbitrarily assigning a point as north. Asmodeus however, decrees that his own castle should be the northern most point despite its central location on the plane. The strange decree further complicates maps of Nessus making navigating the plane even harder.
DISCOVERY
Nessus was the first layer of Baator to be created and was the original plane of Hell to be created when the Gods of Celestia signed the Pact Primeval. The plane was granted to Asmodeus and his ilk by the Gods so they would not have to witness the punishment rendered to mortal souls. On the plane, the devils first began their plans to corrupt mortals. It was on this original plane that these devils, still somewhat angelic in nature, worked with the Ancient Baatorians to administer their justice. The plane, bleak and barren, was slowly built up and expanded into a tiered infinite plane. The plane was rapidly built into a major factory for manufacturing more devils and harvesting divine energy from the mortal souls that the devils corrupted. The only brief delay in construction of the plane came during a short, but vicious, war between Mephistopheles, the former right hand of Asmodeus, and the Arch-Devil. After the war ended, the construction began anew and the two made amends.When the Gods discovered that Asmodeus and his devils were luring mortals into disobedience and corruption, they once again put Asmodeus on trial. When the trial proved useless and Asmodeus was acquitted of the charges, the Gods were furious. They threw the devil back to Baator, sending him hurling from the tip of Celestia.
When Asmodeus crashed into Baator, the force of the impact tore a stretch of the initial plane and killed many of the plane's original inhabitants and mutilated many of the others who were not powerful enough to withstand the impact. As the devil continued to fall with his stretch of the original Baatorian plane, the devil carved new planes. Eight new planes formed before the devil and the plane he had rent from the original stopped falling. Asmodeus continued to fall deep into the plane till he came to rest under a massive pile of rubble, bleeding and badly hurt, in the deepest part of Nessus, which came to be known as the Pit.
When the devil eventually recovered, he made this deepest, finite plane his home as a reminder of his fall. From Nessus, the Arch-Devil slowly retook control of the remainder of Baator and resumed his lawful duties.
The creation of the plane of Nessus was not known to the mortal races for millennium. Asmodeus is a jealous guard of his plane and entrance to Nessus requires a letter of permission from the Arch-Devil himself. The first documentation of the plane of Nessus for the Prime Material Plane comes from the philosopher, Philogestes. Philogestes sold his own soul to Asmodeus for the opportunity to document information about Baator. Though, he was given permission to observe and record details about the plane of Nessus, Philogestes could not detail everything. Much of Nessus remains a mystery to those who dwell on the Material Plane.
Travel
The easiest way to travel to Nessus is to be invited by the Arch-Devil onto the plane. Very few mortals have ever received this privilege.For those who have not received a personal invitation, the only way to enter the plane would be through the plane prior to it, Cania. From Cania, adventurers could sail along the River Styx into Nessus. This path is extremely perilous. For starters, the river is incredibly difficult to navigate. Directions in the Nine Hells are confusing. It is just as likely that sailing along the river could lead to Maladomini. Additionally, the river’s currents are unpredictable, forming whirlpools, eddies, and undertows that can challenge even the most experienced sailors. Moreover, the Styx is guarded by roaming bands of devils as well as undead which are drawn to any sources of life. The river is also known to create illusions and mirages which can mislead travelers. It would be advisable to hire a devil in Cania to act as a guide on the waters.
THE LOCALS
Nessus is different from the other layers of Baator because it has a much higher proportion of the greater devils compared with the lesser devils. The most common kind of devil that is found on Nessus is the pit fiend, though horned devils are a close second. In addition to devils, a few other creatures traverse the planes of Nessus. While hellhounds are a common beast in Nessus, a special breed of hellhound known as the Nessian hellhound roams the plane. These are far more vicious and deadly than the original hellhound. The Nessian hell-hounds form packs with the regular hellhounds and hunt the plane for intruders or lesser devils. There are a few other fiendish beasts that are not devils on Nessus, but there are no mortals who live here.Asmodeus, a tall, red-skinned devil, with dark horns and elegant clothing is the Lord of Nessus. Known as the Dark One, the Lord of Lies, and the Prince of Evil, Asmodeus is the Arch-Devil of Baator. He rules the plane with an iron fist of law and conducts himself in a soft-spoken, articulate, and ruthlessly logically. Those who look closely at the Arch-Devil will notice that though the devil holds himself with poise and elegance, he is covered in injuries that have not healed. These injuries were sustained by Asmodeus when he was thrown from Celestia. Asmodeus carries himself in public as though the injuries no longer affect him, however they still hurt tremendously, and Asmodeus focuses much of his energy on recovering from the injuries.
Asmodeus is the undisputed master of Baator and exercises complete control over the plane. The Arch-Devil can alter any of the planes at will and can also alter the forms of any of the other Archdukes of Baator. In some cases, he can also kill the others, which causes some of the Archdukes to fear him greatly. With his dominance over Baator, Asmodeus spends much of his time focused on the conquest of other planes, especially the Prime Material Plane and Celestia. Asmodeus receives the energy from any soul collected by any devil or Duke of Baator. For the time being, He spends his time using the energy to heal his own wounds. Once his wounds have healed, Asmodeus intends to use the collected Divine Energy to forge a temporary truce with the Demons and use the truce to destroy the forces of Good once and for all.
Asmodeus is a schemer in every sense. The devil is a smooth talker who only engages with non-devils to corrupt them. One example of such a corruption is the corruption of Zariel, a celestial, into the once Archduke of Avernus. Asmodeus is one of the few devils to never father any Cambion, considering himself far superior to any such creature. A few tieflings also receive the blessing of Asmodeus. These tieflings are far more intelligent than any other and are given a superior mastery over fire. These tieflings are resistant to flames from any creature except those commanded directly by Asmodeus.
In addition to his unsurpassed intellect and charm, Asmodeus is an unmatched combatant, well-versed in both magic and weapon-craft. Asmodeus earned his fame when prior to the creation of Baator, the then-angel was ambushed by a demon invasion without his troops. The Gods sent an army of angels to defend the invasion, believing Asmodeus to have been overwhelmed. The angels arrived too late, however. Instead of finding an army of demons, the angels found that Asmodeus kept the invasion at bay and even pushed the defense into an offense into the Abyss, bolstered by their reinforcement. Though the Archdevil has not fought at the front lines of the Blood Wars, his combat prowess has not decreased.
Once a year, the Arch-Devil holds a feast at his palace in Nessus's Pit, Malsheem. To this feast, the Arch-Devil invites the other Archdukes, devils who have earned a seat of honor, and a few select mortals that have earned his respect or interest (for better or worse). The feast is an enormous affair, and the only time of the year when the pathway to the palace becomes available for creatures other than the Dukes of Nessus to traverse, though it is still heavily guarded to prevent intruders from reaching the palace. The purpose of the Feast is to serve to touch base with the dukes to ensure that Asmodeus's plans are going according to plan, to ensure Hell's superiority in the Blood War, reward devils who have performed exceptionally enough to gain the Lord of the Nine's attention, and to contract mortals who may be useful to himself. These feast feature extravagant performances, a plethora of delicious food and drink, and as much vice as any being could desire.
Adramalech is the right-hand of Asmodeus and serves as the Arch-Devil’s chancellor. His preferred form is that of an elderly human man with a gray beard. His eyes change color to reflect his mood, green when he’s happy and orange when upset and black all other times. In this form, the only features to identify him as a devil are two small, crimson horns that protrude from his head and a single forked tail. He prefers to dress in hues of green and purple.
This devil is tasked with maintaining all records regarding the Nine Hells. In this role, he constantly updates the number of souls collected, the various contracts that exist between devils and mortals, and presides over the court of Devils which settle disputes regarding contracts. Adramalech also tracks every torment caused to devils and the names and locations of any devils not in the Nine Hells. Somehow, despite this busy schedule, Adramalech also finds time to maintain an extensive spy network among the pit fiends which collect information. Adramalech stores this information and the true names of all devils in a tome he calls “The Infernal Record” which is colloquially known to mortals as the “Book of Fire”. Adramalech finds stress relief by torturing the souls of mortals in an extensive dungeon network which lies below Fortress Nessus. He especially despises Humans and Elves and takes special joy in causing them pain.
Adramalech has full authority to give orders to devils. This power was given to Adramalech because he is the only devil in the Nine Hells who shows no desire to usurp the Asmodeus. As a notably weak devil, Adramalech understands that even if he were to somehow become an Arch-Duke or Arch-Devil he would be easily overthrown. Instead, he enjoys the power and control he wields over the Nine Hells from the safety of Asmodeus’s right hand. Adramalech enjoys a small cult of followers in the Prime Material Plane who kidnap and sacrifice human and elf children to him. Because Adramalech is so physically weak, he is constantly guarded by a legion of Pit Fiends.
Phongor is the left-hand of Asmodeus and a rival of Adramalech. This devil usually resembles a human male with pink skin and eyes which glitter even in the shadows. He has oily black hair, two small twisting black horns, and red hooves for feet with a similarly colored tail.
Phongor serves as Asmodeus’s Chief Inquisitor. It is his duty to uncover secrets or to find information that Asmodeus wishes to find. Phongor is considered the most feared devil in Baator after Asmodeus because of his penchant for torture, his prowess in combat with a wickedly sharp whip, and his ability to sniff out secrets.
Phongor’s rivalry with Adramalech is because he knows that the Record Keeper does not know his true name. Adramalech frequently sends spies to try to find Phongor’s true name as it is the only one, he does not know. In response, Phongor sniffs out these spies and viciously kills them because he knows that his secret allows him to maintain an even position of power in Nessus with the Chancellor. His prowess at finding information for Asmodeus means that he holds equal value currently for the Arch-Devil. Phongor spends much of his time ensuring that Asmodeus is well informed regarding the events of every plane. To do so, he has enlisted some of Adramalech’s spies to work for him and tortures information out of other creatures as he needs.
While Adramalech and Phongor serve as Asmodeus’s right and left-hand respectively, his favorite servant is his executioner, Alastor the Grim. A horrifically scarred and broken winged pit fiend, Alastor is considered the strongest of the Pit Fiends. Rumored to be one of the first devils born from Asmodeus’s blood, Alastor the Grim does not speak or act independently of his master. He always accompanies the Arch-Devil acting as a bodyguard and as the executioner for whomever displeases Asmodeus. It is a common belief that if the Nine Hells were destroyed and Asmodeus could only save one creature other than himself, he would choose Alastor the Grim. Alastor the Grim also commands the personal armies of Asmodeus.
There are always six generals in Nessus for Asmodeus’s armies. These generals are constantly changing as the devils vie for power and control.
NOTABLE LOCATIONS
There are two types of notable locations on the plane of Nessus: geographical features and infernal constructions.The first major geographical feature of Nessus is the river Styx, which enters Nessus through a hidden (and heavily guarded) location from Cania. The river reaches its lowest point in Nessus in a lake known as the “Forgotten Lake”. From here, it sinks into the plain and drips into Gehenna (an outer plane not connected to the Nine Hells).
The Forgotten Lake is rumored to be the place that beautiful memories go to die. When mortal souls are first brough to the Nine Hells, their memories are stripped from them and sent here. Here, the thoughts are broken down and destroyed. Should a creature look into the waters, they will see beautiful memories that slowly corrupt into fiendish nightmares.
Several other rivers also off shoot from the river Styx to fill the rest of Nessus. One of these, indistinguishable from the others, is the river Lethe whose waters are known to cause complete memory loss.
Several notable gorges are also spread throughout the plane. Reaper’s Canyon is Nessus’s canyon of death. Here, no injuries heal, and death finds creatures twice as quickly as elsewhere. Sicknesses and disease are far more powerful. Another canyon is known as Hell’s Lips and is the epitome of gluttony. Mortals that find themselves here may become overcome with insatiable thirst and hunger. One fissure that travels from north to south on the plane is “The Nest”, which houses hundreds of nests for fiendish wasps.
The most noticeable geographic location in Nessus is the large winding canyon that sinks deeper and deeper into the plane, The Serpent’s Pass. This canyon, carved from Asmodeus’s fall, carves to the deepest point of Nessus, which in unknown even to most devils.
At the center, and northern most point, of the plane is a large pit which houses the city of Malsheem. Built from stone and Baatorian green steel, the city stretches in multiple layers along the gorge. Over time, the ever-expanding city has slowly begun to form tunnels into the walls and floor of the pit. This large structure, designed by Asmodeus, is home to millions of devils, perhaps the strongest in the nine hells. Here, Asmodeus keeps his personal army, waiting to conquer the planes with it. At the center of the city of Malsheem is the Fortress Nessus.
Fortress Nessus sits at the deepest point of the Serpent’s Coil but rises far above the rest of the plane. Decadent and bleak, the fortress seems to be a failed recreation of the home of the Gods. Here, Asmodeus resides and rules. The fortress has not been mapped previously and seems uninhabited at all times of the day. Despite its appearance, the fortress is teeming with devils and dangers. Below the fortress is an extensive dungeon which houses the souls of humans and elves for Adramalech to torture. Fortress Nessus also houses the Infernal Records.
The last location of note for Nessus is Tabjari, which lies in Reaper Canyon. Tabjari is a copper citadel which serves as the library, vault, and armory for Asmodeus. Tabjari is nearly impossible to enter. Its entrance is a highly guarded secret. The entire structure is heavily guarded by traps, magic, and devils. The security of Tabjari is even greater than the security in Fortress Nessus because it houses Asmodeus’s greatest treasure, one of the original copies of the Pact Primeval.
MYSTERIES
There are many mysteries with the plane of Nessus for the curious adventurer to find, though at great personal risk. Many of these mysteries remain because adventurers who chose to explore the plane did not return.The first great mystery of Nessus is how to enter the plane. Though there is an entrance via the river Styx, this passage would require that adventurers travel through the other 8 planes of Baator to find their way into Nessus. Still, this river entrance is hidden and extremely well-guarded. Finding and mapping this location would make one rich beyond definition.
Another great mystery of Nessus comes from a rumor that Asmodeus is still greatly weakened by his wounds. A common rumor within the Outer Planes is that Asmodeus’s true form lies still broken and beaten within Fortress Nessus. Many of the other Archdukes and the Demon Princes of the Abyss spend a significant amount of time trying to find out if the rumor is true (and the location of Asmodeus’s true form) with the hopes of conquering the 9 hells.
The fortress Nessus hold many other secrets, such as information about the weaknesses of the Archdukes, that could hold much value for any being that could find them.
Tabjari holds one of the original copies of the Pact Primeval, which provides the place around it with enormous power. In this place, magic is said to achieve feats that would be otherwise impossible. For this reason, its location is deeply sought. Additionally, the copy itself provides significant strength to the devils. If it were to be stolen, it would greatly turn the tide of the Blood War in favor of the Abyss.
SURVIVAL
Surviving Nessus is horrendously difficult for those that have not been personally invited by Asmodeus. Travelers should equip themselves with means of surviving some of the hottest temperatures in the planes, second perhaps only to the plane of fire. Likewise, they should equip themselves to survive frigid temperatures that exist in some of the gorges. Because Nessus is finite, it can be more easily mapped than any other planes. Perhaps a daring adventuring group would be able to find some enemy of Asmodeus who has a map of the plane. Another duke of the nine hells may have such a map and forming a pact with one may be wise for finding a way through Nessus without Asmodeus’s permission. If not, the safest way to traverse the plane would be to make some pact with the Arch-Devil.For those who attempt to sneak onto Nessus, stealth is the best option. The plane teems with a seemingly infinite number of the deadliest devils in the nine hells. Direct confrontation with a small group will only draw more of them towards a party. Additionally, it would be wise to find some way to carry provision onto the plane because food is sparse. Nessus is also covered in a dense fog of noxious fumes which make breathing difficult. Adventurers should account for this trait and find some way to filter their breathing as needed.
Toolkit
Nessian Hell-HoundLarge fiend, neutral evil
Armor Class: 17 (natural armor)
Hit Points: 129 (13d10 + 52)
Speed: 50ft., fly 50ft.
CR: 10 (5,900 XP)
| STR | DEX | CON | INT | WIS | CHA |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| [+6] | [+3] | [+5] | [-3] | [+1] | [+0] |
Traits
Devils Sight. Magical darkness does not impede the hell hound.
Actions
Multiattack. The hell hound makes two attacks: one with its bite and one with its claws.
Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 10 ft., one creature. Hit: 17 (2d10 + 6) piercing damage.
Claws. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: 13 (2d6 + 6) slashing damage.
Hellfire Breath: (Recharges 5-6). The Nessian Hell-Hound unleashes a 10 ft cone of fire that deals 40 (9d8) fire damage. Creatures caught in the cone must make a DC17 dex save, taking half damage on a successful save.
Check out my previous entry for the Atlas of the Planes project: Cania
Write Your Own Atlas Entry!
2023.06.03 09:57 Scared_Ad_3783 Visual glitch
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2023.06.03 05:45 fudge_u (OFFER) Bad Times at the El Royale*, Chef, Elf*, Finest Hours, Ghostbusters Collection*, Kingsglaive Final Fantasy XV*, Last Night in Soho*, Lyle Lyle Crocodile, Need for Speed, Northman*, Training Day*, 80 For Brady, Chaos Walking*, Collateral*, House of Dragon*, Lion (REQUEST) Long ISO List (* 4K)
ISO/WANT:
FOR TRADE/OFFERING:
Newly added movies are in bold.
MA
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- 65 4K
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- Champions HD
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- NOT CURRENTLY LOOKING FOR UNIVERSAL REWARDS, SONY BUFF PASS, BOURNE, DISNEY, MARVEL, FAST AND FURIOUS, HUNGER GAMES, JACK RYAN, JURASSIC PARK, MISSION IMPOSSIBLE, STAR TREK, STAR WARS, OR TRANSFORMERS MOVIES, UNLESS LISTED UNDER MY ISO LIST
FOR TRADE/OFFERING:
Newly added movies are in bold.
MA
- 8 Mile HD (MA Split)
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- Batman and Superman: Battle of the Super Sons 4K
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Bram Stoker's Dracula 4K- The Breakfast Club HD
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