Three moon cycles later
Galdush fields, Meilume region of the Empire
The time has come and the troops are ready. The chosen commander of Imperial forces is Ylyndar Glynra, general of the IV army, commanding twenty-five thousand infantry, ten thousand cavalry, ten thousand archers along with one hundred wyverns, one hundred battle mages and hundreds of siege elements for a total of fifty thousand troops. The vassal forces number forty thousand. Ten thousand dwarves from Nundolar commanded by Bardek Leadmaster and ten thousand from Halboram under Dalmin Bronzering. The Rosians sent twenty thousand in total under the command of Bodin Zorgen of Alston, king Thavok's eldest son. The imperials have also brought an auxiliary force of ten thousand slaves, which include ferral orcs, trolls, ogres, swine, lepians, feelians, leanoids, and welfen.
In total, the invasion force numbered one hundred thousand strong and they were to start the land attack in the Galdush fields. At the same time, the VI fleet of one hundred ships of various sizes gathered in the western waters away from the port city of Lashil. Admiral Lothar Tanros was also tasked with opening a rift and to attack the enemy's shoreline, making the invasion a pincer assault.
"It is time, general.", a captain said proudly.
"Indeed.", Ylandar replied, "I cannot wait to bring the emperor's light to this savage world. Are the mages in place?"
"Yes, general. They are finishing the ritual. It is a pity we cannot open more rifts."
"Any more and the spiritual energy of North Altia will be completely drained. I do not wish to destroy our world along with theirs."
"Understood sir.", at that moment, a large rift opened up. It was thirty steps wide, ten steps tall, and shining in bright blue. All soldiers stared at it with amazement and fright. This was the gateway to the savage land they were warned about, they must remain vigilant. "I shall prepare the first wave."
"Hold. I shall go.", Ylindar said.
"S-Sir? Are you certain?"
"Yes. I will lead the first wave.". With that, he rode to Bardek, Dalmin, and Bodin. "You know the plan. All Rosian troops, half of the dwarves, the entire auxiliary, and ten thousand of my own troops. Once a foothold has been established, a messenger will ride back and inform the rest of the troops to begin the second wave. The navy has most likely begun its attack. We must hurry. For the light!"
With that they marched forward into the rift, unaware of the dangers they will face. All they could do is pray to the spirits.
---
History is not kind. Many bad things happened throughout human history. Wars, plagues, destruction, and death beyond counting. On top of that, humans themselves were never the best of people. It is they who caused all of it to happen and it is also they who keep doing it. History has always described humans as selfish and self-harming, but history is written by the winner. And this time, the good wins.
The great virus that occurred in the third decade ravaged the planet, killing millions of people. But through human genius, a cure was made and the death was stopped. However, it was then that the true culprits were discovered. One of the greatest problems of humanity is overpopulation. We have grown soft and stopped "culling the herd" so that a sensible number can thrive and be strong. A group calling themselves 'True salvation', sought to fix this. Through decades of careful planning and manipulation, they've reached a solution. For mankind to prosper it needs to suffer. So they showed themselves in 2034 and declared that they will do what was necessary to save the Earth. So they set off fires and explosions all throughout the world. Thousands upon thousands of factories and industries were destroyed, the capital and major cities were devastated, planes kept crashing, ships kept sinking, and it was chaos. The death toll was in the millions, even hundreds of millions as every country suffered.
But the salvationist forgot one important thing. These are human beings. By attacking them all they've united them all. Global governments decided they will not stand by idly while their people were being killed for some 'greater good'. In a united effort, after fifteen years, they tracked down and eliminated the salvationists, ending the crisis. But now the bigger problem took the stage. The world was in chaos and it needed fixing. So for the future years, that is exactly what happened. A new generation replaced the old one and with everyone united they not only repaired but also advanced. New technologies were invented, and life became better. Artificial limbs became more common, medicine was more advanced and the military received more than one upgrade so that no future threat can harm the nations.
NATO got more support from South America and Australia, while East Europe and Asia created a new block called Easter Powers Alliance. The UN now strictly enforces laws against drugs and poachers are shot on sight so to protect the wild and plant life. Renewable energy sources are spread across the world and the atmosphere is being healed. Many monuments were built for the victims of the salvationists. It goes to show that no matter how much humanity is battered, it would always rise stronger.
And now? Now it is the year 2070 and things are going just fine.
5th of May, 2070
Lumberton, North Carolina
The Northeast park is always a wonderful place to visit. With playgrounds and baseball fields, it was always cheerful. Right now the Jaguars were playing against the Bulls and hundreds of people gathered to watch. Officers Bradly O'Neil, or just Brad, and Jack Mitchel pulled their police car over to watch the game.
"So who do think is winning this time?", Jack asked.
"My money is on the Bulls.", Brad said, "They're winning right now."
"No one knows man. I have a gut feeling the Jaguars are gonna make a comeback."
In that moment, a Jaguar pitcher threw the ball and the Bull hit it with the bat, sending it out of the ring.
"Hooooo! Another home run by the Bulls!", said the announcer, "If they keep this up they will win it all!"
The Bull ran full circle and when he finished, a tremor shook the ground. Suddenly, a large rectangle of light appeared. It was nearly fifty feet wide and sixteen feet tall. People were confused and everyone tried to wrap their heads around what exactly was happening.
"Brad?", Jack asked, "Did anyone order a light show?"
"At four pm? Unlikely.", Brad said as he grabbed his radio, "Dispatch this is officer O'Neil, we have a situation at the Northeast park. Unclear if it is a threat but I require reinforcements and-"
Out of the light, men started appearing. They were strange to say the least. They wore medieval-like armor and has pink skin. Behind them appeared something that freaked people out and scarred them even more. Things they would only see in fantasy movies. Green-skinned orcs, dwarves, and even huge dragon-like lizards. No one understood how they got here but they understood their purpose as they attacked the players and spectators.
The green-skinned and pig-like monsters killed and ate everyone they could find. The dragons flew in the air and arrows rained down on the people.
Brad took the radio again and shouted, "Threat confirmed! I repeat the threat is confirmed! Send reinforcements and alert the national guard! They're killing everyone! We need-"
A pig-like monster jumped at him but it got blasted away by a shotgun. "Power or speed?", asked Jack who shot the gun.
"Speed. I'll take the smaller ones.", he replied and grabbed the shotgun while Jack took the SMG, "We have to save as many people as we can! Come on!"
---
The attack is a success. Already these pale-skinned savages flee and are killed by the dozens and soon hundreds. This field will serve as a good foothold for the invasion.
Prince Bodin looked over the scenery and thought, 'This doesn't look like a land filled with chaos. Were the visions a lie after all?'
"Prince Bodin.", called general Ylindar, "It is glorious is it not? We will slaughter these savages and take the lands in the name of the light. I need you to send your forces over to the structures to the southwest, I have already dispatched the dwarves and auxillia to the south."
"This place is not like the one explained in the vision."
"That does not matter. You are to gather as many slaves as you can and kill all the soldiers that attack you. We must clear a path for the second wave." Bodin internally cursed but went with the orders and called his men.
"Sir!", called a captain, "There are several savages that are causing problems for us."
"What do you mean?"
"They are hiding behind strange metal carts and it appears they have boomsticks much like the dwarves."
"Send a group of mages with dwarves and crush them."
"Right away sir!". With that, the captain left and Ylindar started setting up the stronghold and preparing the letter for the second wave.
Five mages along with a hundred dwarf warriors and shooters. The two dozen savages hid behind metal carts and fired at the orcs and swine that ran at them. The dwarves took aim and fired but they only killed a couple. The savages fired and the mages tried to create a force shield, but something was wrong. There was no energy in this world and magic didn't work.
"What's the problem?", asked a dwarf.
"I-I don't know. I can't-"
Before he could finish, he fell to the ground with a hole in his head. The dwarves started to fall as well. The warriors put up their shields, but the weapons of the savages tore through them. Eventually, enough orcs and swine pushed them and killed most while taking one prisoner.
---
Some time later
Noble self-service storage
Bodin never liked the empire or the emperor. They killed his grandfather just because they wanted freedom. But right now, he didn't have a choice. Denying a direct imperial order is a death sentence. He needed to make sure his kingdom, as well as the others, by doing their bidding and dirty work.
On his way to the strange structures, he encountered strange things. Metal carts that moved without horses and the wide roads made of flat stones, as well as soldiers with repeating boomsticks. For every one of them he lost dozens, but they couldn't hold on for long. Bodin gave explicate orders not to kill any retreating soldiers or innocent people. They won't become monstrous killers like the elves.
After a while, they reached the structures. Rows of identical buildings locked with metal doors. They opened them one by one and only found different pieces of furniture and sometimes jewelry.
"Take anything of value.", Bodin said, "We have taken enough people captive. After we are done here we will report to general Ylindar. Captain, take the captives back quickly. I fear the men we've faced are but a fraction of their army."
"Yes my lord.", the captain said and left with his troops in a hurry.
"Are you starting to doubt the visions, prince Bodin.", spoke a man next to him, "Because so far I am."
"Viscount Iaw.", replied Bodin, "I know what you mean. These people don't look like the savage barbarians the elves told us about. They look like us."
"While I do agree with you on that, you cannot deny the differences. These structures look so robust, and the roads are completely flat. The boomsticks, and the metal carts, clearly these people possess great magic and machines. I cannot imagine what would happen if the empire got its hands on them."
"Don't even say that. Let's just get these items back to-". His sentence was cut by a loud explosion that came from the other side of the structures. Bits and pieces of armor, weapons, and bodies fell on all sides. The men panicked as more explosions came from all sides.
"They have cannons!", yelled Bodin, "Scatter! Find the shooters!". After he gave his orders the soldiers ran to all sides, but they stopped shortly after noticing something in the air. Enemy wyverns? No. They looked different and were made of metal much like the carriages. Several of them filled the sky and inside were soldiers with aimed cannons who opened fire on the Rosians. The soldiers died by the hundreds and Bodin knew he was in danger.
"We have to get out of here!", yelled Iaw and hurried forward on his horse. Bodin and the others followed but they slowed down as they saw a roadblock of large and bulky metal carriages. Dozens of enemies came out of them and prepared their weapons.
"I shall clear a path for you!", said Iaw and charged at the enemy with his troops. Bodin attempted to stop him but to no avail. The enemies opened fire and Iaw was filled with holes along with his men. They didn't even get close before they were slaughtered. Paralyzed by fear, the remaining Rosian troops did the only sensible thing, they surrendered. Now they can only hope for the enemy to be merciful.
---
'This was supposed to be a slow day.", thought lieutenant Jefferson, 'What the hell did we get ourselves into.'
This was beyond strange. A portal opening up in Northeast park, fantasy, and medieval people coming out of it and attacking people? This wasn't what Mark signed up to fight. But he did sign up to defend the United States from any threat. This one counts.
As he rode in his helicopter he saw the other choppers literally slaughtering the 'enemy'. If you can call people with swords and bows riding on a horse a proper enemy. They were being killed in the thousands and only several hundred were left at the storage facilities.
"Lieutenant, are you ok?", asked a sergeant, "You spaced out."
"I'm fine Thomas. This is just beyond me. But I guess it's not our job to think about it.", he stood up and grabbed the rope, "We're going down!"
They lowered themselves from the helicopter and got into formation. They moved through the roads and shot every enemy that came after them. It wasn't hard, these 'knights' weren't much of a threat as long as they were out of range.
"Cavalry behind us!", yelled Thomas. The platoon got into a firing line and opened fire, cutting down the dozens of horses and 'men' riding them. As they continued forward they arrived at the JLTVs placed to block the enemy's advance.
"Lieutenant Mark Jefferson.", he said as he saluted.
"Sergeant Norman Cole. Sir, you're not gonna believe this."
"We are under attack by Lord of the rings characters in pink. Try me."
"Well, these people speak a different language, unsurprisingly. But when I introduced myself they spoke English."
This did surprise Mark. "English? Are you sure?"
"Yes. There's an accent definitely but it's unmistakable. And that guy with the cape and silver helmet? He's the leader. Prince Bodin of Alston."
After some pondering, Mark answered, "Load them up in the trucks. Separate the more important ones. I need to get in touch with the forces sent to Food lion."
"Yes, sir."
'This keeps getting weirder and weirder.', Mark thought.
---
Earlier
Near Food lion
Zoya was not happy about this. Being forced to fight for these oppressors alongside animals. It was degrading. But she didn't have a choice. It was serve or die. Because of their animal features, lepians and feelians are sent first to scout the area and bring information. But what the others were doing was horrible.
All around she could see the feral orcs butchering people and raid homes, the swine, trolls, and ogres eating people alive, and the dwarves plundering treasures and taking weapons. It was disgusting. The forces did suffer casualties. These people were armed with weapons more powerful than even the dwarves had. The feral beast suffered the most. Even the trolls and ogress fell to being shot enough times. But eventually, they had to run away.
Plunging her dagger into a blue-clothed soldier's back, Zoya let out a tired sigh. "How much longer?", she asked herself.
"As long as it takes.", said a woman behind her.
"Bora. I thought you were killed."
"I was almost. But I lost many of my own. These weapons are deadly. If we dodge one shot ten more appear."
"What's taking you so long, rabbit?", asked the dwarven general Dalmin in a disrespectful attitude, "I thought you lepians were supposed to be expert scouts."
"Don't talk down at us, dwarf.", said Bora.
"Shut it cat! Or I'll grind you into meat and feed you to my hog.", Bora hissed at that, "Now, get going. It won't be long before Bardek arrives and I intend to have more fun.". With that he rode off, leaving Zoya and Bora.
"I'm going to kill him one day.", said Bora.
Zoya looked behind her and saw a group of children running away from a swine and a feral orc. They went inside what looked like a large market. Zoya ran after them and Bora quickly followed. They reached the mark and when they entered it they saw the women and children cowering in a corner as the swine and orc closed in. Zoya rushed at the orc and slit its throat then quickly spun around and kicked the swine, knocking it to the ground. Without wasting time she plunged her dagger into its heart. She walked over to the children and gestured for them to calm down.
"What was that?", Bora asked.
"I'm not letting let innocent people get butchered and eaten by monsters."
"But if the elves find out-"
"They won't. We can-", she stopped midway after her ears twitched. Looking out the window she saw and hear explosions. That must be this world's army. Dalmin rode on his hog to lead a charge against their metal carriages but was cut down by the enemy's weapons.
Zoya and Bora were scared. Their people were dying and soon they will follow. But just then, a little girl walked to her side and pulled her hand. "Don't worry.", she spoke in the imperial tongue, which surprised Zoya, "We'll tell them you saved us."
---
"This is pretty insane isn't it sir?", asked a soldier.
"It sure is Paterson.", said the sergeant, "Let's just kill everything that can't talk first and worry about the rest later."
"Rodger.". They exited the Bradley and got to work, opening fire on what looked like dwarves and orcs. The Bradley itself focused on the larger targets while the soldiers moved in. House by house and street by street they moved in. The dwarves fired their musket-like weapons but they only managed to land a few lucky shots. The new M16A5 assault rifle with 6.8mm bullets tore through their armor and shields.
An ogre started charging from the back lines, swinging his large stone on a chain. "Paterson! Fire your grenade launcher!", ordered the sergeant. Paterson fired and upon impact the grenade exploded, leaving a gaping hole in the ogre's chest and bursting its organs all around. The battle continued and the stubborn dwarves fought as well as the ugly monsters. The only ones that surrendered were the animalistic 'people'.
As the soldiers progressed they saw horrid things. People were being eaten and ripped apart by the monsters as they screamed and begged for their lives. Homes burned and vehicles crushed. This won't go unanswered. "Kill them all!", yelled the sergeant, and the soldiers happily obliged.
With rifles, grenades, and machine guns they slaughtered the monsters. Trolls and ogres were blown to pieces, orcs, and swine riddled with holes like Swiss cheese. Even the stubborn dwarves were shown little mercy. The sergeant continued with his men to Food lion where he spotted two animal-like people, one looked like a cat and the other like a bunny, with over a dozen children.
They entered and pointed their guns at them immediately, but the children stood in front of them. "Don't shoot them.", said a boy.
"What?", asked the sergeant.
"They saved us from the monsters.", said a girl pointing to the dead orc and pig.
After some delay, the sergeant spoke, "Lower your weapons.". He walked to the two women. "I am gunnery-sergeant Jeff Miller. Who are you?"
"I am Zoya and this is Bora.", answered the rabbit woman, "We are the slave auxiliary of the empire of light."
Confused, Jeff asked, "The what?"
Before she could answer, Paterson walked over to Miller, "Sir, I have a message from lieutenant Mark Jefferson. He asks about a report and if we're ready to join them in the attack on Northeast park."
Jeff looked at the two women before turning to his men, "Paterson, tell the lieutenant that we'll join them soon. Johnson, and Shane, take these two into custody. I'll question them more when I get back."
"Where are you going?", asked Bora suddenly.
Jeff turned to her slowly and answered, "We're gonna end this."
End of chapter 2
---
Thank you very much for reading. If you'd like to support me (for some freakin' reason) feel free to upvote, follow, and check out my Patreon: patreon.com/SimpleWrites
Sorry for the choppy chapter, I promise better work in the future.

Three moon cycles later
Galdush fields, Meilume region of the Empire
The time has come and the troops are ready. The chosen commander of Imperial forces is Ylyndar Glynra, general of the IV army, commanding twenty-five thousand infantry, ten thousand cavalry, ten thousand archers along with one hundred wyverns, one hundred battle mages and hundreds of siege elements for a total of fifty thousand troops. The vassal forces number forty thousand. Ten thousand dwarves from Nundolar commanded by Bardek Leadmaster and ten thousand from Halboram under Dalmin Bronzering. The Rosians sent twenty thousand in total under the command of Bodin Zorgen of Alston, king Thavok's eldest son. The imperials have also brought an auxiliary force of ten thousand slaves, which include ferral orcs, trolls, ogres, swine, lepians, feelians, leanoids, and welfen.
In total, the invasion force numbered one hundred thousand strong and they were to start the land attack in the Galdush fields. At the same time, the VI fleet of one hundred ships of various sizes gathered in the western waters away from the port city of Lashil. Admiral Lothar Tanros was also tasked with opening a rift and to attack the enemy's shoreline, making the invasion a pincer assault.
"It is time, general.", a captain said proudly.
"Indeed.", Ylandar replied, "I cannot wait to bring the emperor's light to this savage world. Are the mages in place?"
"Yes, general. They are finishing the ritual. It is a pity we cannot open more rifts."
"Any more and the spiritual energy of North Altia will be completely drained. I do not wish to destroy our world along with theirs."
"Understood sir.", at that moment, a large rift opened up. It was thirty steps wide, ten steps tall, and shining in bright blue. All soldiers stared at it with amazement and fright. This was the gateway to the savage land they were warned about, they must remain vigilant. "I shall prepare the first wave."
"Hold. I shall go.", Ylindar said.
"S-Sir? Are you certain?"
"Yes. I will lead the first wave.". With that, he rode to Bardek, Dalmin, and Bodin. "You know the plan. All Rosian troops, half of the dwarves, the entire auxiliary, and ten thousand of my own troops. Once a foothold has been established, a messenger will ride back and inform the rest of the troops to begin the second wave. The navy has most likely begun its attack. We must hurry. For the light!"
With that they marched forward into the rift, unaware of the dangers they will face. All they could do is pray to the spirits.
---
History is not kind. Many bad things happened throughout human history. Wars, plagues, destruction, and death beyond counting. On top of that, humans themselves were never the best of people. It is they who caused all of it to happen and it is also they who keep doing it. History has always described humans as selfish and self-harming, but history is written by the winner. And this time, the good wins.
The great virus that occurred in the third decade ravaged the planet, killing millions of people. But through human genius, a cure was made and the death was stopped. However, it was then that the true culprits were discovered. One of the greatest problems of humanity is overpopulation. We have grown soft and stopped "culling the herd" so that a sensible number can thrive and be strong. A group calling themselves 'True salvation', sought to fix this. Through decades of careful planning and manipulation, they've reached a solution. For mankind to prosper it needs to suffer. So they showed themselves in 2034 and declared that they will do what was necessary to save the Earth. So they set off fires and explosions all throughout the world. Thousands upon thousands of factories and industries were destroyed, the capital and major cities were devastated, planes kept crashing, ships kept sinking, and it was chaos. The death toll was in the millions, even hundreds of millions as every country suffered.
But the salvationist forgot one important thing. These are human beings. By attacking them all they've united them all. Global governments decided they will not stand by idly while their people were being killed for some 'greater good'. In a united effort, after fifteen years, they tracked down and eliminated the salvationists, ending the crisis. But now the bigger problem took the stage. The world was in chaos and it needed fixing. So for the future years, that is exactly what happened. A new generation replaced the old one and with everyone united they not only repaired but also advanced. New technologies were invented, and life became better. Artificial limbs became more common, medicine was more advanced and the military received more than one upgrade so that no future threat can harm the nations.
NATO got more support from South America and Australia, while East Europe and Asia created a new block called Easter Powers Alliance. The UN now strictly enforces laws against drugs and poachers are shot on sight so to protect the wild and plant life. Renewable energy sources are spread across the world and the atmosphere is being healed. Many monuments were built for the victims of the salvationists. It goes to show that no matter how much humanity is battered, it would always rise stronger.
And now? Now it is the year 2070 and things are going just fine.
5th of May, 2070
Lumberton, North Carolina
The Northeast park is always a wonderful place to visit. With playgrounds and baseball fields, it was always cheerful. Right now the Jaguars were playing against the Bulls and hundreds of people gathered to watch. Officers Bradly O'Neil, or just Brad, and Jack Mitchel pulled their police car over to watch the game.
"So who do think is winning this time?", Jack asked.
"My money is on the Bulls.", Brad said, "They're winning right now."
"No one knows man. I have a gut feeling the Jaguars are gonna make a comeback."
In that moment, a Jaguar pitcher threw the ball and the Bull hit it with the bat, sending it out of the ring.
"Hooooo! Another home run by the Bulls!", said the announcer, "If they keep this up they will win it all!"
The Bull ran full circle and when he finished, a tremor shook the ground. Suddenly, a large rectangle of light appeared. It was nearly fifty feet wide and sixteen feet tall. People were confused and everyone tried to wrap their heads around what exactly was happening.
"Brad?", Jack asked, "Did anyone order a light show?"
"At four pm? Unlikely.", Brad said as he grabbed his radio, "Dispatch this is officer O'Neil, we have a situation at the Northeast park. Unclear if it is a threat but I require reinforcements and-"
Out of the light, men started appearing. They were strange to say the least. They wore medieval-like armor and has pink skin. Behind them appeared something that freaked people out and scarred them even more. Things they would only see in fantasy movies. Green-skinned orcs, dwarves, and even huge dragon-like lizards. No one understood how they got here but they understood their purpose as they attacked the players and spectators.
The green-skinned and pig-like monsters killed and ate everyone they could find. The dragons flew in the air and arrows rained down on the people.
Brad took the radio again and shouted, "Threat confirmed! I repeat the threat is confirmed! Send reinforcements and alert the national guard! They're killing everyone! We need-"
A pig-like monster jumped at him but it got blasted away by a shotgun. "Power or speed?", asked Jack who shot the gun.
"Speed. I'll take the smaller ones.", he replied and grabbed the shotgun while Jack took the SMG, "We have to save as many people as we can! Come on!"
---
The attack is a success. Already these pale-skinned savages flee and are killed by the dozens and soon hundreds. This field will serve as a good foothold for the invasion.
Prince Bodin looked over the scenery and thought, 'This doesn't look like a land filled with chaos. Were the visions a lie after all?'
"Prince Bodin.", called general Ylindar, "It is glorious is it not? We will slaughter these savages and take the lands in the name of the light. I need you to send your forces over to the structures to the southwest, I have already dispatched the dwarves and auxillia to the south."
"This place is not like the one explained in the vision."
"That does not matter. You are to gather as many slaves as you can and kill all the soldiers that attack you. We must clear a path for the second wave." Bodin internally cursed but went with the orders and called his men.
"Sir!", called a captain, "There are several savages that are causing problems for us."
"What do you mean?"
"They are hiding behind strange metal carts and it appears they have boomsticks much like the dwarves."
"Send a group of mages with dwarves and crush them."
"Right away sir!". With that, the captain left and Ylindar started setting up the stronghold and preparing the letter for the second wave.
Five mages along with a hundred dwarf warriors and shooters. The two dozen savages hid behind metal carts and fired at the orcs and swine that ran at them. The dwarves took aim and fired but they only killed a couple. The savages fired and the mages tried to create a force shield, but something was wrong. There was no energy in this world and magic didn't work.
"What's the problem?", asked a dwarf.
"I-I don't know. I can't-"
Before he could finish, he fell to the ground with a hole in his head. The dwarves started to fall as well. The warriors put up their shields, but the weapons of the savages tore through them. Eventually, enough orcs and swine pushed them and killed most while taking one prisoner.
---
Some time later
Noble self-service storage
Bodin never liked the empire or the emperor. They killed his grandfather just because they wanted freedom. But right now, he didn't have a choice. Denying a direct imperial order is a death sentence. He needed to make sure his kingdom, as well as the others, by doing their bidding and dirty work.
On his way to the strange structures, he encountered strange things. Metal carts that moved without horses and the wide roads made of flat stones, as well as soldiers with repeating boomsticks. For every one of them he lost dozens, but they couldn't hold on for long. Bodin gave explicate orders not to kill any retreating soldiers or innocent people. They won't become monstrous killers like the elves.
After a while, they reached the structures. Rows of identical buildings locked with metal doors. They opened them one by one and only found different pieces of furniture and sometimes jewelry.
"Take anything of value.", Bodin said, "We have taken enough people captive. After we are done here we will report to general Ylindar. Captain, take the captives back quickly. I fear the men we've faced are but a fraction of their army."
"Yes my lord.", the captain said and left with his troops in a hurry.
"Are you starting to doubt the visions, prince Bodin.", spoke a man next to him, "Because so far I am."
"Viscount Iaw.", replied Bodin, "I know what you mean. These people don't look like the savage barbarians the elves told us about. They look like us."
"While I do agree with you on that, you cannot deny the differences. These structures look so robust, and the roads are completely flat. The boomsticks, and the metal carts, clearly these people possess great magic and machines. I cannot imagine what would happen if the empire got its hands on them."
"Don't even say that. Let's just get these items back to-". His sentence was cut by a loud explosion that came from the other side of the structures. Bits and pieces of armor, weapons, and bodies fell on all sides. The men panicked as more explosions came from all sides.
"They have cannons!", yelled Bodin, "Scatter! Find the shooters!". After he gave his orders the soldiers ran to all sides, but they stopped shortly after noticing something in the air. Enemy wyverns? No. They looked different and were made of metal much like the carriages. Several of them filled the sky and inside were soldiers with aimed cannons who opened fire on the Rosians. The soldiers died by the hundreds and Bodin knew he was in danger.
"We have to get out of here!", yelled Iaw and hurried forward on his horse. Bodin and the others followed but they slowed down as they saw a roadblock of large and bulky metal carriages. Dozens of enemies came out of them and prepared their weapons.
"I shall clear a path for you!", said Iaw and charged at the enemy with his troops. Bodin attempted to stop him but to no avail. The enemies opened fire and Iaw was filled with holes along with his men. They didn't even get close before they were slaughtered. Paralyzed by fear, the remaining Rosian troops did the only sensible thing, they surrendered. Now they can only hope for the enemy to be merciful.
---
'This was supposed to be a slow day.", thought lieutenant Jefferson, 'What the hell did we get ourselves into.'
This was beyond strange. A portal opening up in Northeast park, fantasy, and medieval people coming out of it and attacking people? This wasn't what Mark signed up to fight. But he did sign up to defend the United States from any threat. This one counts.
As he rode in his helicopter he saw the other choppers literally slaughtering the 'enemy'. If you can call people with swords and bows riding on a horse a proper enemy. They were being killed in the thousands and only several hundred were left at the storage facilities.
"Lieutenant, are you ok?", asked a sergeant, "You spaced out."
"I'm fine Thomas. This is just beyond me. But I guess it's not our job to think about it.", he stood up and grabbed the rope, "We're going down!"
They lowered themselves from the helicopter and got into formation. They moved through the roads and shot every enemy that came after them. It wasn't hard, these 'knights' weren't much of a threat as long as they were out of range.
"Cavalry behind us!", yelled Thomas. The platoon got into a firing line and opened fire, cutting down the dozens of horses and 'men' riding them. As they continued forward they arrived at the JLTVs placed to block the enemy's advance.
"Lieutenant Mark Jefferson.", he said as he saluted.
"Sergeant Norman Cole. Sir, you're not gonna believe this."
"We are under attack by Lord of the rings characters in pink. Try me."
"Well, these people speak a different language, unsurprisingly. But when I introduced myself they spoke English."
This did surprise Mark. "English? Are you sure?"
"Yes. There's an accent definitely but it's unmistakable. And that guy with the cape and silver helmet? He's the leader. Prince Bodin of Alston."
After some pondering, Mark answered, "Load them up in the trucks. Separate the more important ones. I need to get in touch with the forces sent to Food lion."
"Yes, sir."
'This keeps getting weirder and weirder.', Mark thought.
---
Earlier
Near Food lion
Zoya was not happy about this. Being forced to fight for these oppressors alongside animals. It was degrading. But she didn't have a choice. It was serve or die. Because of their animal features, lepians and feelians are sent first to scout the area and bring information. But what the others were doing was horrible.
All around she could see the feral orcs butchering people and raid homes, the swine, trolls, and ogres eating people alive, and the dwarves plundering treasures and taking weapons. It was disgusting. The forces did suffer casualties. These people were armed with weapons more powerful than even the dwarves had. The feral beast suffered the most. Even the trolls and ogress fell to being shot enough times. But eventually, they had to run away.
Plunging her dagger into a blue-clothed soldier's back, Zoya let out a tired sigh. "How much longer?", she asked herself.
"As long as it takes.", said a woman behind her.
"Bora. I thought you were killed."
"I was almost. But I lost many of my own. These weapons are deadly. If we dodge one shot ten more appear."
"What's taking you so long, rabbit?", asked the dwarven general Dalmin in a disrespectful attitude, "I thought you lepians were supposed to be expert scouts."
"Don't talk down at us, dwarf.", said Bora.
"Shut it cat! Or I'll grind you into meat and feed you to my hog.", Bora hissed at that, "Now, get going. It won't be long before Bardek arrives and I intend to have more fun.". With that he rode off, leaving Zoya and Bora.
"I'm going to kill him one day.", said Bora.
Zoya looked behind her and saw a group of children running away from a swine and a feral orc. They went inside what looked like a large market. Zoya ran after them and Bora quickly followed. They reached the mark and when they entered it they saw the women and children cowering in a corner as the swine and orc closed in. Zoya rushed at the orc and slit its throat then quickly spun around and kicked the swine, knocking it to the ground. Without wasting time she plunged her dagger into its heart. She walked over to the children and gestured for them to calm down.
"What was that?", Bora asked.
"I'm not letting let innocent people get butchered and eaten by monsters."
"But if the elves find out-"
"They won't. We can-", she stopped midway after her ears twitched. Looking out the window she saw and hear explosions. That must be this world's army. Dalmin rode on his hog to lead a charge against their metal carriages but was cut down by the enemy's weapons.
Zoya and Bora were scared. Their people were dying and soon they will follow. But just then, a little girl walked to her side and pulled her hand. "Don't worry.", she spoke in the imperial tongue, which surprised Zoya, "We'll tell them you saved us."
---
"This is pretty insane isn't it sir?", asked a soldier.
"It sure is Paterson.", said the sergeant, "Let's just kill everything that can't talk first and worry about the rest later."
"Rodger.". They exited the Bradley and got to work, opening fire on what looked like dwarves and orcs. The Bradley itself focused on the larger targets while the soldiers moved in. House by house and street by street they moved in. The dwarves fired their musket-like weapons but they only managed to land a few lucky shots. The new M16A5 assault rifle with 6.8mm bullets tore through their armor and shields.
An ogre started charging from the back lines, swinging his large stone on a chain. "Paterson! Fire your grenade launcher!", ordered the sergeant. Paterson fired and upon impact the grenade exploded, leaving a gaping hole in the ogre's chest and bursting its organs all around. The battle continued and the stubborn dwarves fought as well as the ugly monsters. The only ones that surrendered were the animalistic 'people'.
As the soldiers progressed they saw horrid things. People were being eaten and ripped apart by the monsters as they screamed and begged for their lives. Homes burned and vehicles crushed. This won't go unanswered. "Kill them all!", yelled the sergeant, and the soldiers happily obliged.
With rifles, grenades, and machine guns they slaughtered the monsters. Trolls and ogres were blown to pieces, orcs, and swine riddled with holes like Swiss cheese. Even the stubborn dwarves were shown little mercy. The sergeant continued with his men to Food lion where he spotted two animal-like people, one looked like a cat and the other like a bunny, with over a dozen children.
They entered and pointed their guns at them immediately, but the children stood in front of them. "Don't shoot them.", said a boy.
"What?", asked the sergeant.
"They saved us from the monsters.", said a girl pointing to the dead orc and pig.
After some delay, the sergeant spoke, "Lower your weapons.". He walked to the two women. "I am gunnery-sergeant Jeff Miller. Who are you?"
"I am Zoya and this is Bora.", answered the rabbit woman, "We are the slave auxiliary of the empire of light."
Confused, Jeff asked, "The what?"
Before she could answer, Paterson walked over to Miller, "Sir, I have a message from lieutenant Mark Jefferson. He asks about a report and if we're ready to join them in the attack on Northeast park."
Jeff looked at the two women before turning to his men, "Paterson, tell the lieutenant that we'll join them soon. Johnson, and Shane, take these two into custody. I'll question them more when I get back."
"Where are you going?", asked Bora suddenly.
Jeff turned to her slowly and answered, "We're gonna end this."
End of chapter 2
---
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Sorry for the choppy chapter, I promise better work in the future.

I was watching the movie 'Everything Everywhere All at Once,' and it fucking hit me so hard at the end of it. It's like what I was talking about in my therapy session the other day. I was telling the doctor how much the rejection from other people affected me, but then I said, 'Actually, let me rephrase that. I don't fucking care at all what other people think about me AS LONG AS I don't have them in front of me.' But if you are face-to-face with me and I notice ANY discomfort of me towards you, I'll do ANYTHING to adjust my behavior to make you feel comfortable by my side and make sure you have a good impression of me. But as soon as you fucking leave the room, I'm gonna be able to breathe again and will say AMEN that you fucking left already because it took too much effort to make you like me… So what happens when it takes me little effort to be liked? When I "fit" with few to none filters at all, then I'll fucking cherish the hell out of you, and I'll live for you. BUT if we ever stop seeing each other, I WON'T GIVE A GOD DAMN FUCK. Swear to God, this is soooooooo weird. Like, I feel I literally DO NOT CARE about maintaining contact or care about anyone, but at the same time, I fucking try to solve everybody's fucking lives…. Oh my Gawd, this just hit me. But that was not what I opened the laptop to write about in the first place. I opened the laptop to write about another few things that hit me while watching the movie: All the multiverses are just particles and atoms randomly flying through space and time, and therefore the shapes we have are dependent on how those atoms bump into each other. Of course, they said it with a more refined scientific explanation, but anyway, that kind of struck me in the sense of, yup, everything is random. We care about everything too much; I care about everything too much. And it's sad because I feel lost. I feel like I should care less about things, but which ones? Do I care less about cooking homemade food? Do I worry less about how much time the kids spend away from me throughout the week? I know I won't leave them with their grandmothers five days out of seven of the week to be taken care of from 9am to 9pm and still force them to sleep over on Friday for my husband and me to be able to have some time for ourselves to watch Netflix, get high, eat and sleep. But one day a week doesn't feel right either. I feel like I need more! But what is the fucking middle? Well, okay, I think I deviated from the main topic again. I wasn't here to complain about motherhood; I was here to talk about the things the movie made me discover about my relationship with my mom, life, myself, my inner child... Oh God, I know why it won so many fucking Oscars. I would've given them my virginity as well. This was the fucking Pedro Infante of movies; it's a genre I don't like that much, from which I usually only consume the really, really super famous commercial stuff like Karate Kid and such, which is a no-brainer in this category of movies. But daaaaaaaaaaamn, this movie is the most perfect combination of stupidity, laughter, fun, deep meaning, drama, crying, relatable, heart-breaking FUCKING movie I've ever seen in my entire life. I never thought I'd be moved and fond with a character in a movie where people stick trophies and statues into their asses to jump between universes, hahaha. Okay, returning to the main point, the other part that freaked me out in the "OMG, this exceeded the expectations like CRAZY" was the part where the dad says he fights with love, and the part where he says to his wife that he knows she probably thinks that he's a loser. But then the movie doesn't show it, but it kinda makes the scene to make you remember how the dad was the one that got them the first extension to 6 PM, and now he got the 1-week extension, and he did it everything with love. Oh my God, this part is like, I mean, I don't want to compare myself to that super mega saint of a Chinese God, but I'm good, you know? I never say this to myself, and this is the first time I'm fucking writing like this, but I'm good. I enjoy picking up stray doggies from the street. I mean, don't misunderstand me, I don't want to portray myself like Mother Teresa. Of course, there have been MANY days that I regretted stopping to pick the damn dog up. One time, I picked up this little puppy that had part of her ear chopped off. At some point, I found myself picking up dog poop and pee from one of the rooms of my house that was supposed to be like a storage closet because it was cold, and she couldn't sleep outside. I didn't have enough money to buy a decent dog diaper bag, so I just put some cardboard boxes and newspapers, but of course, by the morning, everything was bitten away and destroyed, and the room smelled like someone had fucking died in there. I fucking HATED MYSELF for picking her up, and then after cleaning all that hell of a mess, I had to clean her ear too D: So NO, I don't think I enjoyed ANY FUCKING PART of that journey. And then years later, I got a picture of her huge with her owner that loves her so much, and I saw it, and it wasn't exactly how I thought it was going to be hahah. I was expecting, I don't know, to feel like "woooww" in my heart, but I was just regularly happy and thought, "well, I'm glad she's ok. That was one effort at least I didn't make in vain." But sadly, that's the only update I've gotten back from the dogs I've "saved." I've given them away, usually guiding myself through social media pictures and that superficial "research" of people who ping me whenever I post a pic of a puppy I need someone to adopt. But I usually just want the dog to go away. I like to think about it as a second chance, but sadly, that's all I can do. I can't put on hold my life to become a doggy monk that has a sanctuary and fucking interviews possible doggy parents. I have a job to attend, a house to maintain, kids to bathe. I just want that poor dog that was abused by some brutal stupid humans to have at least some relief, to feel that at least while he's in my house, everything is fine. I want him to feel what it feels like to be protected by someone else than by himself, which damn, now that I'm writing it, that's what I want to feel too. I wanna feel protection, but I've been let down so many times by all the major protection figures in my life (mom, dad, husband, sister) that LITERALLY the most reliable person I know to protect me is me. Ok, so my point is, I'm good, and helping dogs is not the only good thing I do. I've stopped in my way to pick families up and given them rides straight to their homes, of course only in rainy days, or very cold days, or very hot days. Usually, tbh, if it’s good weather outside, not too much sun, not too much cold, I am not picking people up unless, of course, I see you explicitly need it and if I have the time and space, of course. I love plants, I like to take care of the planet, and I'm planning to build a new house on a piece of land we just bought, and it will be as sustainable as I can get it to be with my resources at pocket and hand. And well, overall, I've never actively have EVER tried to hurt anyone on purpose, for the love of Goodd. I mean, out of envy, mmm, maybe. I don’t know when I was younger and I might've idk pushed another girl because I was mad or because she had been gossiping stuff about me or stupid teenager stuff, but other than that, I've ALWAYS, ALWAYS, tried to help anyone who I care about, and even I've tried to help people I don’t fucking know who they are because, as weird as it sounds, I like helping people. And it's not that I'd choose the life of other over my own, but in many ways, I've done that in smaller scales, maybe not given my life in exchange for anyone else's, but I've changed ways of being, I've gone to places I don’t want to go, I've dressed in ways I don’t want, I've talked to people when I didn’t want to, I've made myself uncomfortable SO MANY FUCKING TIMES that I think I got to a point of such tiredness that if I hint that x or y situation is gonna lead me to fucking have to fake and invent a personality to fit in, I just avoid it. Like in the concert a friend invited me, in the concert, I danced, jumped, yelled, sang, in a way I knew they were expecting it and I had to deliver. I was tired, I didn’t wanna be fucking jumping, but I would rather give the fucking show I was expected to give than to deal with the damn queue of questions about "are you ok?" "Are you sad?" "Are you depressed?" "You don’t look like your self anymore…" mmmmmmmm how? Stupid and yelling all the time? That’s my normal? NOOO MOTHER FUCKEER, that was the damn fucking version I created for you, and you tire me because you're not my true friend, you're just an acquaintance I see very often because our damn partners work together, THAT IS FUCKING IT! If my husband stopped working with yours, I would never fucking see your face again, and you know it's not that I hate you, it's not that I don’t like you, it's just that I know my raw self doesn’t go with you, and therefore I have to stick to this script of the approved ways of being around you so that I can be somewhat comfortable in this circle… Ok, I already deviated again, or maybe I'm not deviating, and maybe I'm just explaining each thing from the movie in a very deep, long, meaningful way. Fuck off if you don’t want to read, as ChatGPT to give you a fucking summary. It's hard to know the middle line in life because my biggest fear is to ever be a replica of my own mom. And so, whenever I try to prioritize myself, I immediately start to feel guilty. I don’t want my kids to ever think I put myself first than them. I know it sounds so stupid, and even I think some therapist would say I'm wrong, that I should show my kids what it looks like to take care of yourself in a healthy way, and to prioritize yourself. I know I have to show an example of what it is to be healthy, and of course, leaving yourself and your needs to the bottom of the list and putting them and/or anyone on top of you in your list of life priorities is not ok. Because I don’t want them to be like me, and it's fucking terrifying because for them to not be like this fucking ball of tangles of feelings and doubts and anxiety that I am, I have to set the example of how they can be a better person. And to be that better person, I can't let myself go. I can't continue putting my needs to the side for their needs to be always first. At least that’s what I think, but then my mental debate goes to the part of, ok, ok, you're gonna take care of yourself, we agree with that. We can't ask you to fucking ignore them and to just think about yourself like your sister does to her kid. But what poka yoke (metric/review/bulletproof system) will you put in place to make sure you don't go too steep on this journey? And that's where the debate ends. I don't know, I don’t have a compass. How do you know what the red flags are to know if you’re a shitty parent or not? The movie resonates with me so much because I think the plot is about a lost teenager that the only thing she wants is to understand/make sense of this mother fucking confusing world, which for me it was also the hardest task on my teen years, i wondered why my parents didnt like me, i wondered why it was so exhausting to just be awake, to make friends, to go to parties, and dont missunderstand me i liked it, but that didnt took away all the prices i had to pay the next day or even that same night, with my parents yelling at me because i was too drunk, or because i arrived past curfew, or because i was wearing short skirt, or a very open blouse, or just because i didnt fucking breathed the way they wanted me to... ughh, and now as an adult life continues to be hard to grasp, why do I need to wear high heels to weddings? I FUCKING HATE ITTT! And I know people are going to say, "Well, don't wear them if you don't like them and let the people around you choose whether they want to stay by your side or not". But I mean, that is one damn hard thing to do. You cant go always go around life just doing what ever you want to do without adjusting to anyone's standards. And if there are people that way, with the option and/or currently doing so, I would ask: where do you work? Do you have friends? Family? Are you weird? Do people around you like you? How many people stayed? I think if I let my raw self flourish and suddenly I had the superpower of literally not caring about anyone's opinions... ANSWER PENDING. Sorry, I don't know that version of myself, and literally, I'm in blank and can't imagine how I would be if I didn't care about anyone's opinion. Sad, I know =( And the other motherfucking mind-blowing thing that the movie moved inside me was the revelation of the mom at the end, of how she notices and opens her eyes to her daughter and starts seeing her beyond her "defects". It made me sob like a magdalena when she told the grandpa about Jabu's girlfriend. It's like the mom and the daughter were able to see themselves for the first time, and they were able to understand each other. And as weird as this sounds, I believe it wasn’t that they understood magically each other, but they were able to see and respect each side of their sooo different ways to see and make sense of life. And, well, the fact that the mom was the one that actually took charge of the situation and finally at the end, she was the wise one, the strong one, the loving one, and how she just didn’t let her child go away but instead jumped off of the cliff along with her and decided to understand her, to adjust, and to listen, and more importantly as well, TO BE LISTENED her self, because she didnt changed the fact that she didnt liked tatoos on her daughter or she didnt start pretending out of no where that she liked the way her kid was, but she definitely learned how to communicate the good and the bad in a healthy, non toxic, loving way. And the best and breath taking scene where the mom is so connected to ger daughter that when the girl firmly asked to be left alone, it's when the mom said: "ok, I'll let you go" and lets her hand go , but its goosbump worthy because then you start to see how mom says, ok ill let you go but ill be right behing you in case you want to come back, and indeed, they grabbed hands again, hug, cry, and love eacher other everywhere all at once and its like if the mom said: "I'll always go after you, here and in every fucking multiverse there could ever be, you're important to me", that fucking hits straight in the heart, the fact that you don’t need to have a life where you become the greatest business owner, entrepeneur, employee of the month or even to just have a "good job", the only thing you need is to have a life that is worth spending close to your loved ones and not alone, and to be undesrtood by those loved ones of course. Because mom could have chosen to be living in the flesh of any of the super successful selves from other universes where she didn’t end up with the husband that "dragged her down" which, in reality, it was the opposite. She was the strongest version of herself in many ways thanks to him, not only TO him, but with him, she was able to gather the strength and determination and force failure gives to become the best mother fucking version there could've ever been in all the damn doughnut, or that black ring, however, they call it. I don’t remember the name. And well, in summary, the movie plot is just everything I wish ever happened to me spiritualy talking. I'd like to have that feeling of looking into my mom's eyes and feel peace and protection, but I've never felt that and I won't, and that's what I'm paying the big fucking bucks to my therapist to help me make peace with it and to be able to find that better version that sees it, acknowledges it, but doesn’t get dragged down by it. So far, of course, I'm not there. =)

Ok, so this is my first reddit post, so please excuse any confusion. Recently, while watching YouTube, I stumbled upon a list of 10 alternate/parallel universe stories. I have believed in the theories of alternate universes forever...I mean literally, for as long as I can remember, and I have good reason.
I am a woman, almost 50 y.o, who has always had these "dreams". In my dreams, I am someplace else, but with full memories of ever part of my life when in the dream. I wake up at least 5x's/night, with full memories of the dream I had just had. I tried keeping dream logs, but, with the amount of dreams I have a night, along with the details remembered in each dream, I don't have the time to write down each dream. If i were to write them, they would be complete stories, not dreams. I almost wish I had someone who could write them for me.
The majority of my dreams are all in the same world. I call this world "The Land Of Nod", Don't ask me why I call it that, I started calling it that when I was about 15 and it just stuck.
My earliest memory of having repetitive dreams and dreams of this other world, was about when I was either 4 or 5, but I am sure I have had them my whole life, unfortunately, our brains don't start storing memories until about that age. My earliest memory of this life, was when I was approx. 3-4 y/o. My parents tell me that as a baby, I had colic until I was 9-months old, that's pretty late for colic, considering it usually subsides by the time a baby id 3-4 months old, I truly believe that it was not colic that kept me awake all night instead of sleeping, I believe I was having these dreams even then. At that young age, and I believe i was so confused, about what to believe and what not to believe, kept me up, crying, trying to stay in in world. Now, I know this is just a guess, but if you had experienced the things I have experienced thru-out the past 49 years of my life, you would understand why I feel this way. My friends and co-workers ask me everyday about my dreams the night before. Sometimes I tell them, sometimes I don't and sometimes i can't, because in "The Land Of Nod", there are creatures that don't exist here. There are everyday animals sold in their pet shops that don't exist here, on this plane, and most importantly, there are colors that don't exist here. They are impossible for me to describe, and although I will vividly remember the colors I see for several days after the dream, the memories slowly fade with time. But one thing I am sure of, they were there.
I compare it to how different animals, can see different colors due to the cones in their eyes. They say dogs only see in black and white, yet some insects can see different colors on the color spectrum, like ultraviolet,that our human eyes can't even imagine. Well, you can think I'm insane all you want, but it's true. There are amazing, marvelous, beautiful colors, both light and dark, shimmery, yet not opaque, indistinct, yet comprehensible, all at the same time.
When i say I wake up 5x/night,I am not exaggerating, in fact, I am lowering the bar. There have been times when i have woken up 9-10x/night due to these dreams.
Like I said, the majority of the time, I go to the same world when i dream. I know the whole town so well, I could draw a map. I know where the movie theater is,the mall, the train stations and the houses.
While some of you are probably thinking that I have taken bits and pieces of the real world and introduced them to create "The Land of Nod", i assure you, that is not the case. These are places, I know I have never seen, with people, most of who I have never met. Sometimes different people in my family will be there, and other times, someone entirely different would be my mother or father. On these occasions, I remember that whole entire life, clear as day. All the memories are intact, Sometimes, I am me, but younger, or older and other times, I am someone completely different. I have been a black woman in my dreams (I am a white woman in this dimension). I have been a Chinese male, and a Chinese female. For some reason, I have been Chinese more than any other ethnicity,
Now don't go getting up in arms over race and sex....I have no control over my dreams in the past, or even who I will be tonight.
A common theme with most of my dreams is the world ending. I have dreamt about this more times than I could begin to explain. 9 out of 10 times, in my dreams, the world ends due to floods and tsunami's. On occasion, I have been in the thick of it, trying to save people and get them on boats. But most of the time, it's after the fact. The damage and destruction. The haunting shapes of twisted metal from where skyscrapers use to be. I will say this: all of the dreams about the tsunami catastrophes appear to be far in the future. I can tell by what has been left over. The remnants, even of the twisted skyscrapers, are nothing that even remotely looks like this century.
I have not only had dreams of the end times, I have had dreams where I have lived a whole lifetime, grown up, fell in love, got married, grew old and relaxed with my old, true love, on a raft, in a makeshift lake that was inside a giant spaceship, where we could look up and see the clear dome, at least a 100 feet above us, showing all the stars. I remember the peace I felt in that moment.The peace of knowing I had a good life, with a man I love and being ready to accept death.
I have had movies that were complete movies. I( watched them fro beginning to end. They don't exist here in this dimension...believe me, I have searched. I have dreamt of musicals, one I remember i call "Stomp", because it was a horror, comical musical, of this band of gypsies, that floated from town to town, killing people, by stomping their heads while circling around them singing. I remember all these and more, vividly.
I have seen giant insects like 4 feet long spiders and 12 inch bees, whose abdomens were completely transparent, so much so, that I could see the intestines, both blue and green, inside the liquid sac of their abdomen.
I don't know why, after all these years I am talking about this.
I believe, honestly in my heart, that these are different dimensions that are out there, but we are unable to see or touch them, at least I can't when I'm awake,.
One more thing I would like to mention. When i crawl into bed and drift off to "The Land of Nod", i almost always find myself waking up there. I go to sleep here and wake up, still drowsy, in a different bed, but knowing where I am and who I am.
This was just a quick synopsis of my dream world and how i believe it relates to parallel dimensions. If anyone is interested, I have dreams and stories from the other side that could last for days. Do the math: between 4- 10 dreams a night, every night. Almost always remembering every detail. I have a lot written down, but more in my memory, stored, hoping someday to possibly write a book, or one of the movies or musicals I saw in the other world.
I would like to do a sleep study someday, but I wouldn't know what to say as to why. It's not really a medical reason, so insurance wouldn't cover it. I wish there was a scientist out there, studying dreams and other dimensions. If there was, I would be the perfect candidate.
Until then, if anyone happens to find my dreamworld interesting, amusing, or has had similar occurrences, Please let me know.
Sleep well. Don't fear. Namaste.
I certainly have no shortages of dream stories to tell....I just don't have enough time left on earth to tell them all.
Good night all...I'm off to "the Land of Nod" again. Hopefully I will only visit the other world no more than 5 times tonight......it takes a toll on my waking life.
I have never written about it before,maybe the fact that you are all a bunch of strangers that can't judge me helps me to speak my dark into the light. I've gotta be at work in a few hours, and I have an extremely tough job, being an SUD counselor for addicts in a recovery home, so I have to be on-point. Thanks again for listening to an old lady drag on about nothing and everything at the same time. I appreciate all of you. There is purpose, both in this life and the next, I can promise you that!

Day 1 The first day of figuring out why we haven’t made contact with the others yet is scary so many unanswered questions and many unanswered questions to spring from the answers. The others had messaged me in the first seconds to find them and bring them back. I don’t want to.
Day 2 I think these humans are animals they are too stupid to understand our society their tiny brains would be destroyed by the sight of me or the others. Humans are simple yet complex none of them are able to see a bigger picture they all fight for themselves. This makes them weak this makes them vulnerable.
Day 3 the others have begun to become restless and more persistent with me. I do not want to help them out of fear for the simple lifeforms that enhabit the universe. This universe is pure and untainted from the poison that it the others and I wish to keep it that way. I myself cannot stop the others I must find a way to keep the others at bay.
Day 4 The boundary keeping the others at bay is growing weak I’m starting to see glimpses of complexity infect the simple life forms. The others seem to be able to reach into the minds of these simple lifeforms and soon will be able to corrupt them aswell. I hope the boundary holds.
Day 5 Death is approaching rapidly. Death is not the end for my species but it will be a major hindrance in my plan. I have seen the others enter this reality lately and I just fight them back for as long as Possible.
Day 6 I have failed the others have drained this universe just as they had mine. I thought with the ability of them I could hold them back long enough for them to get bored of this. But I’ve failed I will most likely be killed after writing this im sorry.
Day 7 IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY
Day ??? Do nOt ThINKk I DiiDnT kNoW It wAS DoiNG ThIS iT WaS LuCcKY I Let ThIS Go oN FoR tHiS lONg
The Others Will Return THE GREAT SILENCE WILL RETURN

No sooner had Najia sat down at a dingy canteen on the scrap facility than her datapad received a call from Yorilos. She hadn't even gotten her coffee yet, and thought that was supremely unfair. "Anyone wanna bet he natters on without stopping to let me interrupt?"
There were no takers, and she propped the datapad up, connecting the call. Yorilos's face appeared, in the cockpit of the ship she had 'liberated' for him. "Excellent!" he exclaimed without preamble. "Now, Protectyon is exorbitantly expensive, but I suppose we will not need an entire unit to conduct your research. It might be our best course of action to approach the CEO of Northriver Company directly. We might be able to buy a small sample from him... If we can find him, that is. It is well known that he occasionally likes to flaunt his enormous wealth. A fellow trader just spotted him taking his most prized possession out for a pleasure cruise. I have sent you the coordinates of his last known location. Start from there."
He terminated the call, and Najia sat back, blinking. "Did he even stop to breathe?" Marta snorted. "That guy apparently sucks wind with his asshole, since he sure as hell didn't take any in through his mouth!"
Najia snorted, laughing and covering her face with her palm. Ace looked at Marta in disbelief for a few moments, as she worked out the idiom, then let out a high-pitched, almost strangled trill, hanging her head. "Y'all know I'm right," Marta hammered the point in. "He is longwinded, yes. And also, unfortunately, an idiot," Ace declared. "Well... Yes, but why in specific, this time?"
"I hope for his sake he is fantastic in the bunk and willing to pursue a career in prostitution, because he is clearly a homeworld-raised true believer in nonsense," Ace spat. "He actually believes 'the invisible hand of the free market' will result in equitable distribution of goods and wealth?!" She let out a shrill trill. "In Avarice and Windfall no less!" Marta snorted. "Yeah... He'd better be planning to be a boy-toy." She rolled her eyes. "Does he really think that the CEO of a monopoly is just going to sell us a tiny sample of what's making him filthy rich so we can take it away, analyze it, synthesize it, and start competing with him?" "Apparently he does," Najia said with an exasperated sigh. "That's kind of... Frightening, actually. Though chasing this fellow down might be something we'll have to do eventually, but for now... We might as well just buy a load."
"Protectyon is not ordinary cargo," Ace pointed out. "I do not know the specifics, but I do know that it requires special cargo-handling equipment. The Rakers know this. They guard the nature of this equipment with some skill. Between that, and that the only market for the stuff is here in Windfall, it is not a substance of any value to a pirate... Presumably, small containers for transporting small quantities are available to those in the know, of course." "Of course... But in this case, I think the best move is to make use of my checking account," Najia said. The waitress arrived with coffee in a cheap metal mug, which Najia took gratefully, as did the rest of her party. They were sitting at a table next to Robin and the party of crew she had brought with them. Najia took a drink of the coffee, and grimaced immediately. "Don't like it, spacer," the waitress asked with a smirk as she handed out the others' drinks. "Took me by surprise. Tidebreak serves it sweet enough to curl eyebrows." No sooner had she said that, than the waitress sat a bottle on the table with a heavy, dense thunk. Najia poured it in, and nodded; it was some kind of yellowish syrup or synthetic honey. "Thank you," she said. "Sure, whatever. Your ship brought a load of food here - and not even like, the stuff the fuckin' Viggs 'let us' have, at extortionate rates. So, there's that, spacer." The waitress turned and hurried away. Ace snorted. "Not very grateful, was she?" She had, apparently, missed where part of the plan had been to have Takio's personal Baku deliver a load of food, which she supposed had transpired while she was asleep.
"These people are... Prickly. I can understand that," Najia said. "Anyway, I'm just going to take the simple route on this one: buy one of the condensate ships, load it with the stuff at market value, and have it fly it to the headquarters... For 'upgrades' of course." She grinned.
Ace trilled softly at that. "Upgrades indeed." She fiddled with the datapad in her hand as Najia and the others started to do likewise, and after a few moments, found what seemed to be a saved-game in progress. It looked like a sketch of a space station, but it struck her as being a puzzle game, and probably an 'indie' one at that, given the godawful user-interface. She quickly worked it out of course, because a pirate's mind is slippery by necessity and a Teladi's mind is primed to calculate a dozen variables at once, and then she could dig into the meat of it. It looked like a space station, but it was one built on an impossible scale; an absolute megalith of a station, an absurd and ridiculous monolith seemingly built to construct the most basic and common of Commonwealth construction materials, but in absolutely absurd quantities. There was a rider on it, too; and that seemed to be the objective of the game, or at least of the current level; adding a mixed population of Terran, Argon, and Teladi workers, and the requisite inputs to feed them all, enough to run the entire station and then some.
The datapad in her hand chirr-uped, and Ace saved and closed the progress she had made in the game, finding that a new report had been filed by the professor they had hired for, frankly, enough money to probably have employed the entire Empyrean Curs. She skimmed the summary - short, consise and to the point - and trilled softly. "Interesting development," she noted. "Your starship professor is making yet more inroads." She looked up at the human magnate. "Apparently he found a project starfighter that someone had been preparing in one of your hangars."
Najia chuckled. "A project starfighter?" She took the datapad. "Paramerion...? Hmph. Looks like someone stripped down a Kallis for speed and narrowness, judging by these stats." "Could be fun," Marta pointed out. "For someone who likes to fly, that is," she added, grinning at Najia and Ace.
Najia chuckled, and then shook her head. "Might even be just the thing for chasing down this Northriver fellow, if we assume he's going to make himself difficult to catch up to. According to the Professor, it's currently a one-off, but they should be able to extrapolate the plans and build more, if desired. Seems that it actually was based on some early, unproduced Kallis prototypes." "I'll have it sent out to the Avarice Necessities supplier," Najia added. "Meanwhile..."
A high-importance alert hit her datapad. She frowned as she read the report; one - then two - then three - of her freighters in Windfall were reporting being harassed by the Vigor syndicate. That was new. She scowled at that, snarling.
"Trouble," Ace asked. Under the table, she curled her tail around Najia's calf, and Najia rubbed her eyes. "Trouble," Ace repeated; no longer an interrogative, but a statement. "The Vigor syndicate have apparently decided to start harassing ships carrying food," she noted, wrathfully. "That you have gone so long without them doing so is the anomaly," Ace pointed out. "They are not shy about that they use force to enforce their monopoly on food in Windfall and Vigor," she added. "And was this not the fight you intended to wage anyway?"
"Yes," Najia hissed angrily. "But the timing is wrong." She rubbed her eyeballs, seething. Her ships were reporting that the Vigor syndicate were being very aggressive; not quite at the point of shooting openly at them - which would go poorly for everyone concerned frankly - but they were harassing them openly, shaking them down for bribes or even demanding they drop cargo, as well as conducting "police" inspections for "contraband" - meaning food and water. "Then what do you plan to do?"
Najia grit her teeth, closing her eyes. She focused on the feeling of Ace's tail squeezing her calf, and seethed, but calmed herself. "Comply... For now. Set up some goodwill by selling them energy cells again." "Again? They're probably angry you cut them off in the first place," Ace noted, and Najia snorted. "Probably." Najia let out an annoyed hiss of breath. "Well, we'll deal with it." She drummed her fingers in annoyance on the bare metal, cafeteria-style table. "The time is not yet. Not yet... Yet." She cracked her knuckles, one-by-one. "First, we need to chase down this Protectyon stuff." She started fiddling on her datapad. "I'll just place the order and have it sent to the HQ. If Boso Ta can't work with that, well... I guess we'll try it Yorilos' way and chase down this Northriver."
"It might be worthwhile to approach him now in any event," Ace suggested. "The Northriver company are, as you might imagine... Well-connected, with the Vigor Syndicate." Najia pursed her lips and frowned, but nodded. She looked around the dingy cafeteria, and sighed, nodding, but sighed again, heavily. "You can't fix everything, Ninja Taco; and what you can fix, you mostly can't fix in a day," Marta said, softly. "Let's just... Let's try Ace's idea."
Najia nodded, with a heavy sigh. She covered her head with her hands for a few moments, and let out a huff. She needed a bit of breathing room, time to think, time to plan. She looked around, and drummed her fingers on the table. "Let's finish our business here, and head for the Necessities station," she said. "We'll give the Raleigh I bought time to make it to the HQ, and the Paramerion time to get here... Then we'll use it, as it's apparently speed incarnate, to chase down Northriver and see what he can tell us about Protectyon, or the Syndicate, or both." She looked around; there were no particular objections raised. Ace snorted softly at her. "I and 'Chipmunk' are laying low; it matters little to me where we do so or what other activities we engage in whilst doing. Besides, I wonder what this station looks like."
Najia grinned at her.
Scant hours later, Ace was in the co-pilot's seat of the Baku as it arrowed in to land, alongside the Radiant Afterglow that had been shadowing them the whole time. The station was a mammoth; Ace had been expecting some kind of small way-station. It had absolutely gargantuan solar arrays pointing at the nearby star; the number of docks and piers was, frankly, grossly excessive, to the point that Ace reckoned it could easily hold the entire ship population of Avarice. There were massive personnel accommodations, and all the things she had seen that made Takio's constructions so awe-inspiring. "The number of docks and piers you have here is mind-boggling," Ace commented as the ship landed on one of the Terran-style disk docks. "It defies description. I cannot imagine why."
Najia smiled weakly at her, leaning out to look out through the expansive flight-deck window. "Quite simply? I wanted there to never, ever, ever be any question about whether or not a ship in need of safe-habor from the Tide could find it here. And yes, we're buying the Protectyon stuff - at quite ridiculous prices - to keep the place safe." She pointed at a massive, triple-pronged module along the station's 'spine.' "The Breakers built that, and the storage for it. They're effectively a 'black box' to us since part of the deal there was that we didn't poke around inside, but the thing keeps working, and we've isolated them from outside comms to ensure that stays the case."
Ace snorted. "I'm surprised you agreed to refrain from reverse-engineering them." "Well, we did. Of course, we lied," Najia said, with a grin. "I don't believe in letting other people keep technological secrets from me. But we're not, you know, cutting our way in or anything... Sometimes, you have to move slow. Besides, nobody would bat an eyelash at me commissioning another Raleigh and stocking it with some Protectyon, right?" "Right," Ace said, chuckling. She glanced up at the station. It was massive. She glanced down at the time-table; the Paramerion would arrive in approximately sixteen hours. "This place is huge. I might have to look around."
Najia smiled at her. "Feel free. You want to come with me to chase down this Northriver character? I think I'm going to give this prototype a test run myself." Ace trilled. "That sounds fun. Sure."
The Avarice Necessities Supplier station was a mammoth. Ace had explored it thoroughly; it had all the amenities one might expect of a space station, which was surprising in Avarice space. Unsurprising to her now, was that the prices were absolutely rock-bottom. Not quite giving the stuff away at cost, but close enough. It was, Ace mused, a good way to make inroads with the Rakers, though she suspected that Takio was doing so out of beneficience as much as anything else. She seemed positively furious that the Syndicate were exerting control over food and water; absolutely furious.
That, Ace realized, was something that set her apart. To her way of thinking, it was only to be expected that the party which had the power to establish a monopoly on such basic necessities should do so, to further increase their power and wealth, exploiting that position to enrich themselves. Takio clearly did not see it that way. It was an affront to her; and she was clearly plotting the Syndicate's downfall over it. Ace mused these musings both before and after she took a nap, in a surprisingly-affordable lodging room she took on the station. The amenities were in fact made in the same style and materials as those Najia had established for herself back on her headquarters station. The shower, in particular, was an absolute luxury to Ace's mind; there was no time- or pressure-limiter, no charge for the water use, and, as with the showers on her ships, featured a slick slatted floor instead of an obvious drain and a bench. All available at such a rate that anyone who landed here could afford to stay without difficulty. Neither were there any other tiers of accommodation available; there were no 'suites' above and beyond what she slept in, nor were there the expected squalorus hostel dormitories she had sometimes been able to avail herself of in her youth - at prices that sometimes exceeded that of the individual suite she enjoyed. The only other forms of room available were doubles and quads for pairings or parties sleeping together, and 'accessibility' rooms for persons with mobility or other issues.
Ace had found this so surprising, in fact, she had chatted up the clerk at the lodging module. Apparently, Takio Enterprises had taken some simple shortcuts in their design process, by not doing the design work themselves; they had simply followed Segaris traveler-accommodation regulations and made use of a common Segaris habitat module design. The prices were set low because the station was, ultimately, self-sufficient save for the reliance on Protectyon, and it was largely viewed as a public service.
The difference between this station and the one they had left hardly any time at all before was striking. The Terran construction techniques Takio used were incredible, of course; but it also spoke to their intents that they were effectively leaving money in the pockets of persons who would pay higher prices for what they were offering and gladly. Of course, she mused, it wasn't entirely utopic. It couldn't be. she had found a tavern and lurked, and certainly she had caught the (metaphorical) scent of black-market trade. The number of employees at the station was enormous, surely there would be those who could be bribed. There was certain, she knew, to be a thriving underbelly in illicit goods or services; though it seemed that there was an effort to minimize this, by the simple expedient of making the most commonly-smuggled goods and most commonly-criminalized services legal, mostly in the Teladi style; Ace saw vending machines which dispensed packets of Space Weed and found a local-net exchange board which purported to connect medically-checked and cleared prostitutes with clients; tangential to that was a heap of information about prostitution - both practical and, she saw with a little digging, historical and philosophical - as well as resources for those looking to get into that trade, beginning with reporting to medical for an examination. There was also a stark warning that pimping, or abusing a prostitute in any way, carried a summary sentence of execution. Ace's eyes shot up at that. She ran a few searches to see what cut Takio Enterprises was taking for this, but couldn't find any over and above presumably the rental price of the lodging rooms involved.
It almost seemed clinical, but, she mused, on the balance, if this environment had been available to her when she was trying to figure out what to do to avert hunger, it certainly would have seemed a far more attractive option. Her primary reason for shying away from prostitution as a career, had been the fear of winding up the property of a pimp. Ace ruminated on this, whilst staring out the window of a tavern, at the star, through the solar panel array, when she got the message that the Paramerion had arrived.
The craft itself looked very much like many of the Terran ships Ace had seen in recent weeks, sitting in the pretty purple trim that Takio had ships meant for herself painted in. It was even sitting in a bay next to a Tsurugi superheavy fighter, which made her take a double-take; clearly they had wasted no time in producing the starfighters!
Ace looked between the two. The Paramerion was short dorsal-to-ventral, as most Terran small craft were, but this one took it to an extreme. It was elongated and somewhat narrow, though it could have, she thought, been narrower still without the side-mounted wings that served no purpose she could discern immediately, save to be wings. "They're for atmospheric flight," Najia explained. "Most Terran S- and M- craft are at least capable of it; most Argon, too, for that matter. Most Teladi... Even the Drill, which the Baku is based on; and of course the Baku itself. Though, admittedly, the flying shoe does rely a lot more on thrusters," Najia said; she was standing by the ramp into the Paramerion, watching Ace's gaze.
Ace trilled softly and nodded, joining Najia in the cockpit. It was roomy enough; the cockpit design seemed to be wholly-copied from the Kallis. That made sense, as they were apparently related designs. She looked around, and tapped on the holographic auxiliary console at the rear of the cockpit, to the side. "Shall I navigate for you?" "Unless you'd rather fly," Najia said, smiling at her. Ace took a moment to think on that, and shook her head. "I'll fly the way back, if all goes smoothly. It's your ship, you should take it. Where is Marta? Is she not coming?"
"She's already in the back. There's what the original designers of these classes euphemistically refer to as a 'bunk-slash-engineering-access' behind us, in front of the power plant. It's so tight I don't think anyone could even masturbate in there, but you can sleep in there... If you're desperate. Personally, I'd just roll out a sleeping mat in the dockpit," Najia said; this got a louder trill from Ace, as Najia took the chair. "Right, I've already done the preflight... Let's see what she can do."
Northriver was, allegedly, in the same sector - Avarice I - and finding him was a minor challenge. Ace operated sensors whilst Najia piloted; the ship seemed to have very desirable piloting characteristics; agile and responsive without being touchy or prone to over-maneuvering. Swift, but not prone to sliding. She looked forward to her own turn at the stick, as they narrowed in on the alleged location of Brantlee Northriver.
Finding him was little challenge - then Ace swore softly. "Is that..." She had another ship on the fighter's sensors, and brought up its details. Sitting a hundred klicks from Astrid, apparently the ship of Northriver, was J.P. Morgan's Knife. Ace hissed softly. "Does he... Really..."
"Does he really expect this guy to give us a sample to reverse engineer?" Najia groaned. "Fine, fuck it. If we don't ask, he will, and Yorilos is about as good at negotiating as someone who goes to a flea market, sees a pair of sun-shades at a stall, talks the proprietor down two credits and walks away feeling like they're John Pierpont Morgan." Ace trilled softly at that. "Is that whom his vessel is named after? Who was this person?" Najia snorted. "We'd have to interrupt the history lesson to run for cover from the Tide," she said with a grin, looking over her shoulder. "Suffice to say he was a human industrialist from a very long time ago, who managed to amass one of the smaller fortunes of his era, but who wielded power and control of money to substantially more effect than the actual wealth he personally had. He formed banks, you see; once, he helped to fend off an impending bank run that would have caused a financial collapse, by assembling a large number of a nation's most powerful bankers in his mansion, and locked them in his library, telling them that they would not be leaving until they had worked out a scheme to avert the crisis."
Ace trilled, watching as the little fighter closed on what she was reading as some kind of yacht. "That sounds like something you might do," she pointed out. Najia snorted, looked back at Ace, and chuckled. "I think I should take that as a compliment. J.P. Morgan was an asshole, like pretty much all of the wealthy and powerful persons of his time and era... Or, any era, to be honest. I... Never expected to find myself wielding clout and power like Morgan's, let alone enough that I probably eclipse him. It's... Kind of overwhelming, to be honest." "And yet, you persevere," Ace retorted. "By any measure, you could take what you've amassed now, retire to a sector of your choosing, build a monumental space station of your own design, and live a life of indolence until the money ran out. A Teladi could take your wealth and live out the rest of her life, even. Yet, you are building warships and lodgings fit for well-off individuals and affordable to the hardscrabble. By Teladi reckoning, Najia, you are insane."
Najia blinked at that, half-snorting. She had cut the travel drive and was approaching the lazily drifting yacht, and took the moment to turn her chair halfway, looking to her side at Ace. "Do you think I'm... Literally mad?" Ace peered at her, and shook her head. "No, I do not. Many Teladi might assume it to be so," she said, with an ambivalent sway of her hips and a shrug. "... I believe that you are acting to a set of principles and convictions that are, however, utterly alien to most Teladi understanding. You seem as if you intend to seize Windfall and Avarice outright. Yet even if you did, you would not squeeze the Rakers on food prices the way the Syndicate does. I do not understand where you are coming from," Ace said, swaying her hips again. "But... I feel I can trust you. And from there, confidence. Heads-up," she added, cautioning Najia. "We are close enough you had best comm them, lest they think you're about to attack."
Swiveling rapidly back to face forward, Najia did just that, signaling the yacht she was approaching of her intent to communicate. Moments later, she recieved a reply. "Yes, what is it you want?" Brantlee Northriver had a grating, abrasive, and smug voice; he was also dressed, she thought, ridiculously, wearing what looked like a desaturated blue jacket trimmed with excessively gaudy, and gaudily excessive amounts of gold, with some kind of absurd half-hood thing cupping the back of his head. It was some long-ago futurist's vision of what a far-flung spacefuture clergyman's robe might look like crossed with a business suit. Najia knew that her own sense of fashion was questionable, but even she immediately recognized the outfit as disgustingly ugly, and radiating both wealth and contempt. Her impression was realized as he continued, "I sure hope you have a good reason for approaching me. I am quite busy, you see?"
Najia mastered the urge to ask if he was busy receiving fellatio from someone under the console he was sitting at, because she could see absolutely no other possible activity he was invested in; she also mastered the urge to just shoot the smug off his face. She instead smiled at him, schooling herself into 'businesswoman' persona even though he made her skin crawl on an imager; and, of course, she would have to try to talk a sample out of it, because she knew that Yorilos was listening in and would certainly swoop in and somehow make things stupider if she didn't. "Mr. Northriver, you may not have had time yet to notice my minor operations; Takio Enterprises is expanding into Avarice. The name of Northriver and its Protectyon is on every set of lips within three jumps as a potent defensive measure against the Tide. I wished to obtain -"
"What, just a sample?" Northriver leaned forward, towards his camera, smirking - no, smugging - at her, adopting the 'Thinker' pose, briefly. "Such a small quantity won't get you far, if you want to protect yourself from the Tide. Can't afford more, eh?" For a moment, Najia toyed with the notion of making an offer to buy Northriver outright, just to wipe the smug off his face, but he continued to smug audibly at her. "Oh, well, since you seem to be new around here, I'll allow it. Once." Brantlee turned to look out his cockpit window at Avarice, which illuminated him brightly. Looking away and up was probably his 'best side;' it was the only posture in which she had yet seen him that looked anything other than 'contemptable.' "To get you hooked. Am I not charitable?" He immediately resumed his contemptuousness, then turned back to face her and made it all the more stark. "I will even cut you a special deal, how about that?" His expression clearly communicated his contempt and belief that he was superior. "Merely twelve and a half thousand credits for the sample you so dearly desire; my first, last, and only offer."
Najia wanted to say something scathing in return, she really did. Or simply to lock her cannons on his admittedly-very-sexy yacht and take the sample at cannon-point. Or to flip him the finger. Instead, she schooled herself to merely raise her eyebrow skeptically; forcing herself to maintain 'The Businesswoman,' who was too refined to rise to the bait. But she also had neither time nor patience to haggle over what was, frankly, a trivial sum to her bank account. Hell, she knew for a fact that Ace could buy the sample and wouldn't lose much sleep over it, just from what Ace had made in the last several days with her. "It seems your proposal can only be agreed to," she said, bringing up the financial transfer function on her console and sending the sum required.
Smugly, Brantlee grinned at her. "Here you go. I hope you leave as a satisfied customer!" Ace quickly tapped a message that appeared on her console. 'He's jettisoned an XS cargo pod.' The Teladi deftly located it for her on sensors, targeting it for her, as Northriver continued, "Oh, and by the way - don't for one second think that you can use this sample to engineer a competing product. It won't work. Northriver products are just too ingenious!" Northriver positively crowed it at her, and once again Najia had to master the urge to lock weapons upon him, but she did, at that moment, privately vow that, by means fair or foul, she was going to gain possession of his yacht if only to spite him. "Run along now," he added, smirking. "I have much more important matters to attend to," he clarified, sanctimoniously smiling, ending the comm channel and turning the yacht away, entering Travel drive.
"Let me bring that pod aboard," Ace muttered, manipulating the tractor controls, and comming the multipurpose space in the back. "Marta, if you would kindly suit up -" "Way ahead of you, Ace," Marta answered her, popping up on-screen already wearing a light pressure suit, in the airlock. "Get it over here and I'll grab it, make sure it doesn't jostle or anything. Mass?" "Considerable, but not more than a large human such as yourself can handle. Volitility is not known, but it cannot hurt to be over-cautious."
Najia smiled to herself as she heard Ace, unprompted, begin collaboration with Marta. A part of her cynical and intellectual side tried to argue that Ace was a pirate, and probably always would be a pirate at heart, but she was quite simply too fond of the reptilian spacer to listen to that part of her anymore; her oldest friend and her newest could be coming together. Then another comm popped up, and she resisted the urge to groan aloud. She let The Businesswoman fade; frankly, Yorilos didn't rate it, and they were (sort of) collaborators on this anyway. To her surprise (and pleasure), when he commed her, he immediately voiced her own opinion, "I wonder if being obnoxious is his deliberate business strategy?" Najia laughed, heartily, slumping back in her command chair and grinning brightly, shrugging. "I don't think so. I think it just comes naturally to the git."
Yorilos looked momentarily nonplussed, presumably by her vernacular, then said, "No matter. It will make it all the more enjoyable when we pull the rug from under the Northriver Company." "We are in absolute agreement about that," Najia said. "I want to wipe the smug grin off his face." She glanced down; her airlock indicator had closed, and she flicked up a view of the inside. Marta was carefully securing a container roughly the size and volume of a ubiquitous 205-liter shipping drum, though it wasn't one. "I've just taken the sample aboard." "You want to take it back to the headquarters yourself? Go ahead," Yorilos said. He cut the channel, and Najia blinked at the suddenness.
"... Well, that was... Abrupt," Najia said, looking back to Ace. "It was. I cannot believe that you paid twelve and a half thousand for the sample." Najia shrugged. "I mean... It's highway robbery, considering that a commercial volume costs just about twice that and is twenty cubic meters in volume whereas that sample is maybe two. On the other hand, you heard him; he wasn't in the mood to negotiate. What should I have done? Shot at him?" "Yes." Ace trilled, then huffed, shaking her head. "No. As cathartic as it would be, your plans are too long-term to have simply taken it from the wretch by force." She shook her head. "I suppose you had little choice," she conceded, "if you are to continue Yorilos' scheme."
"I'm kind of eager to set Boso Ta loose on this stuff myself," Najia said. The revolving door to the back cycled, and Marta walked in, looking flushed with exertion. "Thanks, Marta," she said. "You can thank me by you securing the damn thing in the 'hold,' Marta said, snarkily.
Najia nodded, and swiveled her chair all the way. "Sure. Thank you. Ace, you're up on stick," she said, standing up. "Let's just fly this thing straight home; I bet we can make it before dinnertime with us flying," she said, smiling at Ace. Ace trilled softly. "That sounds like a challenge. Accepted." She slid past Marta and Najia, slaloming between them, and took the stick, keying in a course for the Takio Enterprises headquarters. "We should recall the other ships, yes?" "Yes; good thinking, Ace. Thank you. I'll handle it from the back, after I've secured this barrel."
Ace and Najia made great time returning to the headquarters; they flew close to recklessly, causing Marta to comment that she was glad she was flying with them, for if they got themselves killed flying that way, she wouldn't have to hear about it. They arrived at the headquarters to little fanfare, and Marta peeled off as soon as they arrived, pleading the need to go and look into something she had arranged previously. "Well, shall we talk to Boso Ta?" Ace asked, looking up at Najia. They had gone to Avarice in an overnight journey by-the-numbers, stayed for less than a day, and were now back where they had started. "And hope that this back-and-forth bears some fruit?"
"I would very much like that," Najia agreed. The container had already been sent to the lab, and she squared her shoulders up, heading for the lift with purpose.
The door to the laboratory opened, and Najia's jaw dropped. "How," she said, flatly, quietly, as Ace all-but plowed into her backside. Ace slid around her side, looking into the lab, and let out a chuff of disbelief.
Yorilos was standing beside Boso Ta's tank.
Ace resisted the urge to hiss in surprise, and reached up, patting Najia's back. "I do not know," she confessed. "Perhaps he made use of an anomaly and was quite lucky. Or perhaps he has modified his hauler in ways unimaginable and is an outright daredevil pilot." Najia shook her head, and squared up, entering the lab. The elderly professor was nowhere to be seen, but it was late at night; he was likely in bed. So she went to the interloper, approaching Yorilos. "Yorilos, hi... What are you doing here?" She wasn't even going to ask how. That was his secret and his alone.
"Ah, yes. I really hope we can find a way to make the Protectyon more affordable for everyone in Avarice," he explained, as he peered around the laboratory. That, she thought, didn't exactly explain her question; presumably he intended for her to infer the answer. Somehow. Najia shook her head and smiled, nodding to him. "Alright." She climbed up the stairs, after a glance back at Ace, who had become fascinated by the new addition of a lot of bonsai trees in the laboratory's little greenery display, and greeted Boso Ta with a wave, to which the Boron responded with one of his own. "Hello there! Ah, excellent, the Protectyon sample has been delivered, and we may begin. Thank you kindly!" Boso Ta seemed to examine a computer tablet held in his... Tentacles? Flippers? Manipulators. He made a few deft strokes. "I have added the Protectyon Research to our agenda, and listed the required secondary materials. Feel free to initiate the research at any time convenient to yourself!"
With that abrupt declaration, Boso Ta swam upwards through the hatch in the laboratory tank, presumably to his personal lodging suites. Najia blinked, rocking back on her heels and looked back at Ace, who looked at her with the cocked hips that Najia had intuited was a definite shrug. "You'd think I didn't own the place," Najia muttered to herself, "the way almost everyone just... Is so... Curt with me." "You could put them in their place the way a pirate lord would," Ace suggested. "Or, if having a beating administered is too vulgar for your preferences, do what a capitalist might do and threaten them with penury."
Najia snorted. "Yeah... I think I'd rather just live with being curtly spoken to than be an asshole." "So be it. Your ways do allow for others to become... Familiar with you," Ace said, giving a vibrato trill. "For better, and for worse." She smiled at Najia, and Najia smiled back. Ace was toying with a small bonsai tree, and watched as Najia checked her datapad, then clucked her tongue.
"A lot of things we don't have on-hand," Najia muttered, "mainly because what Boso Ta wants - for this research project, and others - are Commonwealth-base, and we're not. That's not a huge problem, I'll just ask Tsukiko to set up a PO for a useful quantity of said commodities. For now -" The tank was suddenly filled again with Boso Ta. "Assistant, you simply must do something about this irksome vessel!"
A moment of silent passed. Najia pushed down the urge to be catty or snarky at Boso Ta, or outright hostile. She took a deep breath. "A... Vessel? Is irking you?" "Yes yes! Somehow, it is managing to distort the station's sensors, preventing me from witnessing a solar event in the Great Reef Nebula. I suggest you take care of this annoyance before it manages to disrupt even more observations!"
Najia took in a breath to respond, but Boso Ta had already vanished again, with such rapidity that even Yorilos seemed to be watching him dumbstruck. Yorilos also made a cocked-hip gesture, and then walked out. Najia watched him go, and snorted. "If he has even half a brain, he's going to ask Boso Ta what resources he's asking for and then try to get ahead of the purchase orders," Najia noted. "I would." "As would I," Ace agreed. "Would you like me to take care of this... 'Irksome Vessel' for you?"
"Bored?" Najia asked, grinning at Ace. "I wouldn't say that I was bored," Ace said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. Najia squeezed back. "But it seems that Boso Ta will not likely let the matter drop."
"Alright. Let's take care of it." Najia rolled her shoulders. "I can do this admin stuff from a ship as easily as my apartment study." She headed for the lift, neglecting to let go of Ace's hand; Ace likewise kept the hold, accompanying her. They almost ran into Marta coming out of it. She had a big grin on her face, and Najia pursed her lips. "Okay, what have you done," she asked.
"Oh, not much, just had a warship commissioned to keep close-to-hand in case we get in trouble and need some biggish guns fast. She's done, come take a look." Najia looked down at Ace, who trilled loudly at her. "Either you pay her too well, or you trust her entirely, if she has such authority in your name." "Jealous," Marta asked, smirking. "Yes," Ace admitted frankly. "Shall we?"
Najia sighed and laughed. "Fiiiine."
The bridge of T.E.S. Koshirae was the common standard Terran capital module, and very shortly, Najia, Marta and Ace were standing in it, shaking hands with the woman standing at the captain's post, who was wearing a stylish jacket in a decidedly non-Terran style, tights, and comfortable looking sneakers. "I'm sorry," Najia said, with a smile. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."
"Kevlin, ma'am; Selaia Kevlin. I'm a shipyard specialist." Her accent was distinctly neither anything Solar that Najia recognized, nor Segaris. "I'm surprised you're even aboard yet; we're only about to put her through space trials."
Najia snorted. "Not even the shakedown cruise, huh? You're not from anywhere I've been, are you?" "No ma'am." Selaia looked Asian, with her hair up in a tight bun. "I'm from Argon Prime. I found myself in Grand Exchange as crew on a freighter, saw the amenities on offer on your headquarters station, and jumped ship for a job here."
Najia nodded. "I see..." She grinned. "Are you spying on me?" "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you, ma'am," Selaia responded back, in the age-old joke. Najia laughed in turn.
"Right. Well, stand down for a while," she said. "I appear to have been talked into taking her out personally." "Ma'am!" Selaia stepped aside. "The, err, owner has the bridge!" she called out, fumbling through something approximating military protocol, as Najia stepped up, looking over the console. Najia grinned. "Alright. Nifty little ship. Ace, take the helm," she said. "Take us out."

Hey all.
Around Christmas I wrote and ran an adventure and the players died terribly during it. Tragic. I loved the storyline and the play leading up to their dramatic death at the turning point with the BBEG so much that I decided others might want to TPK their players in a cold hearted, snowy murder mystery turns mystical fight for the future.
There's a GMBinder document available here: https://www.gmbinder.com/share/-NKV-gQpIWkys9U_FtrF
Let's dive in shall we?

Warm hearts in a Cold winter

About the Adventure

This adventure places a party of level 5 characters at the center of a quarrel between two composers. It is located in Suzail but could as easily be placed in any major city.
Naturally, it should take place during a winter season or in a cold climate.

Precursor

A vengeful sylvan spirit, having possessed a young mage some weeks ago, has murdered and taken the place of a reputable maestro.
His goal is to play a piece of music at the upcoming charity gala where the nobles of the city will be in attendance, subsequently raising his army of snow borne abominations and launching his conquest upon the warm world.

Summary of Events

The city of Suzail is in celebration as the Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala is being built up with structures, merchants and performers stretching upon the promenade from the Royal Court Theatre in either direction for some distance.
The story begins with the players getting in touch with the director of the Royal Court Theater, Antonio Fellini and his assistant Nicolette Fiorelle.
In speaking to the director and his assistant, the players learn that a maestro named Giovanni has stolen the sheet music to be played at the gala by another maestro, Lucian.
Antonio suggests they check his residence and Nicolette takes the players there. Giovanni is not home. Nicolette suggests he may be at The Golden Dice, a gambling hall on the dockside.
Searching Giovannis residence, the players find a collection of cash-out receipts for The Golden Dice gambling hall and a collection of notes and drawings with a strange square signature in the corner of each. Anyone with the artisan background recognizes the signature of Hari Noshi, a tattooist on the dockside.
If the players go to The Golden Dice first, Giovanni is not there and soon after arrives a gang of thugs sent by Lucian who are also looking for Giovanni. After the thugs are dealt with, the owner of The Golden Dice informs the players that Giovanni is likely at his friend Hari Noshi's tattoo parlor down the way.
When the players arrive at the tattoo parlor, they find a robed ogre shaking down a grappled Giovanni. Archers watch close by and a scout sits hidden keeping watch on the alleyway.
If the gang from the gambling hall is still alive, they arrive to assist in any conflict. If the players manage to save Giovanni from the gang, he offers to give the players the sheet music back; he left it with a scribe named Peregrin to have a copy made, and proceeds to take them there.
When they arrive at the scribery they find the door locked but the scribe is visible through a window, hunched over his lectern. However they enter, the players and Giovanni find a dead scribe, his lips blue, a frozen quill in his grasp, frost formed on his fingers and a peaceful look on his face. Giovanni is in shock, and sees that Peregrin had copied across but a single bar of the music. Peregrin is an alchemist as well and maintains a small supply of potions for healing, cold resistance and poisons antidotes.
Giovanni lets the players have the sheet music, deciding that this has all cost him far more than he bargained. The players can decide what to do.
If they return the sheet music to Antonio, they meet Lucian, a lithe pale well dressed figure with white gray peppered hair. When he speaks, it's in a slow passionate tone. He is thankful for their work and offers a reward for the music before adjourning to rehearse. Antonio pays the players and they're free to do as they will until the gala begins.
If the players choose to investigate Lucian in any fashion, events can twist a bit. Ultimately the players should see the gala begin (unless they solve the puzzle before then) and eventually lead to Lucian's performance. As the music crescendos, Lucian's body is suddenly wracked by seizures leading to the release of a slyvan spirit and the sudden spawning of several abominable snow soldiers.
The players must defeat the sylvan creature amidst the army of Purple Dragons, the newly spawned army of snow beings, and the chaos of the galas patrons and the citizens running for their lives.

Adventure Hooks

The director of the Royal Court Theater needs help he can trust to get the sheet music back and not get Giovanni arrested. How the players meet with Antonio and Nicolette should relate to professions and backgrounds where applicable. Some of the following suggestions may work for you.

• A noble background character is delivering a thank you or picking up tickets on behalf of their noble family.
• A bard could come in contact through the local Bards College or by visiting the Royal Court Theater.
• Rogues or streetwise characters could be contacted by Nicolette who needs someone discreet.
• Fighters, Paladins, Clerics would be contacted by a guild or through a church or temple respectively by Nicolette's contacts.
• The players could be visiting the Royal Court Theater as part of a tour of the promenade.

Royal Court Theater

The Royal Court Theater in Suzail is a grand theater located in the capital city of Cormyr. It is known for its opulent interiors, which include a gilded ceiling and ornate chandeliers. The theater is home to a variety of performances, including plays, operas, and concerts. It is a popular destination for tourists and locals alike, and is often considered one of the cultural gems of Cormyr. The theater is well-known for its excellent acoustics and has hosted some of the most famous performers in the realm. It is also a frequent venue for events hosted by the royal family of Cormyr.

Meeting Antonio & Nicolette

These two are a bit frantic and unsure of what to do. Antonio is stricken yet calm while Nicolette is beside herself, blaming herself for her irresponsibility.
When they greet they players, they are polite and willing to discuss what they know if it seems the players are to be helpful.
If they ask about Lucian, they state that he left on business of his own soon after he heard of the theft.

The Theft

Antonio & Nicolette explain that the maestro Giovanni had visited to discuss the upcoming gala and what he was expected to perform.
In discovering that another maestro named Lucian was to play, he became angered and although they had assumed he had left, they soon discovered he had stolen the sheet music that was to be played.
Giovanni left a note that stated Lucian did not deserve to play the music as Lucian was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a silver bell to call his wet nurse.
Antonio suggests checking Giovanni's home and Nicolette agrees to take the players there. The residence is only a few blocks away down the promenade.

Finding Giovanni

The players arrive at a two story brick building with a few opulent apartments, each featuring a tall archway patio window with a wrought iron railing encircling a stone patio balcony.
Giovannis apartment is one of the upper floor units although he is not home when the players arrive. The players can force entry on the door, gain access via the unlocked balcony door, or seek the landlord who lives in one of the lower units.
The landlord could be convinced to provide the key with a successful Charisma (Persuasion or Deception) check (DC 14) and a plausible story: locked out lover, family member, or parent depending on the individual. A successful Intimidation check will cause the old landlord to die of heart failure.

Nobody's home

Giovannis apartment is disheveled, with old laundry, stacked dishes, piles of parchment with ink scrawled across them and a large four post bed in disarray.
When the players search the apartment they find a collection of receipts for winnings from the Golden Dice, a dock side gambling hall.
If they roll 15 or better, they find drawings with the signature of Hari Noshi. Nicolette explains that is Giovannis tattooist.
If the players do not successfully search the apartment, Nicolette will offer that he gambles and may be at the hall.

The Golden Dice

The Golden Dice is a well decorated and well protected establishment on the dock side. It is the gambling hall known by the wealthy to be seedy but safe to patronize. Care of Dargen Goldhand, the Golden Dice has guards and free ale for house regulars such as Giovanni and any character with the Gambler background.
Giovanni is not here, and the patrons are all too engrossed in their doings to care for the players questions. Asking too many times over may bring the ire of the house guard or the patrons.
If the players seek out the management to ask about Giovanni, they're politely informed that he covered his debts some time ago and that he's not been seen for weeks.
During this time three mercenaries will arrive also seeking Giovanni. Markus, Grimgore and Vaxin consider themselves professionals and don't directly threaten the players, although they make no secret of their objective and tell the players to stay out of their way or suffer consequences. They don't attack unless attacked directly, and will otherwise rush towards Hana To soon afterward.
If the players dispatch the thugs without hearing about Hana To and let the thugs escape, Dargen offers that Giovanni could be at the tattoo shop.

Hana To

When the players reach Hana To, they find the rest of the crew that is after Giovanni as well as Giovanni and his tatooist Hari Noshi.
The tattoo shop is a mess, Hari Noshi is visibly injured, and an ogre by the name of Ogrimm has Giovanni in his grasp.

Ogrimm & Company

If the players attempt to negotiate with Ogrimm he tells the players to mind their own business or be shot. If the players press attempts to negotiate he gives the word for his archers to loose upon the two closest players.
If they still do not engage but continue to try to negotiate, Ogrimm laughs at them and continues to rough up Giovanni.
If attacked, Ogrimm doesn't want to fight to the death and will offer quarter if one or more of his crew are killed.
If the players refuse quarter, he will attempt a tactical retreat, providing covering fire using magic missiles from his wand or while he can cast them and resorting to fire bolts if necessary. If possible, he will grapple and carry Giovanni.
If Ogrimm manages to knock out or kill any of the players, he offers quarter. If the players take it, Ogrimms tells them that they can wait until he is done with Giovanni and then go about their business.
If Ogrimm is afforded the time, he will roughly interrogate Giovanni about the location of the sheet music before finding a receipt for a scribe named Peregrin on Giovanni.
Ogrimm at this point will throw Giovanni aside and leave the scene to go retrieve the sheet music from the scribe.
At this point Giovanni is badly injured from the interrogation but tells the players to get to Peregrin before Ogrimm does.
If the players have dispatched or routed Ogrimm and his crew, or taken Giovanni from Hana To and escaped, Giovanni is thankful and tells them that he is regretful for what he's done and what it's cost his friend. He takes the players to the scribe.

Peregrin's Dead

Peregrins home is a small two story brick book store with a placard that reads his name in gold serif font.
Upon arriving at the scribes residence the players will find the scribe visibly hunched over his lectern, presumably sleeping.
His door is locked however and banging on the door doesn't raise him. Observant (Passive Perception 13 or better) players will note there is a bit of frost on the windows, inside the building.
The players can get in through:

• an unlocked second floor window
• by finding the spare front door key behind a loose brick of the door frame
• breaking any of the locked first floor windows

However the players gain entry, they are confronted with a very dead Peregrin. His lips are blue his finger tips are frozen and his whole body is cold as ice.
Giovanni will be visibly saddened by this and will observe that Peregrin was working on the copy but only managed a few bars in before he died.
At this stage, Giovanni asks the players to see that the music is returned to Antonio, and states that this debacle has now truly cost him far more than he bargained.

Moonlighting

Peregrin kept a lab where he practiced alchemy on the second story of his shop.
Searching his lab will reveal 1d4 + 2 Potions of Healing, 1d4 Potions of Cold Resistance and 1d4 Potions of (Hill) Giant Strength.
In his living area he kept a modest wardrobe, a small savings of 300 gold pieces and receipts for shipments of alchemical goods and book binding equipment arriving.

Enroute

If Ogrimm and his crew are still alive, the players may have to deal with him in some fashion or get to Peregrins faster than them (eg: by horseback). It's up to the DM how long it takes Ogrimm and the crew to reach Peregrin. He is resourceful but he does not have transportation at the ready.

Meeting Lucian

Presuming that the players return to the Royal Court Theater with the sheet music, they will find Antonio, Nicolette and Lucian meeting in the main foyer.
Antonio is relieved to see the players arriving and asks for Giovannis condition. If Giovanni is dead or incapacitated, Antonio is greatly grieved by this and will lash out at Lucian for sending thugs. If Giovanni is alive, the director and Nicolette both breathe a sigh of relief and thank the players for their involvement, avoiding any mention of the thugs.
If the players provide any mention of the thugs, Lucian readily states that he hired and sent them to retrieve his property as was his prerogative. He apologizes coldly for any inconvenience upon the players and offers to pay them what he was to pay Ogrimm's crew.
If the players hand over the sheet music, Lucian thanks them and retreats from the meeting, stating that he must rehearse.
If the players ask about the sheet music before handing it over, Lucian is dismissive of their questions, stating he has no time for their petty, paltry prattlings and that he must get to rehearsals.
Antonio will parrot these statements in a more polite tone while Nicolette will stay quiet and stoic.
If the players accuse, or degrade Lucian in some way, the director, Nicolette and Lucian will all be visibly shocked while Antonio will demand that they hand over the sheet music, take their payment and leave. If pressed, he will threaten to summon the Purple Dragons justice upon the player.
If the players take payment and leave they receive a sum of 100 platinum pieces to be divided amongst them.
If they part on good terms the players are told they can expect special seating for the affairs to come.
At this point, the players are free to wander the promenade and take in the sights of the gala that is now coming under way.

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala is an annual event held in the city of Suzail, Cormyr. It is a grand affair, attended by members of the royal court and the wealthy elite, as well as various nobles, politicians, and other influential figures. The gala is held in the Royal Court Theater, a magnificent venue known for its opulent decor and state-of-the-art stage and performance facilities.
The gala is held to raise funds for charitable cause, with a focus on helping those in need during the cold winter months. Organized by the Royal Court Theater and the Noble Heart Foundation the charity manages to raise a significant amount of coin each year by pitting the various noble houses against one another in a blind competition of wealth and giving.
At its core, the gala is a mix of high brow showmanship and grass roots fund raising. The various churches are well aware of the ego surrounding the noble houses and how to tread about those egos to maximize the return towards their efforts.
Those who organize the events are masters of negotiation and the effort and cunning they put into enticing the noble houses into providing as they do can not be understated.
In dealing with problems such as general toxicity, outbursts of tempers or outright violence that may surround the event, those who can will attempt to persuade and dissuade the aggressors to understand the core spirit of the event, agreeing and soothing the frustration that some may express.

The Director, Klaus Von Santos

Called a 'man of the people' by his peers, Klaus works tirelessly with a large and wide spread team of passionate people to make the gala a success each year. He can be found in any number of areas around the gala grounds. He is an aging elf of 600 years who emigrated to Cormyr some 60 years past. He has made Suzail his home and is an accomplished musician as well as event coordinator. He is a devout member of the Church of Tyr, swearing that he had his life saved once by the deity. He enjoys reading the daily news and gossip rags to 'keep up with the times' and is an accomplished Mage.

Event Organizers

The passionate people who make the gala possible run the gamut of individuals from laborers and architects to performers, organizers, and on and on. The gala and the construction thereby can be described as an organized chaos consuming the promenade surrounding the theater.

Honored Guests of the Gala

If you are placing this adventure in Suzail, in Cormyr, in the Forgotten Realms canon, then this list of noble houses should suffice as the high level roster of attendees.

Who's who

From the Obarskyrs who rule Cormyr to the Maelstroms from distant Waterdeep, every noble family worth their clout in coin can be seen at the affair. They tour about in carts, dressed to impress and to stay warm, in that order. Here are a few of the families that would attend:

House Obarskyr

The Obarskyr family has ruled Cormyr for centuries, and is the most powerful and influential noble house in the nation. The current ruling monarch of Cormyr, King Azoun V, is a member of this family.

House Barrowmaze

The Barrowmaze family is a powerful noble house in Suzail that is known for its wealth and influence. The family is involved in various businesses and industries, and is known for its charitable works and philanthropy.

House Dauntinghorn

The Dauntinghorn family is another powerful and influential noble house in Suzail. The family is known for its military prowess and its connections to the Purple Dragons, Cormyr's elite military corps.

House Bryne

The Bryne family is a wealthy and influential noble house in Suzail that is involved in various businesses and industries. The family is known for its support of the arts and its philanthropy.

House Maelstrom

The Maelstrom family is a powerful and influential noble house in the city of Waterdeep, one of the largest and most influential cities in the Forgotten Realms.

House Illance

The Illance family is a powerful noble house in the city of Baldur's Gate, another major city in the Forgotten Realms.

Sights & Sounds

There is quite a lot to see and do at the charity gala.

Decorations & Decorum

The entire promenade explodes in color and dress as tapestries, arrangements, lights and statuary are hung from buildings, or placed in the street.

Ice sculptures

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala features a stunning display of ice sculptures, showcasing the talents of the city's finest ice sculptors. These intricate works of art range from detailed, realistic pieces to whimsical, playful figures inspired by the winter season.

Ice skating

Guests can enjoy a bit of ice skating along the Promenades specially-made rink.

Sports

Professional athletes and local enthusiasts alike showcase their skills in a variety of winter sports, including ice climbing, ice skating, and skiing.

Fashion show

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala also includes a winter fashion show, featuring the latest in winter clothing and accessories.

Hot chocolate bar

From Waterdeep with love, Delphine comes to serve a variety of flavors and toppings for heated milk mixed with chocolate.

Craft brews & Fine wines

Hot mead, the finest spirits and the frothiest ales are served and on tap throughout the gala grounds as artisans local and not come to show their generosity.

Food

Culinary expertise is awash in the streets as various vendors come out to feed to destitute and any others who want a bite to eat.

Silent auction

Guests can bid on a variety of items and favors from the church and is the largest source of income for the gala.

Donations

While the focus of the Noble Heart Gala is the wealthy and the wealth they provide, there is no shortage of provisions provided by the general population.

• Blankets: Piles of blankets can be seen on carts located along the Promenade, donated towards those who need them to stay warm.
• Clothing: Warm, fuzzy coats, lined breeches, gloves, and dozens of pairs of new & old boots can be seen collected in crates and wagons.
• Food: Non perishables such as jerky or salted, wrapped meats, assorted dry goods and even barrels of ale and mead are provided for those in need.
• Heating: From old oil or wood stoves that are still serviceable to the fuels that provide their output, those who are fortunate to have a roof but no heat are thankful for this.
• Medicine: Herbal remedies, alchemical draughts, bandages and other supplies can be found collected in a few locations along the promenade.

If players wish to donate they may although to purchase anything locally is virtually impossible as everything that can be purchased to donate already has been by all the noble houses.

Events

The following events assume that Suzail is your venue of choice and provide a few celebrities from other D&D canon that dungeon masters may or may not want to include.

d10	Loot
1-2	Protestors
3-4	Drunk Noble
5-6	Fire!
7-8	Chef who?
9-10	Thief!

Protestors

A group of protestors from the various churches gather outside the gala. They are angry at the flambouyence and excess demonstrated by the gala shouting slogans and carrying signs such as:

• "Charity starts at home, not a gala!"
• "The rich don't need another party!"
• "Distraction is not a solution!"
• "Spend the money on those who need it!"
• "Showing off is not helping!"

They are peaceful but loud and disruptive.
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince them to take their grievances where it can be properly heard (a magister or event organizer), or a Charisma (Intimidation) check (DC 15) could scare them off.
Alternatively, a Charisma (Deception) check (DC 15) could convince them that their counter parts are else where and that they should seek them out.
If the players do not intervene, the authorities eventually show up and arrest the protesters to much maligned shouting and cursing from the protesters and any nearby gala attendees.
If the players successfully intervene, the protesters leave and the players are thanked cordially by the Purple Dragons.

Drunk Noble

A wealthy, intoxicated patron becomes aggressive towards some of the needy, calling them "riff raff" and "street rats".
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince them to calm down and behave, or a Charisma (Intimidation) check (DC 15) could intimidate them into behaving.
If the players do not intervene, the patron is eventually hit with a snow ball and falls over unconscious in the snow while the thrower is chased off by the authorities.
If the players successfully intervene the noble withdraws and the players are thanked cordially by the vendor.

Fire!

A fire breaks out in a greasy food stall, quickly engulfing the whole of the stall in a horrible blaze. Throwing snow upon the greasy fire causes it to spit and burst wildly. Throwing mud upon the fire wil slowly douse it away.
If the players do not intervene, the stall burns to the ground.
If the players successfully intervene, they are lauded loudly and the establishment owner offers them lodging at a local inn and meals anytime they wish.

Chef who?

A self proclaimed gourmand by the name of Gurney has lost their pass and is trying to enter the gala. He claims he's from Phandalin, come a long way to provide his services, and is visibly frustrated.
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince the gate guards to let them in, or a successful Intelligence (Investigation) or Wisdom (Perception) check (DC 15) can find their pass wedged in the floor boards of the drivers seating on their wagon.
If the players do not intervene, the chef is told he can purchase a vendors pass with the organizers to which he shrieks that he already has before turning around and leaving.
If the players successfully intervene, the chef thanks them cordially and tells them to visit him once he is set up. If they do, he gifts them with a Bowl of Endless Soup.

Bowl of Endless Soup

Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement)
This simple clay bowl appears to be unremarkable white clay, but upon closer inspection, it is adorned with a border of engraved sigils translating to 'soup' in various languages.
When an attuned user speaks the word 'soup' in their language, the bowl will produce a never-ending supply of steaming hot soup.
The soup constantly replenishes itself and never seems to grow cold or spoiled.
While attuned to the bowl, you gain the following benefits:
You are immune to the effects of extreme cold and starvation.
As an action, you can command the bowl to fill with soup of any flavor you desire. It does not produce stew.
Soup produced this way will satisfy any hunger and restore 1d6 + 4 hit points to any creature who consumes it while the soup is fresh from the bowl. Soup transferred to another vessel loses its effect after fifteen minutes and tastes as bland as water.
The effects of the soup last until the creature takes a short or long rest.
The bowl will remain filled with soup until commanded to empty, at which point it will become empty until commanded to fill again.

Thief!

A pickpocket is operating in the crowds at the gala.
A successful Perception check (DC 15) could notice them in the act, or a successful Charisma (Deception) check (DC 15) could pretend to be a wealthy patron and attract them. A successful Charisma (Persuasion or Intimidation) check (DC 13) can get them to leave under threat of the authorities.
If the players do not intervene, they may find themselves victims of the pickpocket. The pickpocket is sighted some time later and arrested soon after by the Purple Dragons.

Bad blood

If Ogrimm and his crew are still alive and were not routed, they will seek out revenge against the players for costing them the job with Lucian.
The crew will organize an ambush at the gala using whomever is still alive.
Ogrimm will look for an opportunity to take care of business off the beaten path and if no good opportunity presents itself he will patiently await his chance.

Investigating Lucian

If the players grow suspicious of Lucian and look into his behavior they will notice a few strange details.

Obelisks & Orihalcum

If the players look for Lucian in the gala, they can find him doing a tour of the promenade. If they follow him they will find him approaching each of the obelisks mentioned above. At each one, he places a small piece of Orihalcum upon the sigil.
If he is approached about this, he states that he is supporting the cause and doing his part for the celebrations.
If the players vandalize an obelisk the Purple Dragons will be summoned and the vandals arrested or driven off.

Loosely dressed

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher, they will notice that Lucian is dressed in a simple open collar shirt, silk breeches and high boots; far under dressed for the cold weather.

Cold atmosphere

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher and stands within 5 feet of Lucian, they will notice the air is noticeably colder near him.

Frosty breath

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher they will notice that when Lucian speaks indoors, his voice steams or that when he speaks outdoors, it does not.
\pagebreak

Crescendo

The central point of the gala is the unveiling of the honors that the noble houses will appreciate for their gifts to the those in need.

Laments of the Frost

The time comes eventually for Lucian to perform his music for the eager nobility.
As Lucian's music fills the air, the temperature begins to drop rapidly.
A burst of icy wind erupts from one of the frost obelisks scattered throughout the gala. A fog quickly rolls through and a howl is heard as a pack of snow wolves materialize out of thin air as beyond them can be heard the tromp of footsteps, the screams of people and the sound of a war horn
The obelisks pulse with cold energy and a blue shaft of sparkling light pulses into the sky from each of the obelisks.
The players must work quickly to destroy the obelisks if they hope to stop the spawning of the sylphs minions and weaken the spirit and ultimately defeat it.

Winter Frost & Company

When the sylvan spirit bursts from his vessel he arrives with a searing cold vengeance and a near army of cohorts. As the gala erupts into a catastrophic war of winter kind hunting the population, the Purple Dragons can be relied upon to leap into action as do the many private companies protecting their noble patrons.

Winters Frost

Medium humanoid (elemental), neutral evil

• Armor Class 16 (natural armor)
• Hit Points 71 (13d8 + 13)
• Speed 30 ft. ___ STRDEXCONINTWISCHA :---::---::---::---::---::---: 14 (+2)18 (+4)12 (+1)14 (+2)16 (+3)18 (+4) ___
• Saving Throws Dex +7, Wis +6, Cha +7
• Skills Deception +7, Perception +6
• Damage Immunities Cold, Fire
• Condition Immunities Charmed, Exhaustion, Frightened, Paralyzed, Petrified, Poisoned
• Senses Darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 16
• Languages Common, Giant, Infernal
• Challenge 5 (1,800 XP) ___ Frost Aura. Winters Frost is surrounded by an aura of cold that extends 5 feet around him. Any creature that touches him or hits him with a melee attack while within 5 feet of him takes 5 (1d10) cold damage.

Magic Resistance. Winters Frost has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.
Magic Weapons. Winters Frost's attacks are magical.
Innate Spellcasting. Winters Frost's innate spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 15). He can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components: At will: frostbite (1d8 + 4 cold damage) 3/day each: ice storm, wall of ice
Snowstorm (1/day). Winters Frost can use an action to create a storm of snow and ice that fills a 30-foot radius centered on him.
The storm lasts for 1 minute or until Winters Frost dismisses it as a bonus action. While the storm persists, Winters Frost has advantage on Dexterity (Stealth) checks made to hide, and creatures other than Winters Frost have disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks made to detect him. In addition, any creature that enters the storm or starts its turn there takes 5 (1d10) cold damage.

Actions

Multiattack. Winters Frost makes two melee attacks.
Frostbite. Ranged attack. +7 to hit, range 60 ft., one creature. Hit: 8

Snow Wolf

Medium beast, neutral

• Armor Class 12
• Hit Points 7
• Speed 50 ___ STRDEXCONINTWISCHA :---::---::---::---::---::---: 12 (+1)14 (+2)8 (-1)3 (-4)12 (+1)6 (-2) ___
• Saving Throws Perception +3, Stealth +4
• Languages understands Common, Sylvan but can't speak
• Challenge 1/8 (25 XP) ___ Keen Hearing and Smell. The snow wolf has advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on hearing or smell.

Actions

Multiattack. The Creature Name makes Number and type of attacks
Ability Description. Attack Style: Attack Bonus to hit, Reach/Range, one target. Hit: Damage Damage Type damage
General Ability Description. General Attack Description

Jesse is a good boy. When he was a pup, my wife and I were flabbergasted at his mild disposition. Uncle Dan, who gifted the dog from his litter of German Shepherds, proudly proclaimed the puppy was ‘a sturdy sort’.
To me, however, Jesse always looked frightened beneath the surface. His steely resolve didn’t fool me. If he hadn’t been a newborn puppy, I would’ve worried that he had suffered abuse from previous owners.
As it would transpire, Jesse was enduring a very different kind of trauma.
“What’s the racket, boy?”
That was the question I asked yesterday morning at three o’clock. Susie had nudged me awake to see why Jesse was crying downstairs. My shivering German Shepherd was standing in front of the door to the basement, but that wasn’t even the darnedest thing.
Jesse was pointing his paw at the door.
“You don’t want to go down there, boy,” I said. “Are you after a midnight snack? Come on. You’re smart. You know where I keep the-”
A shrill ringing noise erupted from the basement. It sounded like a man’s dissonant whistling at first — a sinister song — but it eventually settled on one excruciating, continuous note. Jesse whimpered, and the noise gradually quietened. Then I realised it had simply ascended to a pitch that I couldn’t hear. But the dog clearly heard something — his paw fell to the floor, and he fidgeted from side to side, whining painfully.
“Okay… Not sure what’s making that sound,” I gulped. “Give me a second to fetch the flashlight, Jesse.”
The basement light doesn’t work, and I wasn’t going to stumble around in the dark. As I was rummaging through kitchen drawers for the torch, I heard the basement door open of its own accord — there was no way the dog had opened it, of course.
“Jesse?” I called.
Finally holding the flashlight in my hand, I darted into the hallway and stared down the blackened staircase into the basement. I could hear Jesse’s paws softly plodding against the ground, but his sobbing had ceased.
Mustering every ounce of courage, I shone the torch light down the stairs, illuminating the sinisterly still basement. Every wooden step moaned beneath my weight, threatening to give way, but the rotting stairs held. I finally found myself in the cluttered, chaotic basement area.
“Jesse?” I called.
A weak woof sounded from the far corner of the room, so I weaved between boxes and shelves to uncover what had enthralled Jesse. As I would soon learn, fear had motivated him — not eager curiosity.
Rounding the mound of basement clutter, I cast my light onto the far side of the room, and there was my dog. He was standing perfectly still, soundlessly staring at something in the corner. Something that my eyes did not, or could not, immediately process.
A dark, towering shape — so large that it had to hunch forwards to fit into the room. Its spindly limbs stretched across the walls and ceiling. At first, I thought it to be an emaciated and obscenely-tall man, but then it started to look more like a horrifyingly humongous insect. Finally, I decided it wasn’t any earthly thing. All I knew for sure was that it terrified me.
Its lips moved, speaking to Jesse in a frequency only he could hear, but the monstrous thing stopped talking when it noticed my flash light. White, marble, pupil-less eyes, sitting in the midst of a darkened face, surveyed me. Then its lips opened again, and though I could not hear a sound, my eardrums swelled until I thought they might burst.
I screamed in agony, dropping the flashlight to clutch my ears. The basement window smashed, and my torch rolled across the floor, briefly illuminating the insect-like entity as it inexplicably seeped into the brickwork of my house. It slithered between cracks in a way that no living animal could.
Jesse howled in terror, and I ran over to him, scooping up my torch on the way.
“Come on,” I cried. “Upstairs, boy. Now.”
When we reached the lobby, I slammed the basement door shut and locked it. Susie was racing down the stairs, and she sprinted over to us with a concerned look on her face.
“What was all of that noise?” She asked.
“It’s fine,” I lied, shaking uncontrollably. “I… Jesse gave me a scare. That’s all.”
I didn’t sleep that night. I begged Susie to allow Jesse to sleep in our room. I told her that he’d seen a wild animal in the basement and seemed shaken up about it. A half-truth always seems more morally justifiable than an outright lie.
Today, I was barely responsive at work. I kept replaying that horrible night in my head. What had I seen? What did it want from my dog? So many unknowns. I truly wish I were telling the truth to Susie. I wish it had just been a rodent. But the way its spidery form had slinked into the wall defied all physical explanation.
And yesterday night was only the beginning.
During the foggy hours of this evening, I walked home through the local park. Within the white mist that shrouded the path and pedestrians, I caught glimpses of spindly shapes, flitting from tree to tree. Just your imagination, I told myself, trembling in fear.
Then I started to notice unnerving behaviour from passers-by. To be more precise, their dogs unnerved me. A cocker-spaniel whined, giving me a wide berth as it passed. Then a whippet whimpered, hurriedly dragging its owner past me. Three or four other dogs reacted in the same way, casting fearful looks in my direction as they passed.
And all the while, I kept briefly catching glimpses of insect limbs in the fog — scurrying out of sight before I could fully set my eyes upon them. My breathing became laboured as true terror gripped me, and I started to quicken my pace. People cast perplexed looks in my direction — the frenetic man who was frightening their dogs.
When I finally reached my street, I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or terrified. A house is a place that should make a person feel safe, but when I pictured my home, I could only see the basement — that horrendous thing in the basement. And it seemed there was no escaping it in the outside world either.
I reassured myself that all I had to do was ignore it. Keep the basement door locked, keep Jesse away from it, and all should be well. I repeated that over and over in my mind, too distracted to absorb my surroundings. And, with my guard down, that’s when it struck.
I felt something tugging at the bottom of my jeans. When I looked down, the colour drained from my skin — a black limb was coiling around my ankle, planting me to the ground. I screamed, looking around, but the foggy street was deserted.
And when my eyes followed the elongated limb, I saw that it led to a pothole in the middle of the road. The pothole that we’ve long encouraged the council to fix — the pothole that had transformed into a ceaseless void of blackness. I fell to the tarmac, desperately shrieking for help and clawing at the black limb that dragged me across the road.
I tried to imagine what lay at the bottom of that pit — did it even have a bottom? Whatever unholy hovel the demonic creature had created, I knew it would be a place beyond conceivable horror. I closed my eyes, preparing for the unfathomable terror of whatever fate I would meet in that hole.
A growl made my eyes shoot open, and I saw Jesse in the road. Thank the Lord for the dog flap that Susie insisted on installing in our back door.
Our fearsome Shepherd plunged its killer teeth into the entity’s black limb, and the demon unleashed a shrill scream of agony — one that I could hear, for a brief moment, before it reached a frequency beyond human hearing.
Jesse whimpered, deafened by the inaudible noise, but his ferocious attack saved my life. The black limb uncoiled itself from my ankle, retreating into its lair — the tarmac closed over the horrifying void, turning it back into an ordinary pothole.
I embraced Jesse and cried, rushing out of the fog to the safety of our home.
But is it safe? Jesse gave that thing a scare. I’m just worried that it’ll be back.
What was the insect man saying to my dog in the basement? That unanswered question scares me. It was talking to Jesse. I’m sure of it. Has it always spoken to him? I don’t know what it wants from him — from us.
X

I could whip your arse at backgammon - but would you want me to?
(a) an 'arse' is a bottom & an 'ass' is a donkey; this information should tell you I'm British. So with apologies for everything that Simon Cowell has inflicted upon your young country - I may not be your cup of tea if you're looking for a domestic model.
(b) I'm Emilio Estevez-sized. If you're looking for an oak tree I'm not going to be your guy - and you can move on to the next posting now...
(c) I'm long out of my thirties - so if you're fixated by numbers you can also eliminate me. This hasn't stopped the odd teenager from hitting on me in the not too distant past, but it would take someone pretty extraordinary (age is just a number, but life experiences are not) to have me turn my life into a Woody Allen movie.
.. if you're still reading I've no shopping list about who you may or may not be - other than you'll find me pleasant enough to wish to spend a little time together, you're relatively sane, and you'll probably enjoy kissing (I've not been kissed really well in a while - should this become a possibility) then shoot me a line and maybe we'll speculate about getting together over a backgammon board whilst we get to know each other's foibles a little bit better?
* and for non-backgammon players, if you twist my arm a little it's possible I might introduce you to the basics of this game (which is older than chess) whilst I'm open to talking & simply shooting the breeze with you if you can catch me at a good moment..
;o)

It’s been a while since I’ve felt anything. My life has become a constant drudgery, even special events have become dull. My son’s fourteenth birthday was a few weeks ago, but it could’ve happened yesterday, or the month before, it’s all been melding into one. I still remember though; I remember being in that moment, and I can tell you the exact details of what occurred, who was there, but I can’t for the life of me remember how it meant to me. I was simply a presence, a bystander. I think my son was happy, I hope he was.
The tasks in my life that were once a burden have become noise to me. In a way I suppose that’s a good thing. I can work my ass off all day, get treated like a dog, and I would be none the wiser. I’m not exactly sure when this happened, I used to hate my job. I guess somewhere along the way I got lobotomized in my sleep. That would explain it. At least I can provide for my son this way.
He reminds me of myself in more ways that I’d like to admit. He’s a pleasure seeker, and the friends that he’s made push these hedonistic tendencies. On his birthday he came back home absolutely plastered, and I should’ve been furious, but it didn’t affect me at. Hell I even offered him another drink. At his age I sought the same type of stimulus, the same type that I yearn for today, so in a way I am living vicariously through him. He’s a good kid though, he’s on this path but he’s not anchored to it. He refused the drink and went to bed. As a father what I did was not good, but as bystander I wish he took it. I wish he prolonged his euphoria. I wish I could see him live.
They’ve been advertising this new medication all over TV. It’s a pill that gives you constant nightmares when you sleep. It’s been all over the news actually. Some people are up in arms about, and for some folks it’s a godsend, folks like me. In my mind this seems like the stimulus I have been craving for so long, but I can’t stop thinking about my son. What happened on his birthday was a moment of weakness. I couldn’t let him know I stooped so low to get a high. Seeking the pleasures in life is one thing, but seeking fear is another. The road my son is on mirrors my own, and I don’t want him to become nullified in the same way. But at this point, he’s becoming a young man before my eyes, and I am indifferent. I need to feel something, I need to be present, not a presence.
After meeting with my doctor, I received the prescription, 30 pills for 30 days. She sternly informed me of the side effects, about how easy it is to overdose, but like all other stimuli in life, it became white noise. But at last, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I could finally feel again, and I couldn’t wait to fall asleep. I waited until the lights in my son’s room went off, and after I saw that he had fallen asleep, I could begin. I sat upright on my bed and pulled out the prescription bottle from my drawer. I took another look, scanned it up and down, maybe even considering a reason not to take it. On the label was a warning sign
“Do not take two doses within a 12-hour period”.
“Good to know” I thought to myself, and I popped open the bottle, took a gulp from my glass of water, and closed my eyes.
Thirty minutes passes, and then an hour, and no effect. Worthless scam. My eyes blasted open, but when I tried to get up, my limbs were numb. I tried closing my eyes again…nothing. I tried breathing and I realized I was suffocating; I couldn’t move any part of my body whatsoever. The sweat from my forehead rolled into my open eye. I couldn’t move, but I could experience pain. As the asphyxiation engulfed me, my bedroom became blurry.
“This is it" I thought, I am about to die.
With each passing second my vision faded until finally, as I imagined would be the last moment of my life, the pain stopped. I could breathe again, and sure enough I rose from my prone position and stood up. I look around, everything is in its normal place. I take a deep breath in relief. Now that the worst was over, I got up to examine the pill bottle. The warning was no longer in English, but instead covered in strange markings.
Suddenly I was dragged down by an unbelievable force through my bedroom floor into a black abyss. There was an extremely loud sound that sounded like deep breathing and I felt as if something was watching my descent. At an instant I fell on a sandy bottom. I looked around, but it was so dark that I could only see at an arms reach. I trudged through the sand, stepping on what felt like organic material occasionally. At last, I reached a metal industrial door, like one you’d see in large freezer. On it was some type of text or message, I squinted my eyes attempting to read it. It was in that same language on the pill bottle. My eyes wander down and I notice a door handle. My heart is beating faster than when I was dying. I smile and reach for it.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
My eyes tear open as if they were glued. I’m back in my room, I can breathe. I realized that I forgot to turn off my Saturday alarm. I exhale in a sense of relief when I noticed something wet underneath me. Damn I pissed my bed… Understandably, I jumped up and exclaimed upon realization. I hear footsteps coming sprinting towards my room. My son opens the door and sees me in my current state.
“Dad are you ok?”, my son said.
“Oh, yeah…I’m fine, just had a bad dream”
My son notices my soaked trousers and bed sheets.
“Are you…feeling alright?” he says.
My cheeks become bright red.
“Oh um…I just…”
My darting eyes reach the half empty water glass.
“Yeah I just spilled a bit when I was taking my medicine”
My heart froze. I didn’t hide the bottle last night. My son’s eyes meandered to the pill bottle on my dresser, and then back to mine. After what seemed like an eternity, my son perked a smile.
“I think you’re just getting old Dad”.
With that he laughed and rolled his eyes while closing the door. Silence at last. I began to laugh quietly to myself. I couldn’t believe it, but I finally felt something again. I could feel the warm embrace of the sunshine seeping through the blinds of my window.
I walk into the kitchen to find my son cooking breakfast. The sweet scent of the bacon permeates my olfactory senses. I take a moment to listen. I hear the low hum of the air conditioner, the upbeat banter of daytime television, and even ever so faintly, the songs of birds outside. I find myself grinning ear to ear. My son places a plate consisting of tater tots, eggs, and bacon in front of me.
“Someone’s chipper today”, he says.
I smile at him.
“Yeah…yeah I’m feeling good”.
My son leans against a wall and tosses a tater tot into his mouth.
“Maybe it wasn’t such a bad dream after all”, he says.
I snag a tater tot off my plate and do the same.
“Honestly I don’t remember what it was about”.
I felt at peace…or at least it appeared so. I took a bite of my breakfast, but with each chew the flavor began dissipating. I squint, the sunshine has become dull and bright. My hand begins to tremble as I feel an object in pajama pocket. I feel a compulsion to reach down. I slowly retrieve the object from my pocket. My eyes widen and my heart begins to race…it’s the prescription bottle, and the English text is replaced once again with a foreign language. I gawk at it sitting in the palm of my hand, and my lips start to form a smile.
“Dad!”
I snap out of it and stuff the bottle back into my pocket. My son is standing behind the kitchen counter.
“Do you want any more bacon before I put it away?”.
“Uh…no thank you, I’m alright for now”
My son stares at me with a charged look.
“All right…” he says.
I quickly regain my composure.
“Son, do you have any plans tonight?”
“Yeah I think Devin’s having some people over tonight…unless you wanted to do something?”
I feign a smile.
“No, no, have fun with your friends!”
“All…right, cool…” my son says.
I jump.
“But maybe we can do something tomorrow?”
My son ponders for a moment.
“I was actually gonna go to Luka’s basketball game tomorrow. A bunch of my friends wanna support him, ya know?…”
He sees a hint of sadness in my eyes.
“But after we could figure something out!” he exclaims.
I smile.
“Yes…that sounds great!”
My son nods and walks out the kitchen door. My hand is still trembling. I look down to see that I had been gripping the bottle the whole time. I check the door; I think he’s gone. I pull the bottle out and examine it, the text has returned to normal. I exhale, I felt safe again.
I hear the door slam closed followed my son’s car screeching out the driveway. He asked if he could spend the night at Devin’s and I complied. It’s seven o’clock in the evening…perfect. I purchased a plastic mattress cover to avoid last night’s mishap, so I put it on the bed, strip naked and sit the mattress. There is a part of me that feels a slight embarrassment at my current situation, but honestly, I’ve been caught doing worse. I also purchased a water-resistant blanket, so I’m not a complete degenerate.
I pull the bottle out from the drawer. The label’s in English…great. I purposefully put the bottle into the drawer and hide it under some of the junk in there, and for good measure, I set my alarm for five in the morning, just in case my son came home early. I pop a pill into my mouth and swallow.
Immediately I am pulled down into the abyss. Darkness has now overcome my entire vision. I am moving extremely fast, much faster than last time. I swear I even feel my ears popping from the change in pressure. BAM!
I slam into the sandy bottom once more. I take a few moments to catch my breath when I notice a light in the distance. It shines an iridescent purple color, unlike I had ever seen. Immediately my feet began trudging towards it, almost automatically. I carefully amble over what seems like a sea of organic matter. I have no inclination of what exactly I’m walking on, but it is consumed most of the sand from before. As I approach the light, I see what I had been drawn to…the door from last night.
Although the door appeared the same as the night prior, it felt…different. I would even say it felt familiar…safe…welcoming. Before I could even think, my hand rose and grasped its handle. It’s difficult to explain, but it reminded me so much of her. I was grinning ear to ear once more. I began to twist the handle, and as I did so the iridescent light that guided me here shined brighter and brighter, once again bathing me in a warm embrace. I peer forward, filled with the most excitement in years, as I’m about to pull the door open.
“Mom! Dad!”
I stop. I look around for the source of the outcry.
“Mom! Dad! Help me! Please!
It’s my son.
Without a second thought I let go of the handle and begin sprinting towards him.
SLAM!
I face plant into the ground. Something has snagged my ankle. The iridescent light has become bright enough to illuminate the ground and…oh my goodness. Around me are what seems like thousands and decrepit bodies, all trying to claw their way out of the sand. I look down at my ankle and see a man gripping me. He has a look of desperation in his eye. I promptly kick him in the face and run off.
“Mom! Dad!”
I’m getting closer.
“Mom! Dad!”
I’m almost there.
“MOM! DAD!”
I can see him! But he’s being engulfed by the bodies and sand below. I sprint as fast as I can when…
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I scream and flail on my bed. I take a few moments to catch my breath. I glance at the source of the noise…my alarm clock. It reads 5:00 AM. It’s morning. The sun has not fully risen yet, but the warm embrace still reaches me. I glance over at the water glass and pill bottle on top of my dresser. I exhale in relief, it’s over… I throw some clothes and head to the restroom. Fortunately, I didn’t have an accident last night, so there’s no evidence there. And thankfully I made sure to hide the pill bottle last night as well.
Wait.
I sprint back into my room to find the pill bottle on top of my dresser. I try to calm myself down. I must’ve forgotten again. It’s 5 am, there’s no way he’s home. He wouldn’t do that, he’s better than me. I take a deep breath and un-tense my body. Yeah, everything’s ok…
I jump at the pill bottle and count its contents.
“1…2…3….”
With every number my heart races.
“24…25…26………27”
My heart sinks. I burst out of my bedroom and sprint to my son’s room. I slam open the door, and my fears realized. He is lying unconscious on his bed. I check his pulse, he’s alive, but his heart rate is slow, and he’s ice cold to the touch. I panic, looking for anything to help. His slow breaths act as a ticking clock as I search for a solution. I grab a phone and begin to dial 911 when I notice something. Silence.
I rush over to my son’s side. He’s stopped breathing…but his heart is still beating, then I notice something more. All along my son’s chest and arms appear to markings materializing beneath his skin, the same markings on the pill bottle. With no other options, there’s only one action I could take to save my son. I sprint back into my room, grab a pill and swallow it.
What feels like an eternity passes, but I cannot fall asleep. I try taking other sleeping pills, I try asphyxiation, I even try knocking myself out with blunt force. But to no avail, I’m trapped here in the conscious world while my son is fading away. My emotions overcome me.
“Why isn’t it working!”
“I thought you wanted to experience true fear?” a deep voice bellowed out.
I did, whatever was talking to me was right. I wanted to feel something, fear, sadness…anything. But now I’m overcome with only one emotion…rage.
“Release my son!”
Silence.
“Release my son right now, I command you!”
Silence.
I look around the room and spot the pill bottle.
“What if I made you a deal?”
“…Go on” the voice boomed.
“If I swallow every pill in this bottle, would you let go of my son?”.
“But he’s so fresh and ripe…what do you have to offer?”.
“I don’t…I don’t know…nothing!”
Without thinking I grab the pill bottle and swallow the lot. I collapse onto the floor and begin sobbing. I’ve done it, my son has done nothing wrong and has paid the price for my wrongdoings. But wait, I refuse to live on without him. Even if his fate is sealed, I will live on every day from now living to the fullest, in his memory. If he can’t be here to experience what life has to offer, I’ll experience it twice fold!
“Deal” the voice bellowed out.
At once I began my descent into the void, seemingly at the speed of light, but even then, I saw something ascending out of the darkness. Although my fate had been sealed, my son’s is safe. So here I find myself in a sea of now millions of the damned, smiling ear to ear.

“God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"
Abe say, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"
God say, "No, " Abe say, "What?"
God say, "You can do what you want Abe, but
Next time you see me comin', you better run"
Abe said, "Where do you want this killin' done?"
God said, "Out on Highway 61"
The radio, a martyr’s relic from a bygone era, sounded half as faded as I was.
I reeked of vodka and middy weed. I didn’t care. This lonely stretch of highway belonged to no one as far as I was concerned, and you gambled taking the curves in the dark.
It was your fault if you choose to gamble with me. Least, that’s the way I saw it.
Texas felt so far away.
“Well, Cowboy Dan's a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes to the reservation, drinks and gets mean
And he's gonna start a war
He's gonna start a warrrrrr
And he hops in his pickup
Puts his pedal to the floor
And says, "I got mine
But I want more"
Because Cowboy Dan's a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes to the reservation, drinks and gets mean
He goes to the desert, fires his rifle in the sky
And says, "God, if I have to die, you will have to die"
I hacked up what felt like part of a lung. My hand was stained, the oxidized rust of old blood mixed with a fresh coat of red, a fresco that highlighted a life poorly lived.
Wait.
What happened to Bob Dylan?
Or was it Johnny Cash?
Wasn’t I just listening…
Gaps in time. I prayed I hadn’t taken the ketamine.
That was for later.
If you want proof time is just a strongly worded opinion, just slip into a k-hole.
That was for later.
My eyelids felt heavy.
There were no stars.
Endless pines, only shadowy outlines in the dark, still cover for the night’s starving predators, were all I could make out.
I just guessed at where the road kinked and turned and straightened.
I was playing a game with God, and I wanted to lose.
I wanted us all to lose.
“Dance, Dance to the radio
While the, Devil takes control,
Dance, Dance to the radio,
While the, Devil takes control…”
The warm hug of oblivion, a feeling like endless cookies and Saturday morning cartoons, began slipping its infinite arms around me.
Come and See, and I saw.
It was still the witching hour when I woke with a startled gasp. I could feel the claws of need, withdrawal, dragging up my arms, burrowing into my skin, making the back of my eyeballs vibrate.
Every day the need grew stronger, and every day, I killed off a little bit more of me.
One is too many, and a thousand is never enough.
I was in a ditch.
This wasn’t new or news. I tended to wake up in a lot of ditches. Beats Motel 6. Fewer roaches and you could smoke in every room.
My truck wouldn’t start.
Not even the wheezing gasps of a machine trying to cling to artificial life. Just a click and utter silence.
The battery couldn’t be dead. I checked my watch.
5:55 A.M.
I figured I’d tried to hit the eternal snooze button around 3 A.M. It had only been a few hours. Battery should be fine.
A cursory inspection showed no external damage. No blown tires, no misbegotten wires or missing spark plugs. Hell, it seemed like I’d just slowly cruised into this dark little corner of the universe.
It was as though the truck just gave up the ghost and said, "I’m done." The thirsty horse dropping to the ground in an endless desert, done with the death march.
I bear crawled up the small ravine and onto the highway.
A generous term for a lonely road in whatever the Hell backwater burg America had shit out here.
All I could see were outlines in the dark.
Fitting, I thought.
And then an explosion stole my vision.
Let there be light.
And there was.
And it was good.
Especially good.
Because it was a bar.
A ramshackle of a spot, dive joint meets biker meth hangout, from the looks of it, and it was just powering up.
Shit, if you couldn’t drink on Sunday morning, were we really free? Were we really God’s children at all?
I started ambling toward the light, my eyes adjusting to the deep gloom.
“The Man from Capernaum.”
Hell of a name for a spot in the middle of BFE.
Hell of a name.
Hell.
Hell, I needed a drink.
My watch read 6 a.m. but it was 5 o’clock somewhere, and this place had electricity buzzing it had to pay for and didn’t much strike me as the sort of establishment that probably saw the law as anything more than a nuisance.
I sauntered up to the door, my black boots clicking loudly against the rotten wooden porch.
Into the lion’s den we go.
Unsurprisingly, it was empty as a church on Friday night. Why kill the Son if you can’t have the sin, after all?
But it was unlocked and music was softly crooning from somewhere.
“As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that Good Ol’ Way
And who shall wear the robe and crown
Good Lord, show me the way”
Fantastic. No bartender and proselyting in a shit joint. That’s just what my migraine and itchy skin called for.
I considered hopping the bar and grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but this struck me as a place where your head might become acquainted with a shotgun right quick and nobody would kick up much fuss.
I was going out, a lamb among wolves, but on my terms. I’d had enough violence. I wanted to feel the void swallow me whole, not feel a hole swallow my head.
Plopping down on an empty stool, I risked lighting up a smoke. Certainly they wouldn’t get bent out of shape over a cowboy killer or two.
And shit, who was there to kick up dirt anyway? A ghost town without the spirits, save the ones just behind the bar and out of reach.
The tantalizing fruit in the garden.
God, I need a cold one, now.
“Till armageddon no shalam, no shalom
Then the Father Hen will call His chickens home
The wise man will bow down before the throne
And at His feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When The Man comes around”
The hairs on my arm stood up.
That wasn’t the gentle croon of some A.M. gospel channel. That was someone singin’ in the bar.
In the furthest stool at the left end of the bar, a wild looking man sat, intermittently taking greedy gulps of amber beer and singing loudly, his other arm flailing frenetically as though conducting an unseen orchestra.
Ah, good, a ninja crackhead. That’s just what I need.
He looked over at me and I leapt from my chair and damn near outta my boots.
Ancient as the hills, this man looked like he’d just come down the mountain from communing with the darkness itself.
God damn.
A wild, grey, patchy beard splayed out in every direction, as though the hair itself was trying to escape the vessel that grew it.
The crown of his head was bald but the rest was shaggy white hair, matted in some places, errantly sticking up in others, as though it couldn’t choose between electrocution and submission.
He wore what looked like a white robe, but it was stained with all manner of mess. Copper, brown, yellow, black. Blood, shit, piss, and Heaven only knows what. A fetid robe of many colors.
Tattered, rudimentary sandals held in dirty feet with long, yellowed toenails.
The man reeked worse than sulfur. Worse than death. It was like the pungent stank of the human stain clung to him with reckless abandon.
He was chubby and withered and maddened.
But none of that held a penny to his eyes.
Orbs of the purest white, ringed with seared, blackened flesh around the edges.
Nothing but endless, empty white that somehow felt like it saw nothing but what we all couldn’t see. Nothing of this world but everything we hide in it. Our lies, the horrors behind the masks, what we do in the dark, this tattered, horrible amalgam we have the audacity to still call “a soul.”
Fuck this.
I went to run but found I had no will to do so.
My boots had become one with the earth, like the leather was finally gonna join the cattle that had to die for me to feel like a man.
A crash of thunder stole my hearing, a tiny whirlwind began lifting and smashing bottles from behind the bar.
The seals of the bottles came open, spraying spirits everywhere.
The bar was alight with white fire and a light blasted through the bar that would embarrass the Sun.
Then all was silent and still.
“Nice hooves,” the man said in a velvety baritone.
I looked down at my black boots and back up at him.
There is probably a drug cocktail somewhere in existence where, if mixed properly and taken with utter scientific precision, probably unlocks the gates to Heaven in the human consciousness.
I think I might have found the one’s that unlocked Hell’s.
The man wore a wide, warm grin. Authentic and inviting, the jovial visage of every TV grandfather. Creature comfort. He no longer looked like a raving maniac.
Far from it.
The man was now young, maybe late 20’s.
Golden, feathered locks elegantly curved just behind his ears.
A black cardigan, dark jeans, and new Grecian sandals graced a well-kept temple, a body of with seemingly perfect porcelain skin.
Sapphire blue eyes, pools of painful beauty, the kind that feels like a knife twisting your gut, looked at me with compassion.
I could smell lilac and some spice that seemed reminiscent of a world long gone by but made me what want to curl up with a blanket and read a good book by the fire wafted my way.
A single, marred tattoo of a small cross ran down the index finger of his left hand.
The man sat down and said, “why don’t you and them hooves join me, Pappy?”
I go by a lot of names to keep myself safe in this shithole world, but I hadn’t gone by my real name since I beat a kid black and blue in elementary school for mocking me for it and my daddy had told me he was proud of me. Put a cigarette out on the back of my neck later that same night after a few too many for causing trouble.
The duality of man or whatever the Hell the academics prattle on about, I guess.
“They’re boots,” I snarled, playing at bravery, bluffing like I did every day of this wasted life, hopin’ it might but him back on his heels.
I didn’t know if I was messing with some damned creature not of this world or was just higher than a kite and seeing nonsense. While the latter seemed far more likely, I wanted to prepare for the former.
“Sure,” he said kindly, “sure.”
I sat down on the tattered stool.
“Where’s the bartender? And how the Hell do you know my name?”
“Calm down, son. You look like you could use a drink of the old blood. Sure beats those poisons you keep sticking in that body we gave ya.”
A wine glass appeared before each of us, filled to the brim. The man, or whatever it was, sipped away, humming some forgotten hymnal.
“I ain’t much of a vino fan. Got any Irish whisky?”
He lifted his glass as though to toast me and said “Sure. And you certainly will need that later. For now, the grapes of wrath, as it were.” A soft chuckle left his lips.
I sipped the wine. No sense bucking the bull when you don’t know how big or angry it really is.
It tasted like nothing I had ever had before. An indescribable, wicked deliciousness.
It warmed me up and filled me with light and hope and covered up all the dark holes that had punched through me by others.
Even plugged the ones I’d punched myself.
“We?”
The man took a small sip. “Sorry?”
“You said ‘the body *we* gave ya. *We*.”
It was only then I noticed he was crying.
There were no sobs, no audible gasps, no tremors or shakes, just slow, steady tears of blood dripping from those perfect blue orbs.
“Name’s Arah. I’m an Angel.”
Arah downed the goblet of wine, flecks of his bloody tears caking the glass’s rim.
“Behold, I send an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared.”
This obvious machination of my drug addled brain chuckled louder this time, a slight slur and anger tinging his words.
“I’m even less for all that religious babble than I am for wine. Though this shit’s pretty damn good, I gotta admit.”
“LIAR!” Arah screamed, shaking the whole bar. His eyes were wide and obsidian and his chest heaved heavily.
“Liar.” This, a quiet whisper.
“You spent your whole life in church.
You soaked up every hopeful word, every promise of redemption and fixing, and the truth of that still rattles around inside you.
You can stick all the needles you want into that arm so you can lie to yourself and take away the pain you were meant to bear, but you can’t lie to me. We see everything, for we are many.”
Arah refreshed his glass with a small flourish of his hand before downing it again, his disposition getting slightly wobblier.
“DRINK!” he screamed, and when the world stopped shaking and those eyes turned blue again, I sure as shit started pounding the fermented fruit.
Ain't the time to be picky.
“You aren’t having a bad trip. I'm having a bad trip.”
The endless tears of blood fell quicker, like a swift red river coursing from a deep blue waterfall.
Small pools of it began forming of the bar. A slight acrid smell was on the air, barely noticeable behind all the wonderful aromas.
I felt warm and real and firm. I felt human again. My glass had been refilled and I downed another.
Okay, so I was getting wasted with an angel. Admittedly a first, even for my winding and warped road, but getting blitzed on Jesus Juice sure beat pissing off some emotionally unhinged cherub motherfucker.
“I can’t find Him. I can never find Him.”
Slight groans left Arah’s lips and he gulped down another glass.
With a minor twitch, the glass flew and smashed against the wall.
A nanosecond, if even, after the sound of shattering, it reappeared anew, full of the deep blood wine, before him, and he slurped it down his gullet.
I was trying to keep pace with him.
Shit I could drink a fifth of whisky and make it home alive but something in this good good had me slippin’. A part of me knew I should be petrified to ask, but the rest of me was too faded to care.
“Find who? What brings you here, cryin’ tears in yer beers?”
Now I was the one slurring.
“Take them.”
I looked down at the bar.
A belt. A syringe full of something brown and beautiful.
All the gear.
And six shots of what I prayed was Jameson.
“But where sin increased, grace abounded all the more.”
Arah was slurring hard now, slowly spinning in his chair, laughing and crying.
“Have a taste. At least there’ still manna.”
I shot the whole thing and downed that beautiful Irish whisky. Warmth and light filled me up and stole me away from this putrid rock.
Somehow, as wrecked as I was, I felt I could see Arah all the clearer, like the Sun pushing out the remnants of a storm. His hands looked withered, and those blue eyes looked heavy and tired.
“I miss Him. God. Father.”
I began to mumble some apocryphal question, but a raised hand silenced me.
“We’re taking communion here, son, an act of contrition, of grief, celebration and loss. I’m not giving about to give you a seminar on the finer points of how you all bungled what we gave you and called it ‘religion.’ Just shut the fuck up and drink.”
We downed a glass of wine in unison, a broken human and clearly a broken angel, performing a ritual at the alter we were left with.
“You wanna know why I’m here drinkin’? I know you do. I can hear it rattling around in that little rat brain of yours, gnawing, gnawing, gnawing.
Well, here’s why. GOD LEFT.
You remember your Bible.
Like a schizophrenic mother when the voices just crept too far in, he drowned all his children in the bathtub. He felt regret.
You apes can’t come to terms with the fact that it isn’t cognitive dissonance to be perfect and make mistakes. Your binaries and absolutes are the pathetic crutches you rest on, the prisons you build for yourselves. You think you live in the grey but you don’t. You are the simple minded mistake of something far greater than you could possibly fathom.
Hell ain't nothin' but a door locked from the inside.
He was right to drown all of you, ya know.
You’re an abortion that didn’t take.
You’re the science experiment gone wrong.
You’re the motherfucking poisonous residue left over when the manufacturing process goes the slightest bit awry.
He TRIED. He gave you EVERYTHING. And you chased him away.
He wanted to put you all down. Wipe the slate clean. Shoot the wolf with the broken leg caught in the trap. Mercy. But He had made those fuckin’ rainbows, and He kept his word.
You all sit and pout and scream and gnaw and gnash and blow each other up. Always the same shit in this horrible flat circle.
"My god is real, your god is fake! "
You never once consider you’re all talking about the same damn thing, and more to the point, you're spend your entire lives debating His existence. What a catastrophic waste to be so far from the mark.
Is He real? Is He a fairy tale?
Is there a big bearded man with a sword in the sky or is it just what some primitive apes told themselves to explain the lights in the night sky, a mechanism of control and purpose in an entropic and meaningless world?”
I felt frozen listening to Arah rant.
Somewhere, between the distant sound of brutal words, I heard that radio kick on.
“The Third Planet is sure that they’re being watched
By an Eye in the Sky that can’t be stopped
And when you get to the Promised Land
You’re gonna shake the Eye’s hand”
“You won’t.”
Arah spoke quietly and sipped and audibly sobbed.
“I…I won’t what?”
“Shake his hand. He’s GONE.
You all fight with words and books and swords and shells and atoms about whether he exists. It’s your relentless, simpleminded addiction to dichotomy. It would be so boring if it wasn’t so sickening.
You think He exists, and if He does, He is here and He loves you and hears your stupid little prayers about football and bone cancer and bank accounts and AIDS.
And if He doesn’t exist, well, it’s just a bunch of conmen working over some fools with a fairy tale.
Any of you shitbirds ever consider He exists and LOATHES you? That he cut the cord to that existential phone line and ain’t nobody on the other side of that line anymore?
You live in an infinite universe that is forever exploding and expanding. He exists outside of even that.
You think you’re special? You’re one tiny experiment among so fucking many, I couldn’t make the smartest mathematician in the history of this planet understand how infinitesimally numerically irrelevant you are.
The question isn’t, is God real or is it all a hoax, a self-delusion?
The salient question, Pappy, is whether He’s here. And He ain’t.
He kept his word and let you all live and fester and replicate and mutate like the virus you are. The fruit that ate itself.
But daddy split. Went out for smokes and He ain’t never coming back. Moved onto a new family. Just like He's done again and again and again. And I'm guessing will keep doing 'till He decides He got it right. Ain’t been here for a long time. Long, long time.”
6 glasses of wine appeared before Arah and he downed them all with lightning speed, spewing blood, sobbing and gasping and drinking.
His hair greyed and whitened and fell to the floor.
His nails began to decay and yellow.
The smell of shit and piss and bile crept up and began to make me nauseous.
“And you know who got really fucked? US. The angels.
God gave us instructions and we followed it. We knew what we had and we didn’t deviate. We did our duty. And He left us behind, too.”
Arah’s clothes began to whiten and dirty.
The enrapturing blue of his eyes began to fade, growing paler and lifeless. A wild, twisted beard and belly began to sprout.
“Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first. That is the way it will also be with this evil generation."
Arah began shrieking.
"Fucking humans.
I AM AN ANGEL OF THE LORD YOUR GOD, AND I AM BOUND FOREVER TO THIS SHITHOLE OF A ROCK, ENDLESSLY SEARCHING THE COSMOS FOR A FATHER I CAN NEVER FIND, TRAPPED IN A PRISON I CAN NEVER LEAVE, FOR A CRIME I DIDN’T COMMIT.
YOU ALL DID THIS.
YOU ALL DID THIS.
YOU DID THIS.”
Arah leapt up and grabbed me by the throat, lifting me on high.
Fire scorched his eyes, leaving empty pale pools singed to a blackened crisp at the edges.
The wild, infested thing I’d seen before held me as though I weighed less than the judgment feather.
He was sobbing.
“I…I just did what I was told.
Do you know what Hell is? There’s no fucking lake of fire or torture rack with goats.
It’s this.
An endless existence having tasted God’s grace and love and then forever being separated from it, eternally searching for that one drug you know you can never find.
'Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss.'
This, this place, is Hell.”
All the opium in the world couldn’t save me from the stark terror of this celestial’s tortured judgment.
I was quaking and pissed myself.
“Now I got ya shakin’ in your boots. Nice hooves.”
He threw me and I slammed against the wall and I felt every ounce of wine and heroin and whisky spill out of my body and onto the floor.
In that moment, I felt the unmitigated suffering of absolute sobriety, and I’ve been sober every moment since.
This wild, unfettered thing inched closer to me.
It was only then I noticed the tattoo on his finger more closely. It was…clearer to me now. Everything was. That little cross on his finger was upside down as it faced me.
“What does your name mean, Arah? What did you do that made God leave all his angels behind?”
Arah opened his mouth and two snakes, one a viper, the other a colorful coral, slid out of his mouth and began encircling his head and neck, never striking, never squeezing, simply coiling infinitely.
“YOU FUCKING APES. I’LL RIP THE SOUL OUT OF EACH OF YOU AND EAT IT FOR LIFE ETERNAL.”
Arah, this manifestation of man’s worst nightmare, leapt at me, blood spewing, snakes dancing, the bar shaking and burning and reeking.
Alas, Babylon, for me.
Inches from me Arah froze, held still by some unseen force, his mouth snarling words that only came out as unintelligible, wet squelches.
A voice from the bar’s door whispered a single word.
“World.
In the first tongue, 'Arah' meant ‘World.’
At the door stood an older black woman with the kindest eyes I’d ever seen.
She wore a bracelet of thorns and a dress made of every flower my mind could conceive.
Golden eyes flecked with amber looked at me lovingly.
She quietly sauntered up to Arah and shook her head wistfully, a disapproving but loving mother wishing her child would just behave.
“You would do well to accept your place here, Arah. The Father may be gone, but this is where you and your lot stay. It was not man’s fall that bound you here.
Tell him what you did...Angel.”
Arah fell suddenly to the barroom floor, all the strength clearly sucked out of him.
“I..I did what I was told. I followed the orders I was given. It was for Him, Uriel.”
Uriel tutted her tongue as though an impudent child had told her a silly, obvious fib.
“You can lie to yourself all you want, Arah, but you cannot lie to me.
You, who whispered endlessly to Herod.
You, who dwelt in Caligula.
You, who served Qin Shi Huang.
You, who sought refuge in Robespierre .
You, who possessed Mengele.
‘And the angels who did not keep their positions of authority but abandoned their proper dwelling—these he has kept in darkness, bound with everlasting chains for judgment on the great Day.”
Uriel helped me to my feet, brushed me off, and lightly put her hand on her cheek. It was the only moment in my life I knew what the word “home” meant.
“And you won’t lie to Man, either.
You remember the deal you begged for, Arah? Let remind you:
'They began to entreat Him, saying, “If You are going to cast us out, send us into the herd of swine.'
You had the gall to call his creation, however staggeringly imperfect, swine.
You got what you asked for, then.
And you will have it for all time.
Get behind me.”
Uriel picked me up as though I were a mere baby and carried me to my truck. She laid me gently in the passenger side and started the engine.
The radio kicked on.
“I’m a rolling stone
All alone and lost
For a life of sin
I have paid the cost
Take my advice
Or you’ll curse the day
You started rollin’ down
That Lost Highway”
As she pulled away, I looked back at The Man from Capernaum one last time.
It was consumed in fire and the squeals of pigs shrieking carried through the cool night air.
“Do not pity him.
‘You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons.’
God may have left this world but let the Demon burn.”

Usually just a lurker but I've been seeing a lot of complaints about the manhwa being shallow or 'too light' compared to the dark gritty light novel. This opinion was held by a portion of the fanbase 1-2 years ago when this sub was more active as well, recent complaints are coming from a certain user whose username rhymes with 'basleep bassion 3829.'
I would like to preface this is NOT a targeted attack on anyone's preferences, especially not Basleep Bassion's. Nor am I criticizing anyone's direct character or intelligence for holding those preferences. This is a genuine response that simply aims to convey why I disagree with said preferences. Basleep Bassion or anyone who agrees with them is free to respond and support their stance in kind, just make sure to keep the civility obviously.
Also this will be VERY LONG. Don't read if you're more of a casual reader and don't care that much for the difference. or do, I've got nothing against that. I have a lot of love for the manhwa, and I took quite a bit of time to make my argument as objective as possible, to legitimize and express how passionate I am, how admiring I am at the risks that the creators of the manhwa took. If you don't want to read this much but still want to know my conclusion:
TLDR: I think the manhwa is vastly superior in writing to the light novel, made many significant improvements overall, and does not deserve to be considered a faulty adaptation or anything of the like. It is a splendid rendering of the original story in a more visually appealing and more importantly, a more dramatically interesting version.
If anyone is super curious about how much of either I've read, I am caught up with the manhwa translation by leviatanscans, and read to about chapter 160ish about 2-3 years ago (I checked today on novelupdates it seems the site for the novel is dead sadge). When I dropped the novel the events were actually pretty close in chronology to the manhwa with the dragons and stuff but anyone who knows the difference between the two works also understands that these two are basically two different stories by this point.
I also want to start off by shooting down some counterpoints that I personally find super cheap and indicative of someone who doesn't actually want to discuss the main point and instead just wants to flex their intellectual bicep on a cheap philosophical high horse. Again, not saying that you can't have these opinions, but I'm stating here that I'm not really interested in debating these topics since they are EITHER irrelevant to the argument I'm making, OR circular rabbit holes that dismiss the point of comparing the two versions on equal grounds.1."manhwas are adaptations, and therefore should stick firmly and strictly to the source material"

• Change isn't 100% bad. Past that basic rebuttal, adaptations drastically deviating from the source material has never been the worst thing that happened to a story. The most immediately recognizeable example I can think of right now is Iron Man and The Guardians of the Galaxy, two stories which were basically completely reconstructed and saw absolute critical acclaim. Adaptations should be allowed to adapt the story to better fit the context it is being transitioned into, not shiny knock-offs.

1. "you're delusional/stupid/compensating/snowflake/overreacting/L+ratio/KEKW"

• ur mom.

1. "Sword King SHOULD be like so and so on."

• This is something I am uncertain about the answer to, and falls into the circular loop of whether critics should have authority in how an creator's vision ought to unfold. Regardless of the true answer, the distinction between this topic and my main stance is that I am comparing the craftmanship of two pieces of art as they currently are, not what they should or should not be.

Alright, now that I've gotten that out of the way, those reading this far probably care enough to read the whole thing. First some hard facts:

1. the art is really nice. say what you want about any visual design choices or I also know some are a bit peeved about lots of cute kivye wholesome fanservice shots, but among the korean webtoon scene, we were lucky to get a studio this good.
2. The studio has taken lots of liberties with both the chronology and the characterization. Whole arcs have been either reconstructed, scrapped, or order shifted. Characters like Zang Luxin have been flipped complete 180 in personality while others like Barolt were built from scratch since in the novel barolt is dead and buried before the squad even reach him.
3. the manhwa has also shifted significantly in tone, embracing a lot of comedy tropes common in other fantasy/system webtoons. This has resulted in the mood being much brighter.

These last two points I want to defend; it is my claim and opinion that the drastic changes to the plot, characters, and tone made in the manhwa are not only fine, but result in a SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER story than the light novel. With TWO SPECIFIC EXCEPTIONS, I find ALL of the changes and edits made to the original plot structure to be absolute SMASH HITS in terms of writing skill and reading enjoyment.
I am working off of memory here, so I don't remember very very specific details, but every major difference I list here I am quite confident in the accuracy of, mostly because the changes are quite memorable and distinctive.From now on, MH and LN stand for ManHwa and Light Novel respectively, so for example MH Bin is manhwa Bin, and LN Bin is Light Novel Bin.
The two exceptions I have are:
MH Laude Roud is completely relegated to comic relief so far. LN roud is not exactly more important, but I consider the comedy angle on Roud to lean more towards cringe. His monsterification element has potential, but is poorly developed as of now in MH. As a whole, the Buckman Roarpool gang is also unnecesary. I don't even need to label them MH or LN because they don't exist in the novel. MH Bin would have been completely the same off without this package of pure quips and funny panels.
The whole gun thing with Atisse is kind of weird. I'm reading a fantasy story, I don't need to add guns because I want to see swords and magic. If I wanted to see guns, I wouldn't be here.

1. LN Barolt is the toxic juiced fitness influencer trying to pass off as natty, MH Barolt is the healthy father figure that teaches you to always strive for self-improvement.

• I guess I'll start with Barolt. LN Barolt is the most basic of battle junkies; he lives to fight, grow stronger, fight again, survival of the strongest, all that jazz. Now remember, MH Barolt also has these qualities; in fact, MH Barolt is revealed to have been that stuck-up, must fight to be strongest ape in the past, with the key change being that he has matured out of that phase which allowed him to attain divinity through his own efforts. LN Barolt fights the divine beast and succumbs to his wound, largely in part due to his de facto sidekick/healer being a spy for Zenovia all along. MH Barolt killed the Beast long ago and is alive for long enough to guide Bin and inspire hope by contesting Garhan.
• LN Barolt is simple because his role is simple: from his corpse, Kivye is able to channel her domain as goddess of death and obtain his special sword-king training and techniques. LN Han Bin then proceeds to use these to qualitatively change his aura usage (which btw he learned how to consciously control much earlier in LN compared to MH). Because LN Barolt is practically just a class upgrade loot chest by the time the squad reaches his corpse, he lacks any depth: just a berserker-type challenging impossible odds and surviving by the skin of his teeth. LN Barolt has no personality, just an inclination for violence.
• MH Barolt, on the other hand, is given the role of a teacher, a friend, and a symbol of hope. He is no glorified loot box, instead he serves as not only teacher to MH Bin, but also a role model. He teaches MH Bin how to manipulate aura by pushing absolute limits, with a reveal that made my heart race when I first read it. For those who need a little memory jog, this was the test to fight the angel arm stuck in the portal and MH Bin needed to exhaust his aura reserves in order to detect the other 3 energies since his disgusting amount was smothering his senses.
• That is just one example on the expansive nature of this character change. LN Barolt is a disappointment to LN Bin when they hear of how his personality really was (kind of a piece of shit). MH Barolt is probably the first genuine role model to Bin, someone who inspires him in both strength and nature.

1. Speaking of which, a major complaint I have of the LN is that none of the 4 heroes are remotely decent people. The theme here is the familiar trope of heroes actually being villains, a common subversion of expectations writing pattern that asks important questions about the nature of heroes and of corruption by power and authority.

• The trope is good, but the LN execution is rather uninspiring. Zenovia and Garhan are the megalomaniac greeders for power, which is fine, but LN Hollian is essentially Zenovia 2.0 in personality and LN Barolt is a loot box. So we have three greedy and spiteful characters plus an underdeveloped gorilla. Lots of variety here to be sure...
• In contrast, the LN decides to branch out with Hollian and Barolt. MH Barolt I have supported above as the one true hero amongst his compatriots, but even Hollian is given a much more unique and interesting character role. LN Hollian is in on the plan, and is the rear guard and villain in Rath'na while Zenovia and Garhan conquer the divine domain. LN Hollian is nigh indistinguishable from the personality of Zenovia, being similarly spiteful and arrogant, feeling entitled to greater rewards for being the hero. Since Zenovia already fills that role, MH Hollian is more sensibly relegated to a tragic saint trope where she means perfectly well but is being deceived by her compatriots. Overall, this grants a more balanced dynamic within the 4 heroes cohort, with two being bad and 2 being good; furthermore, MH Hollian is perfect for juicy drama of a 'are we the bad guys' redemption arc.

1. MH Zang Luxin is actually his own character, LN Luxin is a cheap throwaway.

• LN Luxin spawns in a town Bin and gang are staying in, and is caught and chased as an invader, which reveals some serious savior complex as he whines about not being treated as the protagonist he 'rightly' deserves to be, subsequently losing himself to the O blessing, becoming a similar monster as in the MH. Difference is, LN Luxin is killed by Bin a couple chapters after he is introduced.
• This is what I consider to be the best change. LN Luxin was the most boring one-off mirror villain to me. He is intended to reflect to LN Bin the horrors that Earthlings could be to the Rath'nians, and serves as a dark mirror. The problem is that LN Luxin is a really cheap dark mirror, and offers no actual interesting discourse since his personality was problematic and childish from the start, leaving no doubt that he was not a good person and would thus abuse the system.
• In contrast, MH Luxin portrays the evil of the Guideline to its max: MH Luxin is extremely kind and forgiving, to the point of naive idiocy, and is the textbook plucky hero with not a bad bone in his body. He is genuinely a good person and genuinely wishes to help the world he has been sent to conquer, which makes it absolutely gut-wrenching for him to do the opposite against his control by the guideline and O blessing. He starts out annoying to Bin but grows on us, and is still being utilized in the background of MH. Overall a vast improvement on a villain of week.

1. Atisse, Leonhart, and Ephyr are upgraded super

• LN Atisse and Ephyr are quite literally useless at this stage: LN Bin is essentially the sole combatant capable of taking on each new threat since anyone who is remotely dangerous to him absolutely outclasses the rest of the gang. I love the actual agency they get in MH: while still vastly outleveled, MH Atisse and Ephyr are able to outwit their opponents in clutch scenarios, and I'm excited for how they'll continue to be relevant.
• LN Leonhart fights Bin to a close loss, then is basically irrelevant for the rest of the time. He is strong, but not strong enough to contend with anyone remotely higher tier, again to highlight Bin and his solo job. I will say this here: solo power fantasies aren't that interesting. It gets super old seeing the mc solo everything and the side characters being cheerleaders. I want development for my supporting cast too mate. MH Leonhart is honestly a treat; he is a powerhouse without taking away from Bin's spotlight as his strength lies in his unorthodox combat style. Stuff that Bin can't do MH Leonhart does with is super cool, like creating prana structures and beams to attack enemies bluntly instead of sharp sword aura.

1. Hot take: the comedy is actually overall good for the series.

• I have conceded that the comedy in earlier chapters is rough. Roud, buckman, etc are all pretty cheap laughs. But despite all that, the dialogue for MH really picked it up later. I hardly find myself cringing at the lighthearted banter anymore, because it has become sparser and much improved. I find myself enjoying the humor more and more as time goes on
• Here's my take that I don't think is so hot: the LN is super dry to read. There is no engaging dialogue, everything either talks about exposition or is combat taunts. They're all friends, but don't joke or talk shop with each other. I have no sense that the LN squad is an actual cohort, with lovable personalities and unique characters. The comedy in MH has also included a lot of background character development (the types of jokes different characters make speak to their character type). MH characters are so much more alive than LN, which feels bland and dry (to me).

1. the plot sequence changes are overall positive, and create more seamless character and story development

• so this is the point I have the least support for, mostly because I can't remember what exact order the LN was originally. All I remember is that the dragon's nest energy absorption arc was much later in LN and much less important. In LN Bin crushes the blue haired Earthling on the squad's walk out in the sun in a simple 1v1, with the dragon's nest thing being practically an afterthought.
• The broodmother arc in the elven domain was also different, but my memory is hazy so I won't speak too much on it.

1. Snow and Rondelle are so much better.

• You think MH Rondelle is bratty, LN Rondelle is 10 magnitudes more snotty, incompetent, and arrogant. I'm not MH rondelle's biggest fan, but I'll take him over a literal incel.
• in LN Snow doesn't really exist, this child angel that wants a family. Instead LN is the broodmother which drives Bin into his first real hard fight that ends up awakening his aura. MH gives a more interesting event structure than a straight up fight, I quite enjoyed the thriller and non-combative nature of the memory manipulation family thing.

BASICS OF ISLAM: Fasting: On Fasting&Self-control.Part2
As far as the social dimension is concerned, fasting is a way of experiencing hunger and developing sympathy for the less fortunate and thus learning thankfulness and appreciation for all of God’s bounties. Fasting increases people’s sympathy and compassion for those who have been deprived of their daily means of survival.
Although everybody knows, in an abstract sense, that there are people who suffer from hunger and poverty around the world, this knowledge may not be great enough to have an impact on our daily behavior. During the fast of Ramadan, this knowledge is internalized, because we now not only know that there are hungry people, but we have a glimpse into their experience of hunger. This deeper, internalized knowledge helps us minimize wastefulness and to sincerely do our best to help those in need.

• Ramadan is also a time of generosity.

People are more generous, more cordial, and more ready than at other times of the year to do good and charitable work. Muslims often invite one another, friends and guests, Muslims and non-Muslims, in particular neighbors, regardless of creed, to share the evening meal and exchange gifts and best wishes.
Fasting establishes a continuity of practice with religions such as Judaism and Christianity, in which fasting is recognized as an important element of devotion to God. The very verse in the Qur’an that commands Muslims to fast reminds them of this connection:
“O you who believe! Fasting is prescribed on you just as it was prescribed on the people before you.”

The spiritual dimension

In the spiritual dimension, fasting during Ramadan is an act of obedience.

• It leads to sincere thankfulness, which is the heart of worship.

It also empowers our spiritual side over our physical tendencies. If we imagine our body as a vessel, such as a ship, our mind, heart and carnal desires are like hands that are trying to control this vessel. Fasting weakens the effect of the carnal self and strengthens the effects of the mind and the heart on the control of the body.
The experience of hunger in fasting breaks the illusory lordship of the carnal self, or ego, and, reminding the carnal self of its innate helplessness, convinces it that it is only a servant. Self consciousness, or the notion of “I,” is part of the “trust” that has been given to humans as the vicegerents of God on earth [The Qur’an, Ahzab 33:72].

“The All-Wise Creator entrusted each human being with an ego that has clues and examples that urge and enable them to recognize the truths about the attributes of the Lord of Creation and His essential qualities. Ego is the measure that makes known the qualities of His Lordship and the functions of His Divinity.”

Although God is closer to us than our jugular vein [The Qur’an], His names and attributes cannot be fully comprehended as they are infinite and we are finite, mortal, limited creatures. The virtual attributes that God gives us can serve as units of measure for comparison and for a better appreciation of God’s names and attributes.
It may be asked “Why did God make our ego a means to know His attributes and names?”
We answer this question as follows:

An absolute and all-encompassing entity has no limits or terms, and therefore cannot be shaped or formed, and cannot be determined in such a way that its essential nature can be comprehended. For example, light undetermined by darkness cannot be known or perceived. However, light can be determined if a real or hypothetical boundary line of darkness is drawn. In the same way, the Divine Attributes and Names (e.g., Knowledge, Power, Wisdom, and Compassion) cannot be determined, for they are all-encompassing and have no limits or like. Thus what they essentially are cannot be known or perceived. A hypothetical boundary is needed for them to become known.

97 - 118
Box Scores: NBA - Yahoo

GAME SUMMARY
Location: Scotiabank Arena (19800), Clock: Final
Officials: John Goble, Matt Myers, and Mitchell Ervin

Team	Q1	Q2	Q3	Q4	Total
Detroit Pistons	26	26	21	24	97
Toronto Raptors	38	34	20	26	118

TEAM STATS

Team	PTS	FG	FG%	3P	3P%	FT	FT%	OREB	TREB	AST	PF	STL	TO	BLK
Detroit Pistons	97	34-73	46.6%	6-25	24.0%	23-30	76.7%	8	46	23	18	8	22	4
Toronto Raptors	118	41-92	44.6%	13-37	35.1%	23-29	79.3%	15	57	25	24	12	11	9

PLAYER STATS

Detroit Pistons	MIN	PTS	FGM-A	3PM-A	FTM-A	ORB	DRB	REB	AST	STL	BLK	TO	PF	±
Isaiah LiversSF	30:09	12	4-8	1-4	3-3	1	3	4	2	0	0	0	1	-24
Marvin Bagley IIIPF	29:57	14	5-10	0-2	4-4	3	6	9	0	0	0	3	3	-18
James WisemanC	23:27	14	7-13	0-0	0-2	0	4	4	1	0	1	2	1	-12
Killian HayesSG	28:03	6	1-6	1-3	3-3	0	5	5	7	4	0	3	2	-18
Jaden IveyPG	41:14	20	7-13	2-6	4-4	1	2	3	8	1	0	9	3	-13
Eugene Omoruyi	32:54	9	3-10	0-3	3-5	2	5	7	1	2	2	3	2	-14
Jalen Duren	24:33	9	3-4	0-0	3-4	0	5	5	4	1	0	0	1	-9
R.J. Hampton	21:27	13	4-8	2-6	3-5	0	0	0	0	0	1	1	3	-3
Jared Rhoden	08:16	0	0-1	0-1	0-0	1	1	2	0	0	0	1	2	6
Hamidou Diallo	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Cory Joseph	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Rodney McGruder	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Buddy Boeheim	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Bojan Bogdanovic	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Alec Burks	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Cade Cunningham	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Isaiah Stewart	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Toronto Raptors	MIN	PTS	FGM-A	3PM-A	FTM-A	ORB	DRB	REB	AST	STL	BLK	TO	PF	±
O.G. AnunobySF	24:57	17	7-11	3-4	0-0	2	1	3	2	0	0	1	2	16
Pascal SiakamPF	38:07	32	12-19	2-6	6-10	0	5	5	9	1	0	2	3	26
Jakob PoeltlC	28:12	4	1-2	0-0	2-2	2	9	11	1	2	2	1	3	24
Will BartonSG	24:16	9	3-10	1-4	2-2	1	2	3	2	1	0	0	1	5
Fred VanVleetPG	29:16	18	5-16	3-10	5-5	1	2	3	4	2	0	4	3	19
Malachi Flynn	17:26	5	1-8	1-6	2-2	0	2	2	0	0	1	2	2	4
Chris Boucher	29:04	19	7-14	2-5	3-3	6	7	13	1	1	2	1	3	4
Christian Koloko	19:48	5	2-5	0-0	1-2	3	0	3	2	2	4	0	5	-3
Jeff Dowtin Jr.	28:54	9	3-7	1-2	2-3	0	3	3	4	3	0	0	2	10
Precious Achiuwa	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Thaddeus Young	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Dalano Banton	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Scottie Barnes	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Ron Harper Jr.	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Otto Porter Jr.	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Gary Trent Jr.	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Joe Wieskamp	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0

rnbapgtgenerator by f1uk3r

Hi all,
I am a 24 y/o M who enjoys Spanish rock, EDM, indie, hip-hop. One of my guilty pleasures is kpop lol. I am a pretty basic dude, listening to some BTS songs on shuffle, but when my friend introduced me to The Feels last May, I was like dang, this is a catchy song that I dance/sing to alone lmaoo. I stumbled across Talk That Talk and I think it's my favorite TWICE song. Instant mood booster & a car banger. I only know these two songs from them LOL.
Anyways, being the impulsive person that I am, I bought two TWICE tickets to the Oakland show this summer. I'm so excited. Imma take my other straight guy friend, lmao. Fuck what ppl think. I have grown to do the things I like doing. I've been on a TWICE binge on youtube lol. Hope to become a certified ONCE by then. Wish I was that guy being interviewed by https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3uBgd76Pik. She be looking at him like how Im tryna be looked at at the end.
​
Time to be a stan.

The proposal is this:
​
60 CD oGCD ability. This ability allows you to summon any one of the Primals without consuming a gem. This can be done whether or not the Primal has been summoned within the current Demi-Summon phase.
​
What is the point of this?
​
1) Specifically the reason I came up with this - when talking with someone who told me SMN feels bad when you need to hold burst (as a party) for some mechanic, and how SMN has no option but to desync with the rest of the party or spam Ruin 3. This would allow a SMN to push back a Demi up to ~15 sec if needed while still delivering damage.
​
2) To give SMN more variation in its rotation. This would allow you to summon any one of your Primals an additional time per cycle. Moreover, it would allow you to use the Favors just like normal (so it's a full Primal sub-phase, not JUST the summon animation/attack). I'll give an example of the normal rotation below, but this would also allow you to choose if you want to clip one, and which one.
​
3) To allow a bit more complexity for those who wish to use it while not really changing the core rotation much otherwise - in practice, you'd simply be replacing one Ruin 3 per cycle with a second Primal summoning and then roll into the next Demi.
​
4) And to achieve this without totally reworking the Job (again) out from under people who like it as it is; the only change they would need to make to their rotation is to tap this oGCD and then Titan before their next Demi where, right now, they hit their Ruin 3 button instead.
​
Standard Rotation:
​
Bahamut, Titan, Garuda, Ifrit(?), Titan (summon only, clipping out the rotation and going into...), Phoenix, Titan, Garuda, Ifrit(?), Titan (summon only, again clipping into...)
​
Hold Burst Rotation:
​
Bahamut, Titan, Garuda, Ifrit, Titan (full summon and all 4 Favors spent), Phoenix, Titan, Garuda, Ifrit, Titan.
​
In theory, you could replace your earlier Ifrit with a Titan and have Ifrit be the one you clip. Or Garuda. Dealer's choice.
​
The one concern I might have is that this could lead to some unintuitive bit with newer players (like BLM or old PLD with the unintuitive Atonement drops), but I don't think there IS a way to add more complexity that doesn't lead to some unintuitive optimizing that new players won't get off the bat.
​
The beauty of it is, it's not a burst CD, per se. If you DON'T need to hold burst, you can use it as one, moving your rotation one GCD to the right in the first minute and then having Titan (Summon only) be the first GCD of your burst, followed by your Demi. But in the case that you DO need to hold burst, you do the exact same thing, but you play out the Favors instead of clipping them.
​
This would overall increase the skill ceiling a touch, have people need to learn that it's optimal to clip Primals (but that's hardly the most unintuitive thing this game has ever exposed players to), and fix the problem of needing to hold burst by up to about 30 sec (since you could also play out part or all of the Summon preceding the last Phoenix as well to pad that a little more).
​
.
​
I'm not saying it's a cureall, but it's just a micro change that could be interesting and address some problems while not significantly changing things for the people that like the Job at present.

97 - 118
Box Scores: NBA & Yahoo

GAME SUMMARY
Location: Scotiabank Arena(19800)
Officials: John Goble, Matt Myers and Mitchell Ervin

Team	Q1	Q2	Q3	Q4	Total
Detroit Pistons	26	26	21	24	97
Toronto Raptors	38	34	20	26	118

TEAM STATS

Team	PTS	FG	FG%	3P	3P%	FT	FT%	OREB	TREB	AST	PF	STL	TO	BLK
Detroit Pistons	97	34-73	46.6%	6-25	24%	23-30	76.7%	8	46	23	18	8	22	4
Toronto Raptors	118	41-92	44.6%	13-37	35.1%	23-29	79.3%	15	57	25	24	12	11	9

PLAYER STATS

Detroit Pistons	MIN	PTS	FGM-A	3PM-A	FTM-A	ORB	DRB	REB	AST	STL	BLK	TO	PF	+/-
Isaiah LiversSF	30:09	12	4-8	1-4	3-3	1	3	4	2	0	0	0	1	-24
Marvin Bagley IIIPF	29:57	14	5-10	0-2	4-4	3	6	9	0	0	0	3	3	-18
James WisemanC	23:27	14	7-13	0-0	0-2	0	4	4	1	0	1	2	1	-12
Killian HayesSG	28:03	6	1-6	1-3	3-3	0	5	5	7	4	0	3	2	-18
Jaden IveyPG	41:14	20	7-13	2-6	4-4	1	2	3	8	1	0	9	3	-13
Eugene Omoruyi	32:54	9	3-10	0-3	3-5	2	5	7	1	2	2	3	2	-14
Jalen Duren	24:33	9	3-4	0-0	3-4	0	5	5	4	1	0	0	1	-9
R.J. Hampton	21:27	13	4-8	2-6	3-5	0	0	0	0	0	1	1	3	-3
Jared Rhoden	08:16	0	0-1	0-1	0-0	1	1	2	0	0	0	1	2	+6
Hamidou Diallo	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Cory Joseph	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Rodney McGruder	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Buddy Boeheim	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Bojan Bogdanovic	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Alec Burks	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Cade Cunningham	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Isaiah Stewart	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Toronto Raptors	MIN	PTS	FGM-A	3PM-A	FTM-A	ORB	DRB	REB	AST	STL	BLK	TO	PF	+/-
O.G. AnunobySF	24:57	17	7-11	3-4	0-0	2	1	3	2	0	0	1	2	+16
Pascal SiakamPF	38:07	32	12-19	2-6	6-10	0	5	5	9	1	0	2	3	+26
Jakob PoeltlC	28:12	4	1-2	0-0	2-2	2	9	11	1	2	2	1	3	+24
Will BartonSG	24:16	9	3-10	1-4	2-2	1	2	3	2	1	0	0	1	+5
Fred VanVleetPG	29:16	18	5-16	3-10	5-5	1	2	3	4	2	0	4	3	+19
Malachi Flynn	17:26	5	1-8	1-6	2-2	0	2	2	0	0	1	2	2	+4
Chris Boucher	29:04	19	7-14	2-5	3-3	6	7	13	1	1	2	1	3	+4
Christian Koloko	19:48	5	2-5	0-0	1-2	3	0	3	2	2	4	0	5	-3
Jeff Dowtin Jr.	28:54	9	3-7	1-2	2-3	0	3	3	4	3	0	0	2	+10
Precious Achiuwa	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Thaddeus Young	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Dalano Banton	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Scottie Barnes	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Ron Harper Jr.	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Otto Porter Jr.	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Gary Trent Jr.	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0
Joe Wieskamp	00:00	0	0-0	0-0	0-0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	0

rnbapgtgenerator by f1uk3r

4:04AM EST
SSTURDAY APRIL 25TH, 2020
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Horatian: Horatian satire is tolerant, funny, sophisticated witty, wise, self-effacing and aims to correct through humor...
Juvenalian: Juvenalian satire is angry, caustic, personal, relentless, bitter, and serious...
SATIRICAL DEVICE

1. Humor:Exaggeration or overstatement: Something that does happen, but is exaggerated to absurd lengths...

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Genre of arts and literature in the form of humor or ridicule
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In fiction and less frequently in non-fiction, satire is a genre of literature and performing arts, in which vices, follies, abuses and shor... en.wikipedia.org
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Satire is a technique in art and literature that pokes fun at established artistic or cultural norms. Satirists practice their craft for the sake of social criticism, comedy, or, often, both. The different satire genres include spoof, parody, and classic literary satire techniques.
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Definition of satire
1: a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn
2: trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/satire
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The Culinary Roots of Satire
Satire came into English at the beginning of the 16th century, and the meaning of the word has not strayed very far from its original sense. The initial uses were primarily applied to poems, and the term now has a broader applicability. Satire has a semantic and etymological overlap with both farce and lampoon. Farce ("a light dramatic composition marked by broadly satirical comedy and improbable plot") came into English as a synonym for forcemeat, meaning "finely chopped and highly seasoned meat or fish that is either served alone or used as a stuffing." Lampoon ("a harsh satire usually directed against an individual") is thought to come from the French lampons!, meaning "let us guzzle!" And satire is believed to trace back to the Latin satur, meaning "well-fed."
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Examples of satire in a Sentence
By contrast, Martial's friend, Juvenal, learned to transmute Martial's epigrammatic wit into savage satire. Juvenal's fierce, if occasionally obscene, tirades against immorality fit easily into the propaganda of the new era.
— G. W. Bowersock, New York Review of Books, 26 Feb. 2009
Unlike late-night talk shows that traffic in Hollywood interviews and stupid pet tricks, "The Daily Show" is a fearless social satire. Not many comedy shows would dare do five minutes on the intricacies of medicare or a relentlessly cheeky piece on President George W. Bush's Thanksgiving trip to Iraq …
— Marc Peyser, Newsweek, 29 Dec. 2003 - 5 Jan. 2004
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In fiction and less frequently in non-fiction, satire is a genre of literature and performing arts, in which vices, follies, abuses and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, corporations, government, or society itself into improvement.[1] Although satire is usually meant to be humorous, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit to draw attention to both particular and wider issues in society.
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A feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm —"in satire, irony is militant", according to literary critic Northrup Frye—[2] but parody, burlesque, exaggeration,[3] juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. This "militant" irony or sarcasm often professes to approve of (or at least accept as natural) the very things the satirist wishes to question.
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Satire is nowadays found in many artistic forms of expression, including internet memes, literature, plays, commentary, television shows, and media such as lyrics.
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Etymology and roots
The word satire comes from the Latin word satur and the subsequent phrase lanx satura. Satur meant "full" but the juxtaposition with lanx shifted the meaning to "miscellany or medley": the expression lanx satura literally means "a full dish of various kinds of fruits".[4]
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The word satura as used by Quintilian, however, was used to denote only Roman verse satire, a strict genre that imposed hexameter form, a narrower genre than what would be later intended as satire.[4][5] Quintilian famously said that satura, that is a satire in hexameter verses, was a literary genre of wholly Roman origin (satura tota nostra est). He was aware of and commented on Greek satire, but at the time did not label it as such, although today the origin of satire is considered to be Aristophanes' Old Comedy. The first critic to use the term "satire" in the modern broader sense was Apuleius.[4]
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To Quintilian, the satire was a strict literary form, but the term soon escaped from the original narrow definition. Robert Elliott writes:
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As soon as a noun enters the domain of metaphor, as one modern scholar has pointed out, it clamours for extension; and satura (which had had no verbal, adverbial, or adjectival forms) was immediately broadened by appropriation from the Greek word for “satyr” (satyros) and its derivatives. The odd result is that the English “satire” comes from the Latin satura; but "satirize", "satiric", etc., are of Greek origin. By about the 4th century AD the writer of satires came to be known as satyricus; St. Jerome, for example, was called by one of his enemies 'a satirist in prose' ('satyricus scriptor in prosa'). Subsequent orthographic modifications obscured the Latin origin of the word satire: satura becomes satyra, and in England, by the 16th century, it was written 'satyre.'[1]
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The word satire derives from satura, and its origin was not influenced by the Greek mythological figure of the satyr.[6] In the 17th century, philologist Isaac Casaubon was the first to dispute the etymology of satire from satyr, contrary to the belief up to that time.[7]
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Humour
“ The rules of satire are such that it must do more than make you laugh. No matter how amusing it is, it doesn't count unless you find yourself wincing a little even as you chuckle.[8] ”
Laughter is not an essential component of satire;[9] in fact there are types of satire that are not meant to be "funny" at all. Conversely, not all humour, even on such topics as politics, religion or art is necessarily "satirical", even when it uses the satirical tools of irony, parody, and burlesque.
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Even light-hearted satire has a serious "after-taste": the organizers of the Ig Nobel Prize describe this as "first make people laugh, and then make them think".[10]
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Social and psychological functions
Satire and irony in some cases have been regarded as the most effective source to understand a society, the oldest form of social study.[11] They provide the keenest insights into a group's collective psyche, reveal its deepest values and tastes, and the society's structures of power.[12][13] Some authors have regarded satire as superior to non-comic and non-artistic disciplines like history or anthropology.[11][14][15][16] In a prominent example from ancient Greece, philosopher Plato, when asked by a friend for a book to understand Athenian society, referred him to the plays of Aristophanes.[17][18]
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Historically, satire has satisfied the popular need to debunk and ridicule the leading figures in politics, economy, religion and other prominent realms of power.[19] Satire confronts public discourse and the collective imaginary, playing as a public opinion counterweight to power (be it political, economic, religious, symbolic, or otherwise), by challenging leaders and authorities. For instance, it forces administrations to clarify, amend or establish their policies. Satire's job is to expose problems and contradictions, and it's not obligated to solve them.[20] Karl Kraus set in the history of satire a prominent example of a satirist role as confronting public discourse.[21]
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For its nature and social role, satire has enjoyed in many societies a special freedom license to mock prominent individuals and institutions.[22] The satiric impulse, and its ritualized expressions, carry out the function of resolving social tension.[23] Institutions like the ritual clowns, by giving expression to the antisocial tendencies, represent a safety valve which re-establishes equilibrium and health in the collective imaginary, which are jeopardized by the repressive aspects of society.[24][25]
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The state of political satire in a given society reflects the tolerance or intolerance that characterizes it,[19] and the state of civil liberties and human rights. Under totalitarian regimes any criticism of a political system, and especially satire, is suppressed. A typical example is the Soviet Union where the dissidents, such as Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Andrei Sakharov were under strong pressure from the government. While satire of everyday life in the USSR was allowed, the most prominent satirist being Arkady Raikin, political satire existed in the form of anecdotes[26] that made fun of Soviet political leaders, especially Brezhnev, famous for his narrow-mindedness and love for awards and decorations.
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Classifications
Satire is a diverse genre which is complex to classify and define, with a wide range of satiric "modes".[27][28]
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Horatian, Juvenalian, Menippean
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"Le satire e l'epistole di Q. Orazio Flacco", printed in 1814.
Satirical literature can commonly be categorized as either Horatian, Juvenalian, or Menippean.[29]
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Horatian
Horatian satire, named for the Roman satirist Horace (65–8 BCE), playfully criticizes some social vice through gentle, mild, and light-hearted humour. Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) wrote Satires to gently ridicule the dominant opinions and "philosophical beliefs of ancient Rome and Greece" (Rankin).[30] Rather than writing in harsh or accusing tones, he addressed issues with humor and clever mockery. Horatian satire follows this same pattern of "gently [ridiculing] the absurdities and follies of human beings" (Drury).[31]
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It directs wit, exaggeration, and self-deprecating humour toward what it identifies as folly, rather than evil. Horatian satire's sympathetic tone is common in modern society.[32]
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A Horatian satirist's goal is to heal the situation with smiles, rather than by anger. Horatian satire is a gentle reminder to take life less seriously and evokes a wry smile.[31] A Horatian satirist makes fun of general human folly rather than engaging in specific or personal attacks. Shamekia Thomas suggests, "In a work using Horatian satire, readers often laugh at the characters in the story who are the subject of mockery as well as themselves and society for behaving in those ways." Alexander Pope has been established as an author whose satire "heals with morals what it hurts with wit" (Green).[33] Alexander Pope—and Horatian satire—attempt to teach.
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Examples of Horatian satire:
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The Ig Nobel Prizes.
Bierce, Ambrose, The Devil's Dictionary.
Defoe, Daniel, The True-Born Englishman.
The Savoy Operas of Gilbert and Sullivan.
Trollope, Anthony, The Way We Live Now.
Gogol, Nikolai, Dead Souls.
Groening, Matthew "Matt", The Simpsons.
Lewis, Clive Staples, The Screwtape Letters.
Mercer, Richard ‘Rick’, The Rick Mercer Report.
More, Thomas, Utopia
Pope, Alexander, The Rape of the Lock.
Reiner, Rob, This Is Spinal Tap.
Twain, Mark, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
Ralston Saul, John, The Doubter's Companion: A Dictionary of Aggressive Common Sense.
Juvenalian
See also: Satires of Juvenal
Juvenalian satire, named for the writings of the Roman satirist Juvenal (late first century – early second century AD), is more contemptuous and abrasive than the Horatian. Juvenal disagreed with the opinions of the public figures and institutions of the Republic and actively attacked them through his literature. "He utilized the satirical tools of exaggeration and parody to make his targets appear monstrous and incompetent" (Podzemny).[34] Juvenal's satire follows this same pattern of abrasively ridiculing societal structures. Juvenal also, unlike Horace, attacked public officials and governmental organizations through his satires, regarding their opinions as not just wrong, but evil.
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Following in this tradition, Juvenalian satire addresses perceived social evil through scorn, outrage, and savage ridicule. This form is often pessimistic, characterized by the use of irony, sarcasm, moral indignation and personal invective, with less emphasis on humor. Strongly polarized political satire can often be classified as Juvenalian.
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A Juvenal satirist's goal is generally to provoke some sort of political or societal change because he sees his opponent or object as evil or harmful.[35] A Juvenal satirist mocks "societal structure, power, and civilization" (Thomas)[36] by exaggerating the words or position of his opponent in order to jeopardize their opponent's reputation and/or power. Jonathan Swift has been established as an author who "borrowed heavily from Juvenal's techniques in [his critique] of contemporary English society" (Podzemny).[34]
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Examples of Juvenalian satire:
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Barnes, Julian, England, England.
Beatty, Paul, The Sellout.
Bradbury, Ray, Fahrenheit 451.
Brooker, Charlie, Black Mirror.
Bulgakov, Mikhail, Heart of a Dog.
Burgess, Anthony, A Clockwork Orange.
Burroughs, William, Naked Lunch.
Byron, George Gordon, Lord, Don Juan.
Barth, John, The Sot-Weed Factor; or, A Voyage to Maryland,—a satire, in which is described the laws, government, courts, and constitutions of the country, and also the buildings, feasts, frolics, entertainments, and drunken humors of the inhabitants in that part of America.
Ellis, Bret Easton, American Psycho.
Golding, William, Lord of the Flies.
Hall, Joseph, Virgidemiarum.
Heller, Joseph, Catch-22.
Huxley, Aldous, Brave New World.
Johnson, Samuel, London, an adaptation of Juvenal, Third Satire.
Junius, Letters.
Kubrick, Stanley, Dr. Strangelove.
Mencken, HL, Libido for the Ugly.
Morris, Chris, Brass Eye.
———, The Day Today.
Orwell, George, Nineteen Eighty-Four.
Orwell, George, Animal Farm.
Palahniuk, Chuck, Fight Club.
Swift, Jonathan, A Modest Proposal.
Voltaire, Candide.
Zamyatin, Yevgeny, We.
Menippean
See Menippean satire.
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Satire versus teasing
In the history of theatre there has always been a conflict between engagement and disengagement on politics and relevant issue, between satire and grotesque on one side, and jest with teasing on the other.[37] Max Eastman defined the spectrum of satire in terms of "degrees of biting", as ranging from satire proper at the hot-end, and "kidding" at the violet-end; Eastman adopted the term kidding to denote what is just satirical in form, but is not really firing at the target.[38] Nobel laureate satirical playwright Dario Fo pointed out the difference between satire and teasing (sfottò).[39] Teasing is the reactionary side of the comic; it limits itself to a shallow parody of physical appearance. The side-effect of teasing is that it humanizes and draws sympathy for the powerful individual towards which it is directed. Satire instead uses the comic to go against power and its oppressions, has a subversive character, and a moral dimension which draws judgement against its targets.[40][41][42][43] Fo formulated an operational criterion to tell real satire from sfottò, saying that real satire arouses an outraged and violent reaction, and that the more they try to stop you, the better is the job you are doing.[44] Fo contends that, historically, people in positions of power have welcomed and encouraged good-humoured buffoonery, while modern day people in positions of power have tried to censor, ostracize and repress satire.[37][40]
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Teasing (sfottò) is an ancient form of simple buffoonery, a form of comedy without satire's subversive edge. Teasing includes light and affectionate parody, good-humoured mockery, simple one-dimensional poking fun, and benign spoofs. Teasing typically consists of an impersonation of someone monkeying around with his exterior attributes, tics, physical blemishes, voice and mannerisms, quirks, way of dressing and walking, and/or the phrases he typically repeats. By contrast, teasing never touches on the core issue, never makes a serious criticism judging the target with irony; it never harms the target's conduct, ideology and position of power; it never undermines the perception of his morality and cultural dimension.[40][42] Sfottò directed towards a powerful individual makes him appear more human and draws sympathy towards him.[45] Hermann Göring propagated jests and jokes against himself, with the aim of humanizing his image.[46][47]
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Classifications by topics
Types of satire can also be classified according to the topics it deals with. From the earliest times, at least since the plays of Aristophanes, the primary topics of literary satire have been politics, religion and sex.[48][49][50][51] This is partly because these are the most pressing problems that affect anybody living in a society, and partly because these topics are usually taboo.[48][52] Among these, politics in the broader sense is considered the pre-eminent topic of satire.[52] Satire which targets the clergy is a type of political satire, while religious satire is that which targets religious beliefs.[53] Satire on sex may overlap with blue comedy, off-color humor and dick jokes.
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Scatology has a long literary association with satire,[48][54][55] as it is a classical mode of the grotesque, the grotesque body and the satiric grotesque.[48][56] Shit plays a fundamental role in satire because it symbolizes death, the turd being "the ultimate dead object".[54][55] The satirical comparison of individuals or institutions with human excrement, exposes their "inherent inertness, corruption and dead-likeness".[54][57][58] The ritual clowns of clown societies, like among the Pueblo Indians, have ceremonies with filth-eating.[59][60] In other cultures, sin-eating is an apotropaic rite in which the sin-eater (also called filth-eater),[61][62] by ingesting the food provided, takes "upon himself the sins of the departed".[63] Satire about death overlaps with black humor and gallows humor.
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Another classification by topics is the distinction between political satire, religious satire and satire of manners.[64] Political satire is sometimes called topical satire, satire of manners is sometimes called satire of everyday life, and religious satire is sometimes called philosophical satire. Comedy of manners, sometimes also called satire of manners, criticizes mode of life of common people; political satire aims at behavior, manners of politicians, and vices of political systems. Historically, comedy of manners, which first appeared in British theater in 1620, has uncritically accepted the social code of the upper classes.[65] Comedy in general accepts the rules of the social game, while satire subverts them.[66]
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Another analysis of satire is the spectrum of his possible tones: wit, ridicule, irony, sarcasm, cynicism, the sardonic and invective.[67][68]
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The type of humour that deals with creating laughter at the expense of the person telling the joke is called reflexive humour[69].Reflexive humour can take place at dual levels of directing humour at self or at the larger community the self identifies with. The audience's understanding of the context of reflexive humour is important for its receptivity and success [69]. Satire is found not only in written literary forms. In preliterate cultures it manifests itself in ritual and folk forms, as well as in trickster tales and oral poetry.[23]
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It appears also in graphic arts, music, sculpture, dance, cartoon strips, and graffiti. Examples are Dada sculptures, Pop Art works, music of Gilbert and Sullivan and Erik Satie, punk and rock music.[23] In modern media culture, stand-up comedy is an enclave in which satire can be introduced into mass media, challenging mainstream discourse.[23] Comedy roasts, mock festivals, and stand-up comedians in nightclubs and concerts are the modern forms of ancient satiric rituals.[23]
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Development
Ancient Egypt
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The satirical papyrus at the British Museum
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Satirical ostracon showing a cat guarding geese, c.1120 BC, Egypt.
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Figured ostracon showing a cat waiting on a mouse, Egypt
One of the earliest examples of what we might call satire, The Satire of the Trades,[70] is in Egyptian writing from the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC. The text's apparent readers are students, tired of studying. It argues that their lot as scribes is not only useful, but far superior to that of the ordinary man. Scholars such as Helck[71] think that the context was meant to be serious.
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The Papyrus Anastasi I[72] (late 2nd millennium BC) contains a satirical letter which first praises the virtues of its recipient, but then mocks the reader's meagre knowledge and achievements.
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Ancient Greece
The Greeks had no word for what later would be called "satire", although the terms cynicism and parody were used. Modern critics call the Greek playwright Aristophanes one of the best known early satirists: his plays are known for their critical political and societal commentary,[73] particularly for the political satire by which he criticized the powerful Cleon (as in The Knights). He is also notable for the persecution he underwent.[73][74][75][76] Aristophanes' plays turned upon images of filth and disease.[77] His bawdy style was adopted by Greek dramatist-comedian Menander. His early play Drunkenness contains an attack on the politician Callimedon.
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The oldest form of satire still in use is the Menippean satire by Menippus of Gadara. His own writings are lost. Examples from his admirers and imitators mix seriousness and mockery in dialogues and present parodies before a background of diatribe. As in the case of Aristophanes plays, menippean satire turned upon images of filth and disease.[77]
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Roman world
The first Roman to discuss satire critically was Quintilian, who invented the term to describe the writings of Gaius Lucilius. The two most prominent and influential ancient Roman satirists are Horace and Juvenal, who wrote during the early days of the Roman Empire. Other important satirists in ancient Latin are Gaius Lucilius and Persius. Satire in their work is much wider than in the modern sense of the word, including fantastic and highly coloured humorous writing with little or no real mocking intent. When Horace criticized Augustus, he used veiled ironic terms. In contrast, Pliny reports that the 6th-century-BC poet Hipponax wrote satirae that were so cruel that the offended hanged themselves.[78]
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In the 2nd century AD, Lucian wrote True History, a book satirizing the clearly unrealistic travelogues/adventures written by Ctesias, Iambulus, and Homer. He states that he was surprised they expected people to believe their lies, and stating that he, like them, has no actual knowledge or experience, but shall now tell lies as if he did. He goes on to describe a far more obviously extreme and unrealistic tale, involving interplanetary exploration, war among alien life forms, and life inside a 200 mile long whale back in the terrestrial ocean, all intended to make obvious the fallacies of books like Indica and The Odyssey.
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Medieval Islamic world
Main articles: Arabic satire and Persian satire
Medieval Arabic poetry included the satiric genre hija. Satire was introduced into Arabic prose literature by the author Al-Jahiz in the 9th century. While dealing with serious topics in what are now known as anthropology, sociology and psychology, he introduced a satirical approach, "based on the premise that, however serious the subject under review, it could be made more interesting and thus achieve greater effect, if only one leavened the lump of solemnity by the insertion of a few amusing anecdotes or by the throwing out of some witty or paradoxical observations. He was well aware that, in treating of new themes in his prose works, he would have to employ a vocabulary of a nature more familiar in hija, satirical poetry."[79] For example, in one of his zoological works, he satirized the preference for longer human penis size, writing: "If the length of the penis were a sign of honor, then the mule would belong to the (honorable tribe of) Quraysh". Another satirical story based on this preference was an Arabian Nights tale called "Ali with the Large Member".[80]
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In the 10th century, the writer Tha'alibi recorded satirical poetry written by the Arabic poets As-Salami and Abu Dulaf, with As-Salami praising Abu Dulaf's wide breadth of knowledge and then mocking his ability in all these subjects, and with Abu Dulaf responding back and satirizing As-Salami in return.[81] An example of Arabic political satire included another 10th-century poet Jarir satirizing Farazdaq as "a transgressor of the Sharia" and later Arabic poets in turn using the term "Farazdaq-like" as a form of political satire.[82]
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The terms "comedy" and "satire" became synonymous after Aristotle's Poetics was translated into Arabic in the medieval Islamic world, where it was elaborated upon by Islamic philosophers and writers, such as Abu Bischr, his pupil Al-Farabi, Avicenna, and Averroes. Due to cultural differences, they disassociated comedy from Greek dramatic representation and instead identified it with Arabic poetic themes and forms, such as hija (satirical poetry). They viewed comedy as simply the "art of reprehension", and made no reference to light and cheerful events, or troubled beginnings and happy endings, associated with classical Greek comedy. After the Latin translations of the 12th century, the term "comedy" thus gained a new semantic meaning in Medieval literature.[83]
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Ubayd Zakani introduced satire in Persian literature during the 14th century. His work is noted for its satire and obscene verses, often political or bawdy, and often cited in debates involving homosexual practices. He wrote the Resaleh-ye Delgosha, as well as Akhlaq al-Ashraf ("Ethics of the Aristocracy") and the famous humorous fable Masnavi Mush-O-Gorbeh (Mouse and Cat), which was a political satire. His non-satirical serious classical verses have also been regarded as very well written, in league with the other great works of Persian literature. Between 1905 and 1911, Bibi Khatoon Astarabadi and other Iranian writers wrote notable satires.
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Medieval Europe
In the Early Middle Ages, examples of satire were the songs by Goliards or vagants now best known as an anthology called Carmina Burana and made famous as texts of a composition by the 20th-century composer Carl Orff. Satirical poetry is believed to have been popular, although little has survived. With the advent of the High Middle Ages and the birth of modern vernacular literature in the 12th century, it began to be used again, most notably by Chaucer. The disrespectful manner was considered "unchristian" and ignored, except for the moral satire, which mocked misbehaviour in Christian terms. Examples are Livre des Manières by Étienne de Fougères [fr] (~1178), and some of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. Sometimes epic poetry (epos) was mocked, and even feudal society, but there was hardly a general interest in the genre.
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Early modern western satire
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Pieter Bruegel's 1568 satirical painting The Blind Leading the Blind.
Direct social commentary via satire returned with a vengeance in the 16th century, when farcical texts such as the works of François Rabelais tackled more serious issues (and incurred the wrath of the crown as a result).
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Two major satirists of Europe in the Renaissance were Giovanni Boccaccio and François Rabelais. Other examples of Renaissance satire include Till Eulenspiegel, Reynard the Fox, Sebastian Brant's Narrenschiff (1494), Erasmus's Moriae Encomium (1509), Thomas More's Utopia (1516), and Carajicomedia (1519).
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The Elizabethan (i.e. 16th-century English) writers thought of satire as related to the notoriously rude, coarse and sharp satyr play. Elizabethan "satire" (typically in pamphlet form) therefore contains more straightforward abuse than subtle irony. The French Huguenot Isaac Casaubon pointed out in 1605 that satire in the Roman fashion was something altogether more civilised. Casaubon discovered and published Quintilian's writing and presented the original meaning of the term (satira, not satyr), and the sense of wittiness (reflecting the "dishfull of fruits") became more important again. Seventeenth-century English satire once again aimed at the "amendment of vices" (Dryden).
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In the 1590s a new wave of verse satire broke with the publication of Hall's Virgidemiarum, six books of verse satires targeting everything from literary fads to corrupt noblemen. Although Donne had already circulated satires in manuscript, Hall's was the first real attempt in English at verse satire on the Juvenalian model.[84][page needed] The success of his work combined with a national mood of disillusion in the last years of Elizabeth's reign triggered an avalanche of satire—much of it less conscious of classical models than Hall's — until the fashion was brought to an