Please, feel free to add any events below! Check out the Visitor's Guide for more things to do around town!
Looking to meet up with people? Check out Meetup St. Louis.
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Be sure to continue scrolling past the Weekly Events for Trivia Nights, Live Music, Sporting Events, Local Comedy, and more!
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• Blues on the Block at National Blues Museum
  • Every Saturday until August 5th
  • Come on down to the corner of Washington Ave. and 6th Street from 4 to 7 PM. Bring your lawn chair!
• Brentwood Summer Beats
  • June 9, 2023
  • Join others for an evening of music in Brentwood Park!
• Cardinals HOF Presents Flashback Fridays
  • June 9, 2023
  • Visit the Cardinals Museum for a candid interview in Sportsman’s Park Theater with 2006 Cardinals World Champion Gary Bennett on Friday, June 9th at 4:00pm.
• Cardinals HOF Presents Saturday Signings
  • June 10, 2023
  • Saturday, June 10th is Saturday Signings with 2006 Cardinals World Champion Gary Bennett from 10am-12pm in the Cardinals Museum!
• Central West End Cocktail Party
  • June 10, 2023
  • Mark your calendars for the 7th Annual Central West End Cocktail Party on Saturday June 10, 2023, from 5-10 PM! Enjoy live entertainment, a cocktail competition, and food and drinks available for purchase from CWE bars and restaurants. Grab your friends and family for a fun-filled evening, featuring live music, street performers, fire dancers, roller skaters and more!
• Cherokee Pop Shop
  • June 10, 2023
  • Join others at the Rita Ford Community Center, where talented artisans will gather to showcase their handmade goods, art, fashion, jewelry and more. This is a perfect opportunity to discover new artists, support local businesses, and connect with the vibrant community of St. Louis. With live music, food & drink trucks, the Cherokee Pop Shop is a must-visit event for anyone who loves creativity, community, and shopping.
• Chess at the Brewery
  • Every Wednesday
  • Local meetup group of chess players that meet at breweries on Wednesday nights. They rotate locations each week.
  • See their Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/chessatthebrewery/) for the location this week.
• Chihuly in the Missouri Botanical Garden
  • Running until October 15, 2023
  • The work of world-renowned artist Dale Chihuly is coming to the Missouri Botanical Garden in a stunning exhibition uniting art and nature. With thousands of pieces of blown glass forms in 20 dramatic installations throughout the Garden’s grounds, Chihuly in the Garden 2023 presents these artworks on a grand scale
• Circus Flora presents "Undercover"
  • June 1 - 25, 2023
  • This summer, Circus Flora enters the daring world of espionage! With nods to beloved spy stories throughout the years, Undercover introduces the world’s top double agent who faces an archvillain obsessed with world domination. Our spy has plenty of helpful allies – but the villain has a team, too. Will good overcome bad . . . and how? Aerialists, acrobats, contortionists, and comedians will craft this thrilling story, which will captivate your whole family!
• City Social on Washington Avenue
  • June 9, 2023
  • City Social, downtown St. Louis’ ultimate summer block party, returns on June 9 from 4 to 9 p.m.
  • Free and open to all, the event will take place on Washington Avenue between Tucker Boulevard and 14th Street. This is your chance to kick back, relax and enjoy live music with family, friends, neighbors and coworkers.
• Family Night with Fredbird
  • Wednesdays
  • Join others at Cardinals Nation Restaurant & Bar for Family Night with Fredbird on select Wednesday evenings this off-season! Bring your family down for games, prizes, and meet Fredbird from 6:30-7:30pm.
• Ferguson Farmers’ Market
  • Every Saturday
  • Enjoy live music and special events in a festive family atmosphere, and discover a wide variety of edible delights, including homemade jelly, farm fresh eggs, honey, spices, and meats. You’ll also find an ever-changing array of gift and specialty vendors, selling everything from cut flowers and bedding plants to hand-painted artwork and small-batch soaps.
  • If it’s homemade, handmade or fresh and tasty, you can buy it at the Ferguson Farmers’ Market.
• Golf the Galleries at The Sheldon
  • June 9, 2023
  • Join others for the 6th season of this playable, artist-designed, nine-hole mini golf installation, designed to be inclusive, family friendly and accessible. All proceeds from Golf the Galleries support The Sheldon’s visual arts programming, offering opportunities for local and national artists to share their work with the St. Louis community through free gallery exhibitions and educational programs.
• Juneteeth Celebration in the Delmar Loop
  • June 10, 2023
  • Expect live art demonstrations, including a community mural painting; animated performances from the Red and Black Brass Band, DJ KP and more; bounce houses, face painting and other activities for the whole family.
• Karaoke Wednesdays at HandleBar
  • Every Wednesday
  • Browse the catalog and find your favorite songs to sing! Songbookslive.com/stlredcarpet
• Karaoke Wednesdays at Mack's Bar & Grill
  • Every Wednesday
• Lafayette Square Summer Concert Series
  • June 3, 2023
  • As part of Lafayette Square’s free summer concert series, Power Play Band will perform in Lafayette Park on June 3. Spanning genres such as jazz, classic rock, R&B, swing, Latin and pop, Power Play does it all! Gather friends and family, pack food and beverages, and don’t miss this lively event.
• Landmarks Downtown Walking Tours
  • Every Saturday
  • Landmarks Downtown St. Louis Walking Tours: History, Culture, Architecture, and Exercise: What could be better on a Saturday morning?
• Open Mic Night at Schlafly Bottleworks (Maplewood)
  • Every Wednesday
  • Join others every Wednesday evening and showcase your talents with our Open Mic Night! Open sign up begins at 6:30PM with music starting at 7:00PM. They welcome original material, covers and spoken word! Grab a beer, then play and listen every Wednesday! There are no cover charges and no drink minimums to attend.
• Picnic in your Park at the Arch
  • June 11, 2023
  • Join others at the third annual Picnic in Your Park. Picnic in Your Park raises awareness and critical funds for their mission of park conservation, preservation, education and community programs.
• Rockin' the Riverfront at the Arch
  • Every Friday & Saturday
  • Gateway Arch Park Foundation presents a new series, Rockin' the Riverfront, to bring fun, summer-long, family-friendly entertainment along the St. Louis’ Riverfront to enhance your trip down to the Arch, riverboats and surrounding parks!
• Sensory-Friendly Family Night at the Missouri Botanical Garden
  • June 5, 2023
  • Explore, discover and experience the beauty of the Missouri Botanical Garden at this family-friendly event, which allows children and adults with sensory-processing needs to experience the attraction in a secure environment.
  • Attendees will be able to participate in hands-on activities, play in the Children’s Garden and explore the indoor Brookings Exploration Center, which features a calming corner.
  • Musical guest Low Rent District will perform during the event, and Different Dynamics will join for interactive music activities.
• Shakespeare in the Park: Twelfth Night
  • May 31 - June 25, 2023
  • Often regarded as William Shakespeare’s greatest comedy, Twelfth Night is bursting with romance, music and high times.
  • Shakespeare in the Park is free to attend; no reservations are required. Just show up with your blankets, chairs and picnics and find a spot on the lawn. Shakespeare Glen opens at 6:30. Food by Steve’s Hot Dogs is available for purchase, and drinks by STL Barkeep.
• Soccer Pre-Match Street Party at Schlafly Tap Room
  • June 10, 2023
  • Join others before every City SC home match for a Street Party with the St. Louligans Soccer Supporters Group. They will block off the street next to the Tap Room (now known as Louligan Street) so fans can enjoy good beer, great food, music and fun before they march over to the stadium together.
• Soulard Farmer's Market
  • Wednesdays - Saturdays
  • Soulard Farmers Market is located at 730 Carroll Street in St. Louis, Missouri, a half mile north of the Anheuser-Busch Brewery. The market is open Wednesday through Saturday, year round. They feature locally grown and shipped in goods, including: produce, meats, cheeses, spices, gourmet kettle corn, flowers, baked goods, and general merchandise. There are also several different eateries that have many food options, which allows customers the convenience to grab a quick bite to eat and a drink while shopping.
• St. Louis Soap Box Derby
  • June 11, 2023
  • The All-American Soap Box Derby is a youth racing program, which has run nationally since 1934. Hosted by the St. Louis Jaycees, the regional St. Louis race has been held each June on The Hill for more than 15 years.
• Summer Beer & Food Pairing at the Biergarten
  • June 9, 2023
  • This beer and food pairing at the Anheuser-Busch Biergarten will get you ready for summer.
  • The meal begins with pineapple-chicken kebabs paired with Beach Bum, a combination of Kona Big Wave Golden Ale and Mango Cart, and a summer solstice salad accompanied by Stella Artois Solstice Lager. The entrée will be Spanish paella paired with Cutwater Lime Margarita, followed by a dreamsicle float for dessert and a NÜTRL Orange Hard Seltzer to wash it down.
• Sunrise Yoga at Kiener Plaza
  • Every Tuesday
  • Awaken your body and bask in the morning sunlight! This gentle yoga practice is designed to energize and align your body and mind through movement and breath. Bring your own mat/towel and water bottle.
• Thursday Nights at the Museum
  • Every Thursday
  • Kick off your weekend at the Missouri History Museum in Forest Park! Each Thursday Night at the Museum will be the most fun, engaging, uplifting, thought-provoking, perspective-shaping night of your week. And there are drinks.
  • Join others starting at 5:30pm for happy hour and pop-up activities, such as brief tours, games, and performances. The main stage comes to life at 6:30pm, light appetizers and drinks are available for purchase until 7:00pm, and the Museum’s exhibits are open until 8:00pm for you to explore!
• Tower Grove Farmer's Market
  • Every Tuesday & Saturday
  • Join others every Saturday of the 2023 Tower Grove Farmers Market Season. They'll have over 100 vendors with local produce, meat, flowers, eggs, honey, prepared foods, art, jewelry, live music, and so much more.
• Twangfest at Off Broadway
  • June 7 - 10, 2023
  • Twangfest, a nonprofit grassroots music festival presented by Urban Chestnut Brewing Co., returns to St. Louis from June 7 to 10.
  • Held at Off Broadway, Twangfest will feature the best in live Americana, country, folk, pop, rock and soul. This year’s lineup includes Black Joe Lewis, James McMurtry, Nadine, The Waco Brothers and more.
• Whitaker Music Festival
  • Every Wednesday until August 2nd
  • The Missouri Botanical Garden is an idyllic place to listen to live music. On Wednesday evenings throughout the summer, the garden hosts free, open-air concerts as part of the annual Whitaker Music Festival.

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Sporting Events This Week	Attractions Around the Area	Comedy This Week
St. Louis Cardinals schedule	Anheuser-Busch Brewery	Funny Bone Comedy Club
St. Louis Blues schedule	City Museum	Helium Comedy Club
St. Louis City SC schedule	Gateway Arch	The Improv Shop
St. Louis Battlehawks schedule	Missouri History Museum
St. Louis Billikens schedule	National Blues Museum
Gateway Grizzlies schedule	St. Louis Aquarium
Gateway Motorsports Park	St. Louis Art Museum
St. Louis Ambush schedule	St. Louis Science Center
	St. Louis Zoo

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Trivia Nights
Location	Date/Time	More Information
Anheuser-Busch Biergarten	Tuesdays 6:00 pm - 8:00 pm	Trivia Details
Bar K	Tuesdays at 7:00 pm
City Foundry	Thursdays 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm
Joey B's on the Hill	Mondays 8:30 pm - 10:30 pm	Trivia Details
Nick's Pub	Mondays
Felix's Pizza Pub	Tuesdays at 8:00 pm	Trivia Details
Schlafly Brewpubs (Any Location)	Tuesdays 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm	Trivia Details
Rockwell Beer Co	Tuesdays	Trivia Details (Reservations required)
The Mack	Tuesdays at 8:00 pm	Trivia Details
The Pat Connolly Tavern	Wednesdays at 7:00 pm
The Post	Wednesdays 8:00 pm - 10:00 pm	Trivia Details
Pieces Board Game Bar & Cafe	Wednesdays	Trivia Details
HandleBar	Thursdays at 7:00 pm - 9:00 pm	Trivia Details
Steve's Hot Dogs	Tuesdays 7:30 pm - 9:30 pm	Trivia Details

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Live Music This Week
Music Venues	Live Music Around Town
Blueberry Hill Duck Room	1860 Saloon
Chesterfield Amphitheater	BB's Jazz, Blues & Soups
Delmar Hall	Broadway Oyster Bar
Enterprise Center	City Foundry
The Fabulous Fox Theatre	Gallery Pub
The Factory	Game 6 Honky Tonk
Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre	Gaslight Lounge
Off Broadway	The Heavy Anchor
Old Rock House	Jazz St. Louis
The Pageant	Joe's Cafe
Red Flag	The Lot on the Landing
The Sheldon	McGurk's
St. Louis Music Park	SoFar St. Louis Secret performances around town
St. Louis Symphony Concert Calendar	Venice Cafe
Stifel Theatre	Yaquis on Cherokee

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Recurring Outdoor Activities
Big Muddy Adventures – STL Riverfront Adventure	Big Muddy Adventures was established in 2002. They are the first professional outfitteguiding company providing access to the wild wonders of the Middle Mississippi and Lower Missouri Rivers.
Gateway Arch Events	There are a variety of things to do along the Mississippi River.
Hidden Valley Ski Resort	Ziplining, scenic chairlift rides, and hiking trails opened during the summer. Skiing, snowboarding during the winter.

On this post: https://www.reddit.com/livealive/comments/13ynd04/live_a_live_2_what_chapters_id_like_to_see/ I mentioned I'd like to see a Superhero-themed chapter involving a city named Cosmos City being invaded by aliens. It was inspired by the China chapter of LAL.
The plot involves Cosmos City, in the USA, being invaded by aliens (spawns of the alien from Cube's chapter, which in LAL2 alternate history has devoured and assimilated Cube to become the alien queen of this chapter).
The plot starts with Jason David Stark attacking the nest of the alien queen (it's genderless, but I'll call it a queen) alone, and almost defeats it at the cost of getting crippled and having his Green Dragon armor rendered inoperable. Meanwhile. the alien queen has survived, and it's gonna regenerate and learn a new plan to attack Cosmos City through its adaptation ability.
Back in Cosmos City, the aliens seem to have died, for now, but the queen is not actually dead so they're gonna respawn and attack again. Jason, no longer being able to use his armor, decides to train the rest of the Guardian Force to prepare for the new invasion.
Some months pass, and, as Jason predicted, the aliens come back with a vengeance. As such, Jason and the Guardian Force he leads are now ready to stop them. One of the heroes, the one with the highest affinity and level, claims the title of New Green Dragon in honor of the late Jason, and leads the attack on the aliens' nest.
Since the queen has adapted to Jason's powers and is now able to counter them, Jason decides to lead the city defense and send some of his Guardian Force to attack the nest while the rest assist him in city defense. Jason eventually dies while tackling the aliens' main force in a forced loss battle, meanwhile, the player's decisions cause other heroes to take up different tasks and fight some specific boss aliens. They might die or survive, depending on the situation.
The two doing tasks in the nest (but not the two protecting the city) assist the New Green Dragon as a party against the final boss. Then, as the New Green Dragon comes back to the city, the surviving heroes all cheer for them and, for the final chapter, teach them their signature special skill based on summoning them.
Unlike the China chapter, this one punishes favoritism severely, as avoiding favoritisms causes your heroes to be able to survive and give whoever is the New Green Dragon special skills to use in the final chapter.
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The heroes' team, called the Guardian Force, is inspired by the "Sense of Right Alliance" bootleg toys (which depicts Superman, Batman, Spider-Man, a Power Ranger, Lightning McQueen and Shrek):
Green Dragon (Jason David Stark) is a tribute to Jason David Frank's Green Ranger and represents the Power Ranger, given he's a user of a cybernetic armor who can summon a dragon. Jason is the hero at the start of the game, and the character you control outside of battle for most of it. As he's gonna sacrifice himself to defend the city, you control him for one last time and have to beat waves and waves of aliens in a battle that carries on until you die: each wave you beat gives you rarer drops and beating the fifth wave gives a special weapon for the final chapter, however, after the fifth wave, a special boss spawns which uses an instakill move before you even get a chance to attack.
Killer Backhoe is a tribute to Lightning McQueen, being a modified backhoe controlled by an AI, with a machine gun turret mounted on it. He has an A rank in Strength and a B in Range, but a D in flight. If he survives, he gives the New Green Dragon the skill Grave Digger (Martial-elemental charge in a straight line with a 2x2 width, with a chance of an instant kill)
Bloodbat (Pat Cullenson) is a tribute to Pattinson's Batman (and Edward Cullen) and represents Batman, being a vampire with blood magic and the ability to turn into a bat. He has a B rank in Flight and an A rank in Range, and a D rank in Strength. If he survives, he'll give the New Green Dragon the skill My Bloody Valentine (health-draining Dark-elemental magic attack which inflicts Poison, Intoxication, atk down and def down in a 3x3 range)
The Oni (Roland Takahara) is a tribute to Shrek, being, you know, an oni. He has an S rank in Strength and a D in both Range and Flight. If he survives, he'll give the New Green Dragon the skill Oni's Rage (Blunt-elemental physical attack which covers a 4x4 area around the user and raises the user's atk but lowers their defense)
Plasma Jet (Henry Hartmann) is a tribute to Superman (especially Henry Cavill's one), as his power to control plasma allows him to fly and shoot heat beams. He has a C rank in Strength, an A rank in Range and an S rank in Flight. If he survives, he'll give the New Green Dragon the skill Plasma Blast (long-ranged Fire-elemental magic attack which hits a 4x4 area)
Monarch Butterfly (Vanessa Del Bruco) is a tribute to Spider-Man, as she controls bugs, shoot silk and split her body into multiple bugs. She has an S rank in Range, a D rank in Strength and a B rank in Flight. If she survives, she'll give the New Green Dragon the skill Hungry Swarm (Projectile-elemental physical attack which hits the whole field dealing 10 hits of light damage and drains health)
Note that in order to survive, each hero has to be a certain level or higher depending on what task you have them attempt. Since every hero has not only a task to accomplish, but also an individual boss to fight associated with said task, you have to win those boss battles cause if you lose it's not just a game over and reset, your hero dies.
In order to perform some tasks and have your heroes survive, you need a hero which has of those talents at a certain rank (those ranks can increase with levels). Some of these tasks involve rescuing civilians from a skyscraper, hitting flying aliens storming the city, removing debris blocking a road, and then destroying the gate to the nest or reaching it by flying or opening a passage by shooting. Each hero needs to have not only a certain skill rank to be able to perform those tasks, but also be at a certain level to be able to survive those tasks.
Jason can have "support conversations" and "training sessions" with various heroes in order to decide which ones go to the nest and which ones stay to defend the city. All surviving heroes who are in the nest are used as the party against the final boss.
After you finish the chapter, the New Green Dragon learns the ability to summon the heroes who have survived the chapter in order to launch one skill (as such being able to use a skill from their skillset in the final chapter). For instance, Killer Backhoe surviving gives you his skill Grave Digger, whose animation involves Killer Backhoe appearing and doing a Martial-elemental charge in a straight line which , or Bloodbat surviving gives whoever the New Green Dragon is his skill My Bloody Valentine, with an animation involving summoning Bloodbat, who uses Dark-elemental blood magic to drain health and inflict Poison, Intoxication and all stats down in a 3x3 range.

So I go to an all girls school in a conservative area. It is not illegal to be a religious public school where i live but it is still practiced very frequently.
Anyway there was an event circling around of a movie night with a neighboring school and I thought that would be fun to go to with my friends. There was no mention of anything religious at all in the poster. We go to the event and before the movie started we were greeted by people who are part of Shofar (I researched them afterwards, they're an evangelical sub group in South Africa). They started talking about Jesus and the holy spirit and I got really confused on why this was being discussed now. They talked for about twenty minutes and ended with a prayer to "convert any willing followers" to Christianity. I was already pretty annoyed by this point but then they start playing the movie, which was "God's not dead." I contemplated leaving at this point but my friends begged me to stay and I had to spend the rest of the night watching a god-awful movie while the audience was praying and loudly agreeing the whole night through.
My friends are saying i am being dramatic but surely they can't promote events falsely like this? The previous events were nothing like this, it was so weird. Did this happen to anyone else?

PREVIOUS
In the following week there was much work to be done. I left Eric in bed most mornings and had breakfast sent to my room for him. He needed time to recharge the energy in his leg so that he could walk properly again. That was never a specific limitation I imposed, it was simply that no magic is without limitations. Nothing is endlessly powerful, although some creatures come close.
It was the day after Eric returned that I received a letter from the enforcers and I opened it with trepidation. Only twice before had such a letter ever arrived, and neither of those times had I been the one to deal with it. Unfortunately for me, it stated that I was to meet with one of them in a very short time.
“Of course.” I muttered to myself. They’re an impatient species. When fae make plans it can take months, years or decades before we follow through with them, afterall time moves differently for us than most. But when the enforcers decide on something, it must happen immediately. I would hardly have the time to dress appropriately.
As it was I was still buttoning my vest as I left the castle grounds. Rarely do we permit other species to enter the castle, especially not when we are not familiar. Because of this there is a temple in the woods, just beyond the castle shield, that is a traditional place of negotiation.
I arrived shortly and trotted up the marble steps making no effort to conceal my presence. The temple was clean and well maintained, human monks are responsible for its upkeep. They are not more than a small group, but they understand well that we exist.
“You’re late.” an unfamiliar voice chastised me the moment I entered.
“I was given unreasonably short notice. It’s fortunate I saw fit to come at all.” I replied dryly. I hadn’t even told anyone where I was going, perhaps that wasn’t wise.
“Watch your mouth, Faeling. Where is Lazarus?” Ahead I could hardly make him out from the darkness of the temple. He was a dark, feathered creature hiding in the shadows with an array of glistening eyes and mass enough that the tips of his wings touched the ceiling.
“My father is no longer responsible for these territories.”
He paused for a moment, as if contemplating, “...Very well. Then you are the one responsible for maintaining discretion within your territory. As such, you should be aware of an incident on your northern boundary?”
“I’m afraid you will have to be more specific, the northern boundary is extensive.”
“Two from your castle attended the scene. A small town was decimated.”
My heart began to race, I hadn’t sent anyone out, so he must be referring to Eric and Charles. “Yes. I sent peacekeepers out to investigate, as per treaty laws; all instances of mass human interaction must be investigated and settled. There were no witnesses, and I have already begun implementing cover up steps.” I lied calmly.
“Are you aware of its cause?”
“...No.” I admitted reluctantly. If I were to lie in that instance, it would be easily disproved.
“So then it would seem you don’t know everything.”
“I have never claimed omniscience.”
He chuckled, it was a deep reverberation that rattled my vertebrae. “It seems the old ones have returned to the area. Ensure all matters regarding species confidentiality are handled appropriately, failure to do so will result in unpleasantries.”
“That is inequitable. We cannot be held responsible for the actions of another species.” I argued firmly.
“If they are on your lands, it is in your best interest to do so. Otherwise, we may have to investigate further into your operations, there’s no telling what we may find then.”
“All of Dunkel’s activities are within treaty terms. You are welcome to review the paperwork yourself, if you wish.”
“That won’t be necessary at this stage.” he replied calmly, “Keep a handle on your territory, little fae, or else.”
He vanished without allowing me the opportunity to respond. ‘Or else’, if I didn’t understand that it was a genuine threat I could have laughed at the irony of it. Gradually I realized I had been holding my breath, and I let it out slowly. It’s not often that I’m reminded how little my power is compared to ancient beings. The last time they were near was in 1926.
I only remember it because it happened close to the borders of Dunkel, and our father was concerned enough to visit. It seemed the old ones had been destroying towns haphazardly across the north, until they reached a mining town. For whatever reason they left a single witness alive, an elderly blind woman, and that broke treaty laws.
From what I was told, the family responsible was eliminated entirely in a single night. No man, woman or child was left. They were used to set an example. Before that the last time the enforcers needed to step in was the witch trials.
***
I returned to the castle quickly and began making arrangements immediately. The first step was to understand what human authorities knew of the matter and compulsion would grant me the records easily. Second, I needed to ensure the narrative of what happened was ‘nothing unusual’ as far as humans were concerned. That was easy enough, I sent out a small publicist team. They had handled such things before.
After that I sent word to all alliances, and more reluctantly a letter to my mother at Leúchtend. It was not because I wanted to speak with her. Rather that despite my personal grievances, she was still the current leader of our sister castle and needed to be informed regardless.
Next I needed to secure the borders of our lands better. We needed to know the moment something crossed the boundary, and for that I would need to coordinate with the spell writers. Although I was sure Tóru would be more than happy to express her skills, she almost never let it rest that she wished to do more.
Of course the additional work this incident created was only compounded onto my usual responsibilities. Infirmary reports, construction progress check in’s and permissions, maintenance and repair requests, deliveries and orders. I was grateful when my brother took care of the interpersonal requests, contracts, marriages and so forth.
However when the human interaction documents came in I was ready to quit. Reports from law cases, correspondence from the publicity team - Achaicus could have the castle. I almost didn’t care.
Admittedly most of it is as simple as signing it. Still it all at least needed to be read. It’s important that I know about everything that’s going on both inside and outside of the castle. Unfortunately, when I at last remembered the time I realized I had missed dinner, again.
I sighed, rubbing my eyes, the paperwork was never ending. I would have to come up with a better way of handling it. Achaicus had arranged all the documents so neatly that I couldn’t find anything anymore and I was sure I was going to be the first fae to need glasses at this point. Our eyes aren't designed to focus so close for so long.
“You missed dinner.” my brother commented as he came to stand in the doorway.
“I had realized as much.” I replied bitterly without looking over to him. So when he pushed aside the paperwork and set a plate down in front of me I was caught off guard. “Oh… Thank you.”
“Of course, if you starve, that means I have to take up all the paperwork again.”
“You don’t have to do anything, assign it to someone else, abandon the castle. You’ve got options.”
He ignored me, commenting instead. “You know you missed your appointment with Markos as well. And Jórn has been requesting and audience with you.”
“I’ll see Jórn tomorrow, that matter is unimportant.” I muttered, Markos was going to be pissed with me though.
“And your appointment?”
“I’m fine. I don’t even need it.”
Achaicus sighed exasperated, “Fine. What of your pet then?”
“What of him?”
“He didn’t make any appearances today, is he away?”
“No. He’s probably just still in my room.”
“Your room?”
“Yes, he sleeps there and he needs time to recover from his work.”
He was quiet for a moment, as if deciding something before he spoke more gently. “Brother-..” he began but I cut him off.
“Not you as well.” I groaned.
“Are you and he…?” he continued regardless of my objections.
“What does it matter?”
“If you prefer men-”
“I don’t prefer men.”
He rolled his eyes and I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Whatever, I don’t care what you prefer. However, you could have anyone you wished. Choose someone else, anyone else, choose a thousand others, Nathaniel, just not him.”
“What is it that you have against him? There was a time where you rather enjoyed his company.”
“I only enjoyed his company because he would drink with me without chastising me for it. But that doesn’t mean he’s a good person.”
“Tell me then, which one of us are ‘good’?”
“He will hurt you, and I cannot bear to see it.”
“Eric has never hurt me.”
“He will betray you.”
It was difficult to place the feelings of simultaneous irritation and pure astonishment that he would even dare speak to me about this. “He won’t.”
“How can you be certain? I implore you please, listen to reason. He has a thousand reasons to hate you and he is not the type to forgive.”
“I am certain because I know what betrayal looks like.” I stated coldly and my brother paused. I could see him connecting the meaning behind my words as I continued. “You betrayed me to father, several times. Do you not remember holding a blade to my throat? You wanted to kill me so badly I could see it in your eyes. I loved you most of anyone. When Father sent you away it hurt me so deeply most days I could hardly breathe, and when you returned all you felt for me was hatred. If you believe that didn’t break something in me you’re mistaken.”
“You know how deeply I regret that… You’re my brother, I could never hurt you.”
“That didn’t stop you from trying.”
“Brother I-”
I held up a hand to silence him, “It’s fine, it’s in the past. Which is entirely my point. I trust you regardless of your actions and your intent. It’s not men I like, it’s only him.”
“It’s not real, it’s a trickery.” he insisted, “Believe me, he can make you feel any way he wishes you to feel about him.”
“He’s just a man, how exactly do you believe he has any way of compelling me to feel anything about him?”
“Because I know it!” he exclaimed exasperated, “Because he has used the same charms on me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember the night you came to find him drinking with me?”
“Yes.” I answered simply. That had been the night Eric had kissed the palm of my hand.
“It was as if I were under a spell. I told him a great many things that not anyone but you or I knew. I told him how I had tried to kill you, and that we had switched. I told him how father killed Raisa and your manticore… I told him everything. I wanted to tell him. There is no natural reason for that, and before I knew it I was on the floor with him.”
“You and he slept together?”
“...No. He left before it got that far… I don’t know where he went from there.”
“Why did you not tell me of this before?” I muttered annoyed.
“Because he was not my property to be doing such things with… I feared you would be mad.”
“I am mad. You were so drunk you couldn’t keep from telling him secrets others were not meant to hear! What else did you tell him!?”
“N-nothing else…”
I felt ill. Those were things I never wished for anyone to know, especially not for Eric to know. “Get out.” I warned coldly. I was just like our father. When I was upset I wanted to hurt something and my temper was rising. As if I hadn’t dealt with enough things that day.
He left as requested and I chose to sleep in my office. Partly because I didn’t want to see Eric knowing what he knew about me, and secondarily because I didn't want to take my anger out on him. The amount of times I had almost hurt him previously were too numerous, how could I claim to have changed only to revert to the same behaviors?
***
In the time that followed I did my best to maintain a certain level of composure. Our mother, sister and two of our nieces arrived with their escorts not all that long after I had sent the letter. With them they brought word of more attacks near to their borders and with that information we were able to track a path downward from Leúchtend toward us.
“It’s almost as if they’re testing the line.” Alvíss commented looking over the map.
We had gathered in the war chambers to discuss the matter and had been doing so for some time. My brother and I sat across from one another while Markos, Alviss, Baltzar and Killian sat down the length of the table.
“Or they could just be traveling in that direction.” Baltzar countered. They had been politely disagreeing for hours, it was clear they didn’t like each other all that much.
“All this speculation is useless.” Markos spoke up at last. “If they are testing the borders, they would strike next beside the lake, if they are simply traveling south they should cut the corner toward the west boundary.”
“If I send guards toward the lake townships, and station look outs near the west border, would that be advisable?” I asked, trying not to sound as tired as I was.
“Yes, I believe that would be wise.” Alvíss agreed and Baltzar nodded. If they were in agreement, that was wonderful. Now this dreadful meeting could end.
Each day had been just as exhausting as the day the enforcer visited. My brother still treated me with unnecessarily apologetic behavior, though I had tried to assure him that it was days ago and I had already resolved it. There’s no point harboring unpleasant feelings and quite frankly, no time for it.
In the early mornings I trained with Charles, and in the afternoon I handled the paperwork. I received notification that Tougo wished to investigate the matter independently from us and I granted the request. While Sofie from the fae to the south replied with a curt letter stating that whatever our troubles she wished no part in our affairs. It was thankful that I heard nothing more from the enforcers at least.
Eric was still unable to find his cane and, after seeing how much distress it caused him to be unable to walk, I had Jórn make a simple wooden cane for him. It was not as fine as his original, nor did it hide a sword within it, but it was enough to settle his complaints.
Unfortunately that did not settle his mood of late. Since returning he had been particularly on edge. He woke in the night more than once sitting straight up in a cold sweat and instinctively reaching for his sword.
“Eric.” I complained groggily as he disturbed me. That was another reason I hardly slept, he could not make it through the night without waking and I had half a mind to order that he leave to his own room.
“Go back to sleep.” he muttered, pushing the hair back from his face as he gradually calmed.
“This happens too often.”
“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.” he snapped back, irritated. Exhaustion was getting the better of him as well and it took everything in me not to give in to anger. Yet still he refused to tell me what was causing him such distress.
I allowed myself a moment to breathe out slowly before I pulled him closer to me, wrapping my forearm across his eyes as I did. “Nathaniel..” he complained half-heartedly trying to push my arm off before settling.
“Relax… nothing will harm you right now.”
“…You can’t know that..”
“But I do.” I assured, he was so warm against me and I was almost asleep again.
I couldn’t say how much time passed before he spoke again, “…Are you still awake?” He asked quietly. I thought I answered, however I must not have for he continued, “Do you think you could ever forgive me..?”
I didn’t know what he was talking about, or what he meant. I wasn’t even sure I had heard him speak, or if it was nothing more than a dream. However in the morning he was still beside me, and I assumed I must have misheard.
During the day he no longer attended training with Calla and Charles, instead he disappeared each morning until evening. I hadn’t asked him where he was as I was doing my best not to be so controlling, however, as far as I was aware, no one knew where he went.
Still he was in attendance at dinner each day, so I supposed he wasn’t going too far. Perhaps the most disturbing thing I noticed was that he didn’t speak to Calla, and she didn’t look in his direction. After dinner they went their separate ways and Eric no longer secretly took any additional sugar cubes from the table.
Of course I approached Calla about it. By this time it was clear something was wrong with Eric and it had gone on long enough that I needed to know, “Calla, might we have a word?”
“Yes.” She answered with a small curtsy, “How may I be of service?”
“What's going on between you and Eric?”
“Nothing.” That was a frustrating answer.
“Why are you not speaking to each other?”
“Because there is nothing to say.”
I got the feeling she was being purposefully blunt with me. It was almost rude, and it’s not often that Markos’s well trained doll acts out. “Is there nothing to say, or is it that you don’t want to talk to him?”
“It is both.”
“Why..?”
“He’s not who I thought he was. He cannot be trusted.” she stated simply. For Markos or Achaicus to say it was one thing, but for her to say it gave me pause.
“Did Markos ask you to say that to me?”
“No. May I be excused?” Her eyes met mine and I felt uncomfortable. I recognised the expression, pure deep anger, covered over by a complete lack of caring.
“Yes…” I agreed more softly and she left without another word.
I had enough on my plate, Eric somehow pissing Calla off wasn’t what I needed. Perhaps Charles would know better what was going on. Naturally he was the next person I tried to speak with. However I was interrupted as Jórn approached.
“Lord Nathaniel!” He greeted me in a jovial manner and far too loudly. He is slightly shorter than I, and well built from centuries of forgework. His hair is a long tangle of braids woven into one single larger braid down the length of his back. His eyes are deep purple, and he is older than most, perhaps my fathers age.
“That’s unnecessary.” I complained and he smiled
“I have completed the task you assigned me.”
“It was a request, not a task-”
He hardly allowed me the time to correct him before he presented two velvet boxes to me. I will admit the rings in them were beautiful. Rather traditional upon first glance they appeared to have a simple elegance, but as Jòrn insisted I look closer I noticed fine details.
The groom's ring was traditional; a single ring, with engravings on the inside and subtle textures across the surface. While the bride’s rings were a set of two intended to interconnect and had the same inscriptions.
“The diamond is natural, almost flawless, and all rings are made from the same gold nugget.” He began explaining eagerly, “You can see here, the tiniest inscription for the spell. So long as there is love in their hearts for the other the rings will remain a comfortable warmth and if there is deceit in the union the rings will turn ice cold. Are they to your liking?”
“You’ve outdone yourself.” I assured, of course I realized by now he wanted praise.
“I’m sure your lady will be very pleased. I’ll admit I had heard no word that you were with anyone. Can we expect a wedding? Children?”
I couldn’t help but smile tightly. He was fishing for information, I knew it well and it was exactly why I disliked speaking to others. “They are in fact not for me. But I appreciate the time and effort you put into them nonetheless.”
“Who are they for then?” He demanded more irritably.
“A close friend of mine. I’m sure you will learn who in a short time.”
He folded his arms unhappily. Jórn values tradition and has worked at Dunkel for several centuries. Like many of the older generation he is irritatingly nosy and dislikes being incorrect in his assumptions.
“Fine. They had better admire my work.” he grumbled disapprovingly.
“I’m certain they will be able to appreciate it even better than I. Thank you.”
Jórn nodded gruffly before allowing me peace. Claire was going to owe me doubly for that.
I found the time to give the rings to Miss Walsh shortly after receiving them and did so by dropping the boxes on the table beside her. Just as she had dumped herself on me when she asked I have them made. Initially she looked up from her sewing confused, then seemed to understand and a broad smile spread across her face.
“Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!” she half stood, reaching up without hesitation to wrap her arms around my neck and pull me into an uncomfortable hug.
I suppose I should have expected as much by now as I struggled to push her off. “Claire-” I began disgruntled but when she kissed my cheek I froze.
“Thank you so much Nathaniel, you’re a gem.”
“Please control yourself.” I muttered in response and she gradually let go of me.
“I’m not sorry, oh, and I haven't forgotten I know I owe you one now. Ahhh just nothing, like, horrible yeah?”
“I never agreed to that.”
“Well, if it’s horrible I’ll defer your favor.”
“That’s not permitted.”
“Did you put it in writing?” she countered and I clicked my tongue in annoyance. She’d spent far too much time with Markos it seemed. However, with my silence she continued. “Do you think he’ll say yes?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re friends aren’t you? You talk? Does he ever say anything about me?”
“No, usually he prefers to scold me instead.”
“That’s just because he loves you.”
“Yeah, alright. Don't lose your rings.” I muttered dismissively. Her endless cheer was simultaneously irritating and becoming. Whatever she thought, whatever emotion she felt it all poured out of her without any filter. I supposed she was good for Markos in that way, no way he could mistake anything she wanted or needed with his overthinking.
[NEXT]()
Chapter List
I'm waayyyy too nice this week.

First - I will not entertain antivaxxers or vaccine injury nonsense. I’d rather have twitches the rest of my life than be dead from Covid, though I’m still not sure that caused this. Fine to discuss vaccine side effects of course.
38/F, medical hx of HTN (resolving w 40lb weight loss) HLD (same), PCOS.
Prescribed meds metformin (PCOS, not DM), BCP, Spironolactone, Topamax and Phentermine (weight loss), Losartan-HCTZ, Lexapro.
Supplements, some prescribed: Mag, Vit D, Vit B complex, Glucosamine/chondroitin, Fish Oil.
History of present illness: I am not verified, but suffice to say I’m not a doctor but I’m in healthcare. I contracted COVID in the early days (2/2021) from a patient due to inadequate PPE and delayed vaccine availability in my area. I got it bad, but not badly enough for hospitalization. I was vaccinated (Jannsen) as soon after as I could be.
Around this timeframe, not sure exactly when because on its own it’s such a small symptom, I started having twitches. It’s just like an eyelid twitch, but in a large muscle scale, and never more than once single twitch per muscle at a time. I can’t predict what muscle it will be, or when, except it only happens in a more relaxed state. So if I am walking or working, it doesn’t happen. If I’m sitting or resting, the twitches happen. Muscles involved are calves, thighs, belly, butt, occasionally chest, and forearms. Never my face.
My provider has attempted large doses of vitamin D, and magnesium. Both of which I still take. Nothing has changed the rate or frequency. I have tried various alternate therapies (massage and the like) with no effect.
It is a bit annoying, and rarely it comes into play by pulling my hand sideways when I’m trying to draw blood. But primarily I’d like to know the science behind it and where it came from. My long term fear is that I may develop facial twitching, or that the rate may increase to the point where it is noticeable by a casual observer or that it stops me from completing my work or ADLs. Currently if I am sitting still, it happens up to twice or three times a minute.
I welcome both anecdotal and professional opinions, as well as anything I might be able to research or follow up on! Just no pseudoscience please!

On the morning of December 8th, 1941, enlistment offices all across the United States began to be filled by young men eager to enact revenge for what the Empire of Japan had done at Pearl Harbor. The offices would stay busy for a long, long time. It was a dangerous job, with life and limb at serious risk, and many more young men would join the Army and Navy by conscription. Lesser celebrated, and likely they’d have it no other way, were whole second armies of support personnel. These would be nurses, middle-aged clerks too old and or fat to fight, surveyors, engineers, and merchant sailors.
Some would be spies or intelligence men working for the Office of Strategic Services. Others were mysterious ne’er-do-wells, scoundrels who were very good at the procurement of various goods. Some would be anthropologists and translators, eager to help obscure native communities deal with the technologically advanced war tearing the island worlds asunder. Some would be entertainers for the USO, there to help with morale, doing what they were best at, whether it was telling jokes or dancing beautifully. Others might be war correspondents, to communicate, in a highly censored way, what was going on to the folks back home. Then there were the bean counters. Everybody overlooked the bean counters.
Many of the combat veterans, and even some of the non-combat personnel, would never make it home again. Others made it home, but only after being maimed and scarred in body and mind. Yet most would make it home. All of them would have stories to tell, though many would never tell their stories. There was a culture of silence during the war, ‘loose lips sink ships.’ It wasn’t just a catchy phrase, people took it to heart. It became a habit. Even long after the war was over people kept their lips zipped shut.
And yet, there were still millions and millions of stories, and some of them would be recorded. They might be memoirs committed to paper years later. Then again, many of these people kept diaries. They would write home every chance they get. Officers as a regular part of their duties were constantly writing up reports. Every single one would end up being read by someone, somewhere, and passed up the chain depending on its importance, or filed away if the chain ended there. With every battle won or lost, extensive analyses were conducted on what went right and what went wrong, and how we could do better. Actions of bravery were written up for recommendations for medals or promotions. Every serious infraction meant a court-martial, and court martials left transcripts. Bitter denouements and protests were written when it was felt officers weren’t living up to their duties, and in these cases, the lips were zipped especially tight, but the reports themselves were poured over. Every location where the U.S. went, whether it was the location of a battleground, a ranging area for artillery, site for a depot, or a road used to transport was thoroughly mapped and described in detail.
Then there were the bean counters. How many 20 mm shells does it take, on average, to knock down a Val dive bomber? How many pints of A-positive blood should be stocked in a forward field hospital? How many gallons of ice cream are needed to keep a company of Marines in good fighting spirit? The bean counters might not know, but they recorded everything down just in case you wanted to sift through the data, and a lot of people did. The data would end up having a massive contribution to the war effort.
Last were two groups of material that were never meant to see the light of day. The sort of thing that ought to be recorded, but then hidden away only for the purview of top men. The first is information you might expect would cause classification or a cover-up. Disastrous friendly fire incidents. Accusations and or confessions of war crimes. State secrets involving intelligence on enemies and allies both.
Then there’s the other tranche of material. The stuff that defies explanation. Secrets from the hidden corners of the earth that were never meant to be revealed until some young farmboys from a country far away showed up in places where they were never supposed to be.
The following provides an example.
Excerpts from the personal diary of Second Lieutenant Yvette Morgan, Army Nursing Corps, 231st Hospital Group, Normandy region of France, July and August 1944. Aged 20 at the time of writing.
Note: Most American personnel in WWII were restricted from keeping personal diaries for counterintelligence purposes. It was not uncommon that this restriction was flaunted, particularly among personnel with the luxury of a little bit of privacy. Lt. Morgan seems to have understood the purpose of the restriction, and so the redactions in the following excerpts are her own. A careful eye will note she’s made a couple of errors, which is why censorship should be left to the professionals.
July 30th, 1944- Just got off the truck and finally made it back ‘home.’ Just spent all ‘day,’ helping set up the field hospital. We’ve commandeered a high school in the little town of St. A. I think it’s going to work out pretty well. There’s a gym with a tall ceiling and high windows, which means good natural lighting, so we’re setting that up as an operating room. We’ve got about six beds in each classroom, which is just about the number you’d like. The corridors are nice and wide enough to handle gurneys, and there’s plenty of room out front for the ambulances. I don’t think we could have found a better location outside of a purpose-built actual hospital.
The real work starts tomorrow. Well, today, I guess. They ought to be taking patients right about the time I’m writing this. I drew the short stick, and now I’m stuck with the overnight shift. That’s my luck for you. Back home that would have meant at least it would be pretty quiet, but I don’t think that’s going to apply to this kind of duty.
“Home” is actually this nice little old cottage they’ve set me up with, and four other girls. It’s in the tiny commune of L. It’s actually about ten miles from the hospital, not far from the sea. Every shift they’re going to drive us back and forth in these trucks. Seems like an awful waste of gasoline to me, but what do I know? The whole reason they’re doing this is because the hospital’s technically in range of German artillery, and they like to keep staff like us out of harm's way when we’re not needed. I suppose we won’t be in range much longer anyway. That said, Capt. G says the front line’s been stalled out for a while. He says it’s slow going with all these enormous hedgerows they grow everyplace around here. I never knew they could grow so big, they must be hundreds of years old. I thought the poplar windbreaks they started growing back home after the Dust Bowl were impressive, but they’ve got nothing on these things. We can still hear the guns, though. They’re a long way off, and kind of sound like thunder, though you can tell they’re not because the sky is perfectly clear. At least, I hope, they’re mostly our guns.
The morning’s still a little chilly, but it promises to be a warm day. I’m going to have to get used to sleeping through it. After long last summer is really here. The cottage itself is lovely. I can’t help but wonder about the people who really make this home. There’s a delightful flower garden in front and just the most precious herb garden right outside the kitchen window. When I get married and we have a home, I’m going to insist on one just like it.
The other girls? Well, what can I say. 5 of us all sharing this little place, at least we’ll be working different shifts mostly. I’m sure we’ll get by swimmingly.
July 31st- Just got back and finished breakfast for dinner. Part of me still wishes I were at work. If I were at a civilian hospital I still would be. Funny how the military insists on sticking to the scheduled shift and they order me to go home and get some sleep. I might get used to such regimentation.
I say this as if I’m not completely exhausted and overwhelmed. I’m sure I’ll sleep tonight. Today, whatever. As I’d suspected, we had our first wounded in during the morning shift. Most of them had been through the Mobile Advanced hospital and had been at least looked over by a doctor. Plenty had already gone through an initial surgery, just to stabilize them, close gaping wounds, and tie off arteries. It was really crude stuff, but I suppose that’s the point. Our doctors opened them back up and fixed them up properly. There were a few walking wounded, shrapnel wounds, and nasty burns we were able to help out too. I feel glad to be part of such a great team. I spent the first half of my shift assisting in two different surgeries. Then the last half attending the wards.
I had hoped that would be more peaceful. Our boys are so brave, even when you can tell they’re really broken up over what they’ve been through. And yet it wasn’t meant to be.
I mentioned that St. A.’s was within range of German artillery. Well, there was an attack last night, early this morning, I’m still not used to the schedule. They didn’t hit the hospital. They hit the other side of town. It was loud enough to shake all of the windows, and even the ground shook. It scared the daylights out of me. Some of the boys yelled too. A couple of them fell out of their beds and tried to hide underneath. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through that a second time, let alone time after time, day after day like our boys.
I was just starting to get things settled down and everything squared. Then there was commotion. A bunch of orderlies, then nurses, then doctors running around the front main hall. We were expecting wounded. They’d hit an old medieval church on the other side of town. The Church of Saint Adalthred. There had been a platoon of soldiers sleeping there. Now they were bringing the survivors in.
I had never done triage before, though I remembered my training. You divide the patients into three groups. The group that needs surgery absolutely immediately if they’re going to live. The group that can wait for surgery. And then there’s the group that will die regardless.
There were two young men that were in the last group. The first had a massive open head wound. The strange thing was he was perfectly conscious and capable of speaking, despite the injury. There was just nothing that we could do for him. He was alert for about an hour, and then he simply passed away. Is it horrible to think that was something of a mercy?
The other suffered terrible burns, and apparently some of the blast as well. After the triage, I was assigned to care for him. The doctor had estimated over 90 percent of his body suffered burns in the third degree. The kind of amount that really makes you question your faith. I’ve seen burn patients, but not when they get first arrive like this. His eyes and ears were gone. A strange thing was, he wasn’t screaming like we’d expect burn patients to do. The doctor said his vocal cords were burnt out, but his lungs were relatively free of smoke damage, and he didn’t have that horrible cough. The doctor said it was like “he’d inhaled flame.” He was simply silent. He’s not expected to last the night. Day, I mean. I suppose I won’t see him again. I suppose that’s mercy too.
I mentioned yesterday that I think a school building serves as a fine hospital in a pinch. I’m not sure about that anymore. It’s the ventilation. There isn’t any in the school. Fumes from the ether linger everywhere. So does the stink of infection, no matter how much we fight it. And that last patient. It was like he was roasted. Literally. I thought I’d be sick.
August 1st- The truck ride back is starting to become my favorite part of the day. This one was a long one, despite being the exact same length as all the other shifts. We’re really packed now. The minute we get one patient ready for transport back to England, another takes his bed. They say the war might be over before Christmas. I hope. Don’t know how I’ll be able to keep up this pace for so long.
The little old priest whose church got blown up by the Germans came around to volunteer at the hospital. Poor old thing has nowhere else to go. He’s helping us roll bandages, working the autoclaves, and helping the chaplain out with the prayers. He seems to be helping with morale, god bless him. Particularly the chaplain’s. The priest doesn’t speak English and the chaplain doesn’t speak French, but they both speak Latin well enough to get by. I’ve never heard it spoken before. I grew up Lutheran, and it seems so strange. I’m a long way from home.
The burn patient is still alive. I was really surprised when I got in and found out. Apparently so are the doctors. Of course, I’m attending him again and was asked to change his bandages. Most of the rest of his skin that hadn’t already sloughed off last night did so while I was changing them. I didn’t see any sign of infection yet, though of course, we all know what’s coming. Other than that there wasn’t much I can do. He’s started letting off this low moan. The doctor said he was not really conscious. I can’t imagine he would be, he’s still getting so much morphine.
He was already bleeding through before my shift ended, so I thought I’d do the next shift a favor and take care of it a second time on the same shift. This time the doctor had me place his arms over his chest and belly, and bandage them all together. Also, he had me bandage his legs together. The doctor said that if there’s a miracle and somehow he manages to pull through, it will be because he somehow beat the infection. And if he’s going to have any chance at all then we’ll need to minimize his contact with bandages until can receive grafts. When I was done he ended up looking like a mummy, right out of the pictures. I don’t think it will matter much, and neither does the doctor. But we have to keep trying.
August 2nd- Just got back. The burn victim is still alive. It’s so strange. It’s all I can think about now. When I first got in I went straight to his room. I was absolutely shocked, it was gruesome. His bandages were positively soaked through. There was more red than white. I was just about to chew out the girl on the shift before me. I thought that nobody had changed the bandages since my last shift, but then she told me that she’d just changed them two hours previously. I couldn’t make head or tales of it. So I just got to work changing them myself. It felt so odd, the way the other patients in the room were looking at us. Like they knew there was something off about the whole thing. The patient’s moaning is getting louder too. It must be so unnerving to the others sharing the room.
Then, of all things, Maj. P and Col. S came in to observe. I haven’t seen either of them since we started setting up the hospital. They don’t usually stay up so late. They were washed up and decided to help me bandage the patient. As if they weren’t just there to observe me, but wanted to be a part of it too.
Sure enough, after only a couple of hours, the bandages were soaked through again. I’ve never seen such terribly bleeding. I asked the doctor if it could have possibly been hemophilia. It’s something I’ve only heard about but haven’t seen. He only shook his head like he was sure that it wasn’t. Yet he also looked even more confused than I was. We’ve been giving the patient transfusions. But at this rate, I just don’t know where it’s all coming from.
I know I shouldn’t be writing this sort of thing down, but the doctor confided that he’s thinking of reducing the morphine, maybe the patient will be more lucid. I don’t know how the doctor expects him to communicate with his vocal cords destroyed, or what he could possibly have to say even if he could talk. Well, it’s not my place to decide. I think he knows more about what’s happening to the poor man than I do.
It was all just blood too. In the bandages. No pus at all. I don’t know how he’s not becoming infected.
August 3rd- There’s a great deal of strangeness happening at the hospital. I saw the General’s staff car the moment our truck pulled around to drop us off, the little flags on the front gave it away.. Instead of starting my shift, they asked me to come back to Col. S’s office. My first thought was that I was in trouble, and they’d somehow find this diary. Both Maj. P and Col. S. were there, along with Gen C. who’d driven down from Corps HQ with a couple of his staff. There were also two men from what might have been regular Army, except they wore two long dark coats. I didn’t get their names.
Apparently, they’d all been there for hours and were wanting to debrief me. Well, it sure was intimidating, but they just wanted me to tell them what I’d seen. Fair enough. The patient was burned all over his body. He probably should have died the first night but hasn’t. There’s an awful amount of bleeding which I can’t account for. There’s also no pus or smell of infection, which also didn’t make sense. I told them about how he’s been given large amounts of morphine, though I didn’t say what Cap. H had said about reducing it. No, he had never been capable of speaking since brought in. No, he hadn’t been wearing his dog tags, but between the blast, and the length of time he’d been burning, he must have stripped everything off. Surely they were back in the rubble of that church. Then they thanked me and told me I could go back to work.
Well, I’d just about had it. I stood up and demanded that if they knew something about my patient that they weren’t telling me and that if they did I could take better care of him, well then they had better tell me. I think I even swore though I didn’t mean to. Maj. P almost laughed and Col. S just gave me that stupid patronizing smile. Told me I was already doing everything that I could, and that they were proud of me. He’s a good man, but I’m getting really sick of this Army “that’s on a need-to-know basis” crap.
Rest of the shift was just the usual. Strange how it's become the norm now. No, there was something else. The burn patient was in his room by himself. They’d moved the other beds out. They didn’t tell me why. Probably because his moan’s getting worse. And raspier. I still don’t think he’s out of the morphine stupor though.
Alright, it’s later the same day, the second. I’ve just woken up and had a serious chat with Kathy, the nurse from the second shift, and she’s had a lot to talk about. Rumors are swirling. I don’t know how much of this is true. My gut instinct? It’s all true.
Those men in the long coats? The rumor is they were Army Intelligence. That didn’t make a lick of sense to me at first, but then it started to come together. It turns out there were supposed to be 30 men, including the C.O., in that church that night it got shelled. Nobody else. Except when they added up all the survivors (who’ve moved on to the front), all the wounded that were taken to our hospital, and those who died, which took a while to count, then it all added up to 31 men. So somebody was there who wasn’t supposed to be there, and nobody knows who it is. They think they’ve got all of the dog tags accounted for, which might have been why they asked me about it when I came in later that night. And the one person they can’t account for seems to be the burn victim.
So they didn’t know who it was. Nobody from the St. A.’s was missing. None of the French Resistance were around that night (apparently Intelligence asked them? How else would they know?). So it's really suspicious and they were worried he might be some kind of spy or infiltrator. They still don’t even know why that church was shelled in the first place.
So they started asking questions of that poor old priest who’s been volunteering. We know because they let the chaplain sit in with him, but it seems both of the intelligence guys spoke fluent French. They asked him if there were any kind of acolyte or initiate or whatever sort of junior clergy he might have could have been there. He said no, and anybody who might have was accounted for and healthy. He asked if there was anything valuable that could have been stolen, or maybe he feared could be looted (would our boys do that?). Well, he didn’t think so. There was the holy font, which was an antique, but there were many like it and it was hardly easy to move. There was the Bible at the altar. It was very old and had great sentimental value, but again it would have no value to thieves. There was the tomb of St. Adalthred himself, which was priceless to his community but was a part of the church itself. Why the church had been built in the first place. Impossible to steal.
Then they asked the priest to come and view the patient. Perhaps seeing his proportions, perhaps it might have helped him recollect a similar person he’d seen lately. I understand why they did it. He, the burn victim, does seem shorter than any soldier I’ve met, skinner too. I wish they hadn’t, though. The chaplain said the priest had cried over seeing all those bloody bandages. There wasn’t a point, because the priest said he didn’t recognize him. The strange thing was, the chaplain had said that the priest's behavior seemed really strange. Like they got the really strong sense that the priest was being cagey, and lying to them. Not that he recognized the figure per se, but that he was thinking of something that he wasn’t telling them. He also insisted on saying a prayer over the burnt figure before he left, and they let him.
When I asked why they’d moved all the other beds in the room, Kathy said a little while after the priest had left the burn victim had started screaming, really bad. The other patients asked if they could leave the room, and because of the mystery, Col. S. agreed to it so they could isolate the burnt man. He was only calmer when I arrived later because they’d given him more morphine. When Kathy told me how much my jaw hit the floor. That part has to be baseless rumor.
August 8- I’m back in England. I’ve been too worked up to write, and worried, of course. After it happened, they put me in a truck, drove me to L. to pick up my things, and then I was on a Skytrain back to Cornwall. I guess we stopped at the cottage as a courtesy, it was on the way to the airfield. I was worried they’d find this diary, but they never searched. I don’t think they know what to do with me. I’m not sure what they should do either. They might just send me home, I suppose. I wouldn’t protest that. I just want to get on with things.
So. That night. The 4th.
I’ll start when I get off the truck. That moment when you hit the ground after jumping out of the bed is so sharp like it just sets your whole day. Like a starter pistol at a race. Something about it seemed off just as I was walking towards the door. Now I get in, and the front gallery, ever since that night of the triage, is a pretty empty place. But somebody was waiting for me, and it was Col. S. He came right up to me the moment he saw me. What an upside-down experience.
He starts leading me down the side hall, towards the back of the hospital/school where his office was. So of course I expected he needed to talk to me about something in his office. Only it turned out it wasn’t his office anymore. I thought something was off when I saw two armed guards on either side of the door to his often. Almost as soon, I heard the screaming.
I have just enough time to puzzle together what’s happened when Col. S walks right in, me in tow. They’d moved the burn patient to Col. S’s office, and he’d cleared out. The reason was obvious. The patient was screaming. Really, really loud. It hurt my ears in such a small office. The office was as about as far removed from the rest of the patients as they could move him. His bandages were soaked through, totally bright red. Jet red? Is jet red a thing? If you saw him, you’d say it was. It looked like they had been in the middle of starting to change his bandages, or just about to finish. Because there were parts of his flesh that were exposed. I didn’t realize it at first, and could only tell because of the texture.
I was just staring at him for a while. Jaw wide open. Then I looked at Col. S. He had been watching my reaction. He had such a sympathetic look. I asked him “How long has he been like this?”
“For hours,” he said. Like he was apologizing.
“How much morphine did you give him?” I asked. He was a doctor in his own right, of course. He didn’t get a chance to perform much surgery now that he’s the administrator, but I don’t think that ever leaves you.
He looked like he was about to cry.
“Lethal?” I asked.
“More,” he whispered.
We stood there silent for a few moments. Then he explained the situation. The only people allowed in the room would be doctors. Myself, and he explained I was the nurse with the most experience with him, and that I was the one he trusted the most. I’d have no other duties this shift. The chaplain was allowed in, and the priest. Also, the two guards out front, and that was it. He told me “The men from intel will be back, and a couple of spooks. We’ll figure it out then.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but I just nodded.
Well, the chaplain was there, though he looked a total mess. And it turned out the priest had stayed late but had gone home, exhausted.
So I did my duties. Changed bandages. Changed IV bottles. There were two chairs in the room, one for me and one for the chaplain. With only the one patient sometimes I’d wait. We couldn’t really chat. The screaming was too loud. I don’t think either of us got used to it.
I suppose it was about 3 AM. Mom used to call that the witching hour. Around three it started to change. The screaming that is, the cadence of it. Is that the right word? He started screaming words. Very garbled, but words. That was when I remembered the doctor had said his vocal cords had been destroyed. Had he been wrong? It had to be. Both I and the chaplain were standing over him then. The chaplain whispering prayers. Sometimes we’d look at each other like maybe the other knew what was happening. There were no answers.
The words started getting clearer. Not that we understood them, but they kind of sounded like they were French. Both I and the chaplain thought he, the patient, was becoming lucid. The chaplain opened up the door and told the guards to get the colonel, also to send somebody to find the priest. I suppose anybody could have translated, or so I thought at the time, but getting the priest sounded right.
Well, the colonel wasn’t in, but Maj. P. was. He spoke a little French, but he couldn’t understand the words. I’m still glad he was there. As a witness. I’m glad me and the chaplain weren’t the only ones. It was like the patient was chanting.
It was, maybe ten minutes after the major arrived. The screaming just stopped. No words. Just heavy breathing. Hyperventilating maybe. It occurred to me then that the bandages had become soaked through again. I’d been there the whole time. Watching. Only now had I noticed. He was glistening. The bedding was bloody too, of course. It was everywhere. And then…
Then it happened.
I had been facing another direction. But there was a sound. Like a massive, loud inhalation of are. There was this bright light, like when a lightbulb is about to short out. Except I felt the heat, and I turned. The patient had burst into flames.
I screamed. I think the chaplain and major did too. The two guards ran in. Maybe they sent somebody else to fetch the priest. They just yelled and weren’t able to do anything else. In a normal circumstance, I think somebody would have fetched an extinguisher. Except the patient suddenly sat straight up in his bed. We were positively paralyzed. He was screaming again, and all we could do is watch. His bandages and bedding all burned away. Only then he stopped.
There was this man before us. He had no skin. No eyes. Glistening red, and patches of black where the ash still clung to him. He looked at us. Looked at me. There were two black holes in his face, above the hole for his nose, and his mouth, lips burned away and teeth missing. But the holes for his eyes… I could feel him looking at me despite having no eyes.
Then he spoke. It was French again, at least I thought. I couldn’t understand it. Full sentences. Raspy, but clear. No sign of pain or duress. Yet it was authoritative like he was in full command of his faculties.
I don’t think it lasted long before the priest came rushing in. The priest said something like “sortie” and then the Major told us to get out, the chaplain and I.
We did and closed the door behind us. The two guards were further down the hall, clearly rattled.
We could hear the priest and the burned man talking. Clearly, through the door. The burned man was distinguishable by the rasp in his voice, the commanding tone. Yet as we listened, there was something off. The burned man’s French was different than the priest’s French. It was like they didn’t understand each other. It was like they were speaking two different dialects, and I didn’t realize until I heard them both being spoken next to each other.
There was a pause of silence. And then the priest started speaking in Latin. I saw a look of relief on the chaplain’s face when the burned man responded, also in Latin.
The two spoke, the burned man and the priest. They went on and on, me not understanding any of it. The burned man seemed to calm, the priest becoming more anxious as they went. Then I turned to the chaplain again. His attention was totally focused on the closed door, but he was listening to the priest and the burned man talk.
He was shaking, and pale as a ghost. I’ve seen men shake. I’ve seen them shake from the effects of blood loss and shock. I’ve seen them shake because they’ve been mad from war. I’ve seen them shake from hypothermia and hypoglycemia and drug overdoses. I’ve seen no end of fear in their eyes. Fear as they’re going under anesthesia, or having their limbs removed, or knowing they’re about to die from their wounds.
I’ve never seen a man so afraid or shaken than that chaplain on that night. And all because he was able to follow that conversation in Latin.
The door suddenly opened. The priest waved us aside, looking more determined than I’d ever seen him. We pressed ourselves against the wall to get out of the way. The burned man followed him. Silent. Walking. We watched them walk down the hallway. The guards turned and fled. Then the priest and the burnt figure turned the corner, and that was the last that I saw of them.
I remember looking back into the room and seeing the Major, slumped in a chair, hands covered his face. The smoke from the burning bandages and bedding still hung in the air, sweet and strong and foul due to the lack of ventilation.
The two men in the long coats showed up. There were also a couple of men in suits. Civilians, I guess. They sort of took charge. Then they just put me on a truck, didn’t even ask me any questions.
And that’s what happened.
I’ve been on this base for a couple of days. They seem to be giving me a lot of freedom, they let me go into town yesterday. I went to a library. It wasn’t a very big one, but I guess it didn’t need to be. I found a hagiography. Or, I guess, a sort of encyclopedia on the subject of saints.
There was a very small entry on the subject of Saint Adalthred. Very little was known about him. He’d been a saint in early medieval France. He’d preached to royalty. The Marrowvingians I think it said, I don’t know what that is. Like all saints, he’d performed three miracles. Like all saints, he’d been martyred. He’d been burned at the stake. His last miracle had been his own resurrection.
I don’t know what to do with this diary. I never should have started it, and yet I think it’s important that I did. I think I’m going to turn myself in and give it to them. I suppose they’ll court-martial me over it, send me home. I don’t want to go home, but maybe I deserve it. At any rate, clearly, there are higher powers than me at work here.
-End copy.-
All of the documentation by the U.S. during the war was massive. All of the officers, nurses, spies, bean counters, and everybody else contributed to the pile. This was long before the digital age, or even microfiche, so the sheer scale of the paperwork is hardly conceivable. It could have been measured by the cargo holds of liberty ships.
After the war, the Army and Navy needed someplace to store it all. Any of it could have had unforeseen value, and destroying it was never an option. In 1951, with the Korean War raging and threatening to exacerbate the document problem, the Department of Defense decided to build a massive new warehouse archive to store it all. In 1956, the Military Personnel Records Center was finished. Ostensibly the archive was meant to store personnel records, but the military being the military, and the warehouse being of such a huge scale, it housed other records as well. Records such as the nurse’s diary, records of things unnatural. Supernatural. Only to be seen by top men.
One of the items discussed during the facility’s construction was the inclusion of a sprinkler fire prevention system. There was a concern that such a system could leak, and cause water damage to all the important documents. So the archive was built without one.
In 1973 the building burned down, taking millions of documents with it. The cause was never officially determined. At the time, and for many years after, the biggest problem was the bureaucratic nightmare it caused for millions of veterans and collecting the benefits they were entitled to.
To a very small community, namely us, the damage was a travesty. That’s the purpose of this project. To retrieve the documentation, study, and catalog it, this entry is only the first example. Naturally, the question arises- how do we retrieve these files if they were all destroyed in the fire? Well, that’s on a need-to-know basis, Lieutenant, and you don’t need to know.
​
Author's Notes: The War Files is meant to be an on-going series of horror stories set in and around WWII, and the very real Archive Fire. Maybe it would make a good podcast? This was sort of a pilot episode and thought it would fit the theme of this month's event. If you liked the story and want to read more, I'll probably post them either to my subreddit EBDavis or my substack ebdavis.substack.com

Hi! I made this subclass for one of my players who wanted to play a teleportation-focused Rogue. However, I am concerned about its balance. Could you critique this homebrew and comment any balance issues you see down below?

The Voidwalker

3rd Level: Void Step At 3rd level, you gain the ability to use the Void's entropic energies to materialize in a different area. As a bonus action, you may teleport up to 30 feet. After teleporting, you have advantage on attack rolls until the end of your turn. You may use this ability a number of times equal to your Proficiency Bonus per long rest.
9th Level: Entropic Dodge As a reaction, when a creature misses you with an attack, you may deal necrotic damage to the creature equal to your Wisdom Modifier + your Proficiency Bonus. You may also teleport up to 20 feet away as part of this reaction.
13th Level: Void Warp When you teleport with Void Step or Entropic Dodge, you may also deal 1d8 + Your Wisdom Modifier necrotic damage to creatures of your choice within 5 feet of your landing point.
17th Level: Entropic Strikes After you teleport with Void Step, you may deal an extra 5d6 necrotic damage to enemies you sneak attack before the end of your turn. Edit: Formatting

We have a new build and want to do all heat pumps and a Central Boiler with in-floor heat for very cold days. Nobody in our area knows much about heat pumps. What do you recommend? How do I get assistance designing this system? When I reach out to others that do heat pumps, they tell me I am out of their region for work.
I think I need the following:
1) Heat pump for cooling 2) Heat pump for heating when Boiler is off 3) Heat pump for hot water when Boiler is off (do they make a combo hot water heater that can be fed by Boiler or Heat Pump?) 4) Electric furnace as backup and serves as the fan for the pumps (someone said might as well do this because normal fans are just as expensive??)
Am I missing anything? Am I crazy for trying to do this?
Any advice would be incredibly helpful.
Other details: - 80’ x 46’ building (20’x46’ living space, the rest is garage/workshop) - No propane tank or hookup to propane

Hi everyone!
I'm currently a data engineer working student at a company, as well as finishing my master's degree. My bachelor's was in civil engineering and my master's now is more focused on IT and CS. I picked up a lot of machine learning experience and I did multiple projects with it for school and personal stuff; however, I would say my data engineering skills are more industry proven since I used it at work.
I would like to widen my future job opportunities pool and I don't know where to start. I was considering trying to check out Javascript and go a bit more deep into that area, maybe do some small courses and then create a project and post it onto my github. What do you guys recommend? Should I try out the software development route, or should I just stick to what I know and remain in the field of data eng/science?
For context these are some of the skills I consider myself proficient at during my 1 year internship/working student experience:
Python Apache Spark Apache Kafka Azure Data Factory Databricks TensorFlow/PyTorch Linux Docker REST API Github Actions
And I'm trying to target the german market. This might be relevant because most of Germany use microsoft based products (i.e., Azure)

I hope this is the right place and someone can tell me what may have been going on in my village. I moved here a few weeks ago. It's a small village in the heart of Russia and my parents and I came here because things start to get really bad in Moscow and my father lost his job. I don't know why we had to move to this isolated village, so far away from civilization. Maybe my parents wanted peace and quiet? To escape the things in that city, the poisoned minds?
The houses here had all been far below average in price. Almost everyone who lives here has moved here recently.
But, there are crazy rumors about this village that people tell each other. It was found abandoned in the mid-nineties. Where everyone went, no one knows. They say that no signs of people were found at all, nothing. But... everywhere in and around the village… strange patches of earth had been discovered, circular and smooth. Not only in the forest or on the road, but also in the dilapidated wooden houses. At our new neighbors' house, one of the mysterious spots had supposedly been found right in the living room floor, where the floorboards had been just cut away.
These rumors scare me. I am afraid of this village. But yesterday... I was redoing the floor in my room with my father and there... I found a notebook under the old boards. I hid it from my father, I don't know why... Someone must have left it there.
Last night... that's when I read it. I read it and now I'm incredibly afraid of this house and this village. Of the fields and the woods that surround me. The notebook apparently belonged to someone called Ilya Vasiliev. I have tried to translate what he wrote, hoping that someone here can help me find an explanation for the rumors. For this uneasy feeling that I have since I moved here...
***********
I am fine. I want that to be clear from the beginning. My story is strange and in huge parts troubling, but I am still in the best state of mental health.
I am fine!
My story begins seven months ago, in December 1979, when deep winter was upon our village. We were preparing for Christmas, the first Christmas to be celebrated publicly throughout the village, after years of having to practice our faith in secret because the Soviet government did not allow religions. Only in the last few years did the Reds' view loosen and they allowed small islands of faith. One of them was my village, which finally dared to celebrate and praise the Lord.
I have been a believer all twenty years of my life, an exemplary Christian, just like my parents. Faith had kept our family line alive in times of terror and misery. Death had always been close to us, as the fields where most of the population of our village had worked for generations had once brought the end of hundreds of people. Many years ago, on those fields, atrocities had occurred that had finally given them their present name: The Fields of Death.
I myself had not been born back then, not by a long shot, but my grandparents had spent their childhood there, a childhood full of hunger and depravity. My grandfather Fomenko often told me and my sister the stories he had experienced and how faith had saved everyone. There had been a long, cold winter and the grain had been confiscated by the government to be taken to the cities for distribution. After all, the grain belonged to all the people, not just those on the farms who planted it, tended to it, and harvested it. And so, the only food of that time left my grandfather's village and never came back. Some of his neighbors had once tried to hold back some grain, to hide some sacks, but when they were caught, a hail of bullets determined their fate. People lived in fear, not daring to stop working, not daring to keep for themselves the food that was destined for the common good. In those days, horrors happened in my village that I cannot truly picture today, not even when I hear my grandfather's usually clear voice begin to tremble. When I see in his eyes that he would rather forget, in order to experience a peaceful sleep once again… someday.
He told us about those horrors to warn us of how quickly life can plunge from safety into infinite terror. Winter had reigned. The grain was being hauled away. They still shot all those who tried to keep back pieces of it, be it a sack or some husks that had fallen from a cart. In time, hunger began to drive people in our village insane. Parents locked up their children so they wouldn't be taken by neighbors to feed their hunger. Friends turned their backs on each other and killed each other in fights for the last livestock that was still breathing. The streets reeked of decay and death, of misery and suffering. One day, my grandfather told us, he had hidden in the back room of his house while his parents dragged themselves, emaciated, to the fields to pick the last scraps of grain from the furrows with their dirty, half-frozen fingers. He had come across a book there, a book that had saved his life.
The word of God. An old Bible.
My grandfather had learned to read at an early age, one of the sad advantages of living in the Soviet Union.
It was in the room I now live in that Grandfather Fomenko had found the dusty book. Actually, he had been looking for something to eat, the days before he had found some sawdust. But despite his hunger and the grumbling in his stomach, eating the book was out of the question. Books were sacred, and no book as sacred as this one. He had begun to read and learned about the greatness of the Lord. Of the miracles his Son had performed. And of the magic of faith. His stomach had growled, but he had ignored it. The words gave him comfort.
The next day he immersed himself in the book again, disappearing into better worlds and times, hearing wisdom and encouragement. But around noon there was a knock at the door. My grandfather emphasized each time that he had not been afraid, that he had known that the Lord would protect him, when the old neighbor gained entrance to our house armed with a cleaver. It was clear what he wanted: Meat. My grandfather told us each time about how the neighbor had looked more undead than human, stinking and with sunken eyes, smelling like death from his mouth, the cleaver trembling in his hand.
"I'm sorry, boy," was all the man could get out.
My grandfather tried to mimic this poor man’s voice at the end of his wits, to express his pain through words so that we understood that poor fellow a little.
The Lord's words had given courage to my grandfather in his most terrible moments. He had stood up and firmly said:
"Away with you, the Lord protects the inhabitants of this house!"
But the intruder did not care, coming closer. And so, my grandfather again sought comfort and prayed. He prayed for mercy and peace and for his life. He would serve the Lord for the rest of his days. Trust Him blindly.
Suddenly, like a gruesome miracle, the famished intruder let out an inhuman groan and collapsed, lifeless and debilitated. There had been no hunger for my grandfather and his family for a week after that. My grandfather had been praying to the Lord since that day, thanking Him for His mercy. The story spread around the village and out of desperation or hope, in the next few days everyone secretly knelt in front of small wooden crosses they had made themselves and prayed to the Lord. A week later, like a miracle, the long-awaited delivery of grain arrived, along with spring. There had not been another bad time since then.
These events are the reason for the faith in our village... and our family. The psalm my grandfather had prayed as the hungry neighbor attacked had become the guiding psalm of our faith. All these years we had not been able to celebrate Christmas with the other families, but since the restrictions on faith communities had been relaxed, we had all finally decided to celebrate the holy festival in the village square. And so, we started the preparations.
There, in those evening hours, my part of the story begins. I and my younger sister Zarina, together with other youths and young adults, were fetching wood for the fire that was to burn in the center of our village. So, we went out into the night, dressed with thick pelts, to fetch logs from the edge of the fields that some men had prepared.
My breath could be seen as an icy breeze in the dawning darkness and I was already looking forward to dancing around the fire with everyone later, drinking good drinks and eating sumptuously. I was glad that we didn't have to walk across the fields themselves, but could stroll along their edge to get the logs.
You can feel death when it has hit a place. I was glad that I didn't have to work the fields myself, and had learned the carpentry trade. Therefore, I was spared from having to wander around there every day, among the echoes of past atrocities and sadness.
We were all in good spirits, strolling over the muddy ground, when all at once Zarina pointed up and into the clear night sky.
"Look, an angel is descending!" she exclaimed excitedly.
We all looked to where her outstretched hand pointed. A round light glowed in the night sky, glaring yellowish and shining strangely cold.
"It's singing! At Christmas! The Lord puts our feast under his sign!" Zarina cried.
We stopped and listened into the silence of the night. At first, I could hear nothing, at first, everything remained quiet, and only the distant beating of axes and the rustling of the wind in the treetops were audible.
But then, there in the wind, I could hear it, briefly but clearly. It was a kind of melodic whisper, joyful, yet also strange and otherworldly. It was heard only very briefly, and soon died away as the glow flew out of sight and disappeared somewhere far away.
"Let's go find the angel! Let's..." Zarina cried, continuing excitedly, but I interrupted her.
"We have to get the wood. We can report back to the village later, if it hasn't already been noticed there too," I said.
"You heard the singing! Surely that was an angel. Shall we leave it there? It may have gotten hurt, it must have hit something!" Sasha murmured.
Sasha was my oldest friend and one of the boys who worked on the fields. He had always been very caring and had always tried to help where he could. His parents were long dead and the old lady who had raised him was no longer around, either. So, he struggled along, working the fields, but the rest of us looked out for him.
"Shouldn't we go and look for it, Ilya?", Sasha continued to urge me anxiously.
We thought about it for a long time but decided to leave the decision to the others in the village. Trusting the Lord to guide our actions, we quickly moved on in the direction of the woodcutters to complete our task.
We were not the only ones who had seen the glow. When we returned to the village square loaded with logs, everyone was in great excitement and full of joy that the Lord had sent us this sign of His greatness. Not everyone agreed whether it was an angel or a return of the poinsettia that had been witnessed, but everyone was sure that the Lord had sent us encouragement. So, we celebrated our first Christmas full of joy and pleasure, with good food, dancing and singing, full of happiness and under the protection of the Almighty Lord. I will always think back to those days, always keep in my heart how I glimpsed a part of the Lord in the sky.
We all talked about the event and even the older people were fascinated and inspired. Even my grandfather and the others who had witnessed the worst death and misery in the world seemed to slowly find a spiritual peace they would never have dreamed of otherwise. They were happy and strengthened in their faith. However, we were not sure if it had really been an angel who had come down and so we hesitated to go and look for the creature of God.
But in the night, after the light had shone in the sky, I was awakened by Zarina crying in her sleep. I straightened up and slowly paced over to her bed, where in the semi-darkness she began to squirm, shaken by spasms.
"No, no, no..." she moaned painfully.
I began to shake her to wake her up. Zarina did not respond to me. Her face was like a distorted mask hiding something bad underneath. Her breathing became shallow, and she began to whimper. I was terrified and began to pray. The Lord had to save her, He just had to save her!
Zarina twitched more and more, started coughing and whimpering louder and louder. Slowly, the rest of the family woke up and my parents and grandfather huddled tightly around her, praying for her to open her eyes.
"Please, don't take our child! She has only been in your world for fourteen years..." my father cried, as panicked and desperate as I had ever seen before.
His thick, black mustache trembled with fear.
Then, abruptly, Zarina stopped convulsing.
For a terrible moment she just lay there, her hair disheveled, her face pale in the glow of the candle my mother held over her.
"Mom, Dad, Ilya, Grandpa... what's wrong?" she suddenly asked sleepily.
For a moment it was as if nothing had happened, as if I hadn't just seen my sister almost die, but then she began to cry.
"What's wrong, dear?" my father asked, just as pale in the face as Zarina.
It took a while before she found some calm and was able to talk to us.
Finally, she croaked:
"I saw the angel. I was with him."
A revelation? Had the Lord touched my sister?
We all said another prayer and finally, filled with awe, I asked:
"Where did you see the angel? Is it here? With us?"
She looked at me briefly, seemed to hesitate for a little moment, and then reported:
"I was with it… in a dream. It was in a white village, a village made of angel dust. I saw it. It didn't have wings and that's why at first I wasn't sure if it was an angel. However, soon it spoke to me."
"What did it say, Zarina?", I asked tensely.
"It said it was not God, but 'the Witness'. It sounded like a man and a woman and a child and a baby and... It felt peaceful. Calm and carefree. Then I woke up."
"An angel. Angels are the witnesses of God, that's how it must be!" my father said enthusiastically.
Suddenly, everyone seemed to be talking at once.
No one knew what Zarina's words meant, but we were sure that they contained something incomprehensible that we, as ordinary people, could not understand. But everyone was delighted. Everyone was caught in a beautiful dream.
The next day, the adults sat together in the large barn near the edge of the village, which was used for community events. Most of them found seats on the lined up wooden benches and the rest stood crowded against the old walls, some of which were already rotten. Dimitri, probably the closest thing to a mayor, sat at a heavy pine table at the end of the room, staring at the crowd, while my parents and Zarina sat on old chairs in front of him. Tensely, the crowd looked at them, waiting for someone to say something. Finally, Dimitri cleared his throat thoughtfully.
"You... all saw or heard about the falling star. It was brighter than the others that keep crossing our sky and much more... melodic. Some even heard the singing. Whoever still doubted that the Lord sent us his messenger... doubts are now useless. Zarina has received a vision. She has seen how the angel, who was sent by God, walked on our earth, and visited a village and consecrated it with its grace. She has seen the angel marching to spread holiness in these lands..."
"Are we sure?"
Mary, the dressmaker, had stood up. She was still young, my age and Sasha's, and she always wore her blond hair carefully braided, her dresses self-made, blood red and flashy, with silver embroidery. As always, she wore makeup - a luxury not many could afford. In other places she would have been considered a lady, but she was also a skeptical person, and I had not liked her very much since childhood, because she often made insinuations that seemed to go against the Lord. Also, she had never played with us outside and had always thought of herself as someone… better. I was shocked that she now so obviously doubted the Lord's actions.
"Mary. Zarina has seen a vision. The Lord spoke to her through her dreams! An angel has joined us. How can you deny it?" my father asked coldly.
"I'm not denying it, I'm just saying, what if there is something dark that the angel was sent to fight? What if it is going into battle against some unknown evil? The angel may be spreading sanctities, but we have no idea if it is trying to redeem us or defend us..."
"It said it was a witness of God," I noted.
"That's what Zarina said when she woke up."
"Then it is benevolent to us! We must find it!" someone shouted from one of the back rows.
An excited murmur began to spread through the room.
"Silence!" Dimitri thundered.
His face looked hard but determined.
"We have to get to it! If it is a message from heaven that the angel wants to bring us, we must hear it! How many can we spare? Who would even want to voluntarily leave the village? We don't know how long the journey will be, and you yourselves know how dangerous this area can be..."
A loud commotion broke out. Everyone shouted at once and volunteered. I also jumped up and loudly offered to go out to look for it.
The angel. The Witness of the Lord.
I imagined meeting it in a clearing, under a full moon. Hearing its bright voice, gaze in awe at its graceful form, and fall to my knees in prayer before it.
"SILENCE!" Dimitri shouted.
"You can't all go. The kids wouldn't make it in the deadly cold out there. Let seven go. Seven is the Lord's number, there must be seven! Seven workers from the fields! We can't spare any more!"
"You can't be serious!" I cried out.
Cold anger boiled up inside me.
"I want to go, too. We all want to. You can't just stand there and make a decision like that!"
Others joined in.
"SILENCE," Alexeij now thundered, the master blacksmith.
"We need you! Daniil, Ilya, Nikita, you have a job to do! We can't get by without you! You can't go, be reasonable!"
"But if the Lord wills it, he will make sure that everything here will work out. That nothing will happen!", I tried to argue, still boiling with anger.
"No. Winter is tugging at our huts, we need you," my father said slowly.
"So do the others. Without you, it's going to be tight. The fields lie under the snow, but everything else will be weakened by time and storms. We can only spare the field hands. Besides, they're the ones most likely to withstand the cold and the wilderness; after all, they're constantly out on the Fields of Death, toiling in the wind and rain. They'll all make the trip!"
I tried to change his mind, and several came to my aid, all those who were also forced to stay.
"You can manage without a dressmaker! I want to go too!" Mary cried defiantly, her cheeks red with anger, her nose wrinkled.
This young woman really believed she deserved the sight of the angel! She really believed her hypocrisies would deceive the Lord, despite her obvious doubts about His divinity!
Others also complained, young and old, many who didn't deserve to go and even those who did.
But it didn't help.
Dimitri was in charge. Everyone knew that. If we started to contradict him, our village would soon end up in chaos. And deep down I knew that I had to stay. That I had to take care of my sister, who would not survive a trip in the snow. That I had to repair the huts that the storms would eat away at.
Sasha was a field worker, he was allowed to go. Sasha and Sofia, Anatoly and old Igor, Ivan and Yulia and Mikhail. When the decision was made, a decision many of us accepted only with heavy hearts and which brought out deep envy in several faces, some of the chosen ones began to cry. They were happy, fulfilled... satisfied. They would see the messenger of the Lord, hear its melodious voice, sing its hymns.
Why wasn't I allowed to go? Why was the world so unfair? I had always believed in the Lord, prayed to Him, been subject to Him and lived according to His will. Why hadn't he chosen me to see his messenger? I had been so proud back when I had been allowed to learn the carpenter's trade and thus had not to go to the Fields of Death to toil there. At that time, I had felt like someone better when I saw Sasha and Sofia setting out early in the morning with all the other workers, with their old-fashioned plows and thick, shabby clothes.
Was this the punishment for my arrogance?
The Lord knew everything. He had seen what repulsive thoughts I had had, how superior I had felt to the others. Perhaps it was my punishment that I was not allowed to go. Perhaps the Lord was no longer favorable to me and I would have to prove myself to Him.
The next day, the seven set out north. They were seen off with singing and dancing; they were the center of the village’s attention. Envy threatened to drown me.
Why not me? Why wasn't I allowed to go? Why did I have to stay here?
And I knew: it was because of these thoughts. I wasn't pure enough. I had to get better, work on myself.
As the others disappeared from sight, as the small group seemed to be swallowed up by a patch of forest between distant trees, an icy chill ran down my spine.
What if they really did encounter evil? What if Mary had been right?
I prayed to the Lord that they would return home safely: Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
He would bring them home safely, our pilgrims. I did not begrudge them their happiness. I was not a selfish person, was not complacent like Mary or some others in the village. I lived by the word of the Lord and I would not begrudge them.
They would all return home safely.
I continued to stare into the distance for a long time as my suppressed envy sought to consume me. But I was winning.
For darkness is as light to you.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even though the days and weeks passed, I never forgot to think of all those who had set out to witness the glory of the Lord. The cold winter had passed and frost and cold left the land, so that soon we could begin to prepare the fields for sowing. Since the sighting of the angel had caused us to let some of the farm workers leave, and they stayed away longer than we had expected, I had to join others in helping to plow the Fields of Death. The work was exhausting and made me physically very tired, since I still had to work in the carpenter's shop as well. We could not afford tractors, so we still had to resort to older tools. So, it happened that one day I was driving one of the hand plows through the dirty ground and was lost in my thoughts and full of sweat.
I was quite far away from the village, as the nearby surroundings had been worked shortly after the beginning of the thaw. The fields were extensive, partly reaching further than the eye could see. Only in one direction the dense forest extended, which introduced the beginning of a dark hilly landscape, that finally merged northward into high, alien mountains, whose white peaks rose high into the sky and, like once the tower of Babel, blasphemously tried to penetrate the heavens. But next to these distant giants there was only the plain, the vast plain that had to be tilled.
I hated the field work. And I hated the fields.
Every time I even thought about this piece of hell that had become reality long ago, my stomach turned. All the events that clung to this dark place, all the human lives and suffering that had sown the ground with death and blood here many years ago....
It was even worse when you stood in the fields yourself, truly being there on your own. It was as if I could smell it in the air, the rot of the starving and the hot blood that had watered the soil. It was as if I could still hear in the air the cries and wailing of the people who had met their end here, who had pleaded for their lives and the lives of their children and friends. It was as if I could see them in the early morning fog banks that lay on the Fields of Death, the shadows of people past, crawling and cowering, weak and starved. I had to pull myself together and look away, into the forest. A place does not forget, a place always remembers the days gone by and the cries that had been.
The plow pulled through the ground, ripping a furrow behind it. It was almost a bit comforting to imagine I was gutting this place of horror with my labor, inflicting deep wounds. Hypnotized, I stared down over and over again, watching the ground swirl to one side, smelling the fresh earth being pushed to the surface. But never could I escape my terrible feelings and the forebodings, never could I forget what kind of place I was at.
The few times I looked to the forest beside me, my thoughts wandered enviously to all those who had set out to find the angel. Had they reached it yet? Had they already learned from it what needed to be done for God's power on earth to be strengthened so that false prophets and promises could be swept away? How to drown the selfishness of the state? What needed to be done to serve the Lord?
Oh, how I would have loved to be there! How I would have loved to go with them, but I also understood the decision not to send everyone, and I understood my family's objections. I was needed here. I could serve the Lord here by tilling the fields and taking care of the soil and the sowing. I had to care for my sister.
I had already made several furrows when noon came. The sun was almost not visible, just a murky spot behind the clouds, and the fog had not lifted either. The world looked pale and apathetic. But amongst all the desolation I could suddenly hear something, something that seemed to come out of the forest.
It was at first just like a rustling in the wind that sounded a bit too regular, such that it triggered a natural uneasiness in me. I looked into the forest, but could hardly make out anything through the dense plants and the still lingering fog. That is why it was left to my own thoughts to imagine what was there, what was producing this strange noise.
I could not remember any animal that made similar sounds, was at a loss.
Suddenly, a bang echoed through the forest, accompanied by a panicked scream that broke inhumanly from the trees and spread across the fields.
Then, something new joined the sounds in the air.
The trees and bushes rustled, almost seemed to be torn apart.
Something was running through the forest, something seemed to be... coming right at me.
Was it perhaps a startled bear, an elk, or a wild boar?
Had one of the hunters from the village accidentally startled an animal, scared it in the wrong direction and now wanted to warn us with their cry? But then, why this panicked sound...?
I paused, took my hands off the rusty handles of the plow, and turned toward the forest. Still, I could only see fog, I could only hear rustling, but slowly I could also make out grunts and groans coming to me from the fog. It sounded heavy and panic-stricken.
Was I in danger? I began to pray to the Lord and ask him for assistance. I was not a fighter and so I had to hope that nothing would reach me from the depths between the trees that could easily tear me apart.
Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
My baptismal motto gave me courage. The Lord saw me, even in my darkness, and would be with me.
For darkness is as light to you.
Then, someone burst out of the bushes and the fog and rushed toward me.
It was Sasha.
I almost didn't recognize him. His skin was pale, almost snow-white. His black hair stuck to his sweaty face. His pants and jacket were almost completely torn, so I could see his dirty shirt and his cut and bruised legs through the holes. There were also some small cuts on his face that worried me. Sasha's eyes twitched searchingly, panicked, and in his hand, he held the rifle that he had taken with him when he had once set out. Apparently, he had run through brush and thorns, had gotten scrapes and wounds from stones and branches.
When he saw me and looked at me with his big, panic-filled eyes, I became horridly afraid.
It was as if… behind his eyes there was no Sasha anymore, but only an animal. As if instinct had taken over his thoughts when an unnamable terror had entered his world. An animal inside him, which had enabled him to escape from... something.
Sasha staggered out of the forest, it was almost as if all strength left him now that he was back home. The rifle fell from his hand and dug into the mud beneath his feet. He limped slowly toward me, not taking his eyes off me. Then, suddenly, he wheeled around and looked back into the forest and the mist.
Only for a moment.
Again, he let out a shrill scream and sprinted the last few meters. When I looked into the forest myself, I saw nothing, only the fog.
But, didn't I feel a presence there, in the bushes? Between the trees?
I didn't see anything.
Sasha had reached me and collapsed. I quickly knelt down next to him and called for help. But the other field workers had already rushed over, obviously attracted by the rifle shot. I was in a trance, seeing only Sasha lying there, supporting his head. His eyes were still twitching around and despite my proximity he didn't seem to recognize me. He looked at me, confused.
"Sasha, what happened?", I asked, feeling his forehead.
Despite his paleness, he was uncomfortably hot.
A fever raged in his body. Who knew how long he had been running around there among the trees, his protective, warming jacket torn? With wounds that had not been tended and some of which were still bleeding?
Then another horrible thought occurred to me.
"Sasha, where are the others? Sasha, where are the others?"
This question apparently brought back some clarity that his gaze had not possessed before.
"They... they took them. Took all of them... All of them. All our brothers, all our sisters... all of them," he gurgled.
*********
So, this is the first part of what I found. I will hurry to translate the rest! But I will definitely stay out of the woods for now... They are still as creepy as described by Ilya in this document and fog ist still around every morning... Also, I don't know what to make of Ilya himself as well, is he just a religious nut and that is the explanation? I just don't know...

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I live in an inner suburb TOD in Australia, that is still being developed on a brownfield site. It was planned from the outset to be be a walkable medium density area with far less car dependence that the rest of the city, well connected to the CBD with tram, train, bus and active transport routes. We also have a converted factory building into a large market that is very popular, with people regularly coming in from outside the area.
Tonight we had a community forum, and the topic of choice? Parking, parking, bike theft, and parking. Despite its location, many people own one more car than they have off-street parking for, which means they park on the street. Then when visitors come, parking becomes a major issue. The result is people demanding more car parking (in the form of a multi-storey lot), and increased parking minimums for developments. My suggestion that there needs to be be housing options for people who don't have a car, and that the real problem is the entitlement to use the streets as extra permanent storage, was not particularly well received.
It's disappointing that even in a development specifically designed to minimise the car that the demand by many residents is identical to every other suburb. The argument that people have 99% of the rest of the city's suburbia can cater to people who want to use cars in that way, and why can't this one area stick to it's mission, seems to be completely lost on people.

Captain Khan of the UNISG second task force leaned on a windowsill and sighed. In the building ahead, the large greyish white apartment block, their enemy laid low somewhere. The famed stalker Strelok, who had been assigned as Khan's bounty target by his employers. When UNISG, the original one led by Major Hernandez, was liquidated, to Khan's dismay they had uncovered very little actual information he needed. But Strelok? He had been an advisor for official Ukrainian state researchers, and if the stories were true, he knew more about it than anyone else. Capturing him would be a jackpot, and Khan desperately needed one. His unit was a mere shadow of its former self, the blasted Redeemed had killed so many of his men, even his second-in-command Clarke had died in those reed-covered swamps by the crimson-armoured bastards.
Not that Khan really cared. Only Clarke and Bauer had been long-time co-workers of his, pushing along the Belt and Road initiative in Central Asia and dealing with potential hiccups in a very subtle ways, or running heavy-handed security on the mines owned by their benefactors in Asia. But neither was someone he considered a friend, in this line of work such was rare, and Khan was here merely to make money. The rewards were astronomical, but trapped here in an empty city, their allies having abandoned them and no clear way out even if Strelok was caught, Khan was beginning to wonder if those rewards were worth all this.
His clients wanted to gather as much information of the Zone and possibly blackmail Ukrainian authorities into co-operation, but every passing day a successful mission seemed less likely. Still, Khan was not one to give in so easily, he would see the mission through out of sheer boneheaded determination. Growing up in the vast and harsh Mongol steppe had not made him a quitter, and he had earned the nickname Khan among his peers for a reason. Khan sighed as Sergeant Němec entered the room to inform him of the squad being ready. Nine men left alongside Khan. They would have to be enough, for he did not know if their mysterious allies would ever return. Taking his rifle, Khan followed his Czech sergeant downstairs to begin the mission of a lifetime.
Not far from the UNISG hideout, Redemption squad that had caused them so much harm was on the move. And while Khan was not aware of his survival, the greatest menace to UNISG so far marched on with them. Never in his, admittedly short life, had Dimka been anticipating a fight this much. All the feelings of being tricked, betrayed and used built up to a crescendo of wrath boiling inside him, and Dimka could feel himself bursting from seams. Finally, after all this hide and seek bullshit, Dimka would face Khan in battle and hopefully kill him, avenging his fallen comrades and perhaps allowing him to find some information that made him, Sevka and Maus free men once more. Yet now was not the time to get all giddy with excitement over it, getting to that point would require winning the battle rapidly drawing closer.
"Dimka, you alright? You look a bit, eh, anxious.", Sanyok asked, walking beside Dimka.
"Sorry, it's just... We are so close to getting some closure. It's been so long that I've held my breath, being sure I would never leave the Zone alive."
"Ah, makes sense. Reminds me of the battle against Sin at the Generators, so much at stake...", Sanyok reminisced.
"And I missed it because of some Sin fucker decided to smash my arm to pieces! Suka blyat!", Dimuha groaned.
"You did get to mastermind a jailbreak of a century afterwards. And shoot bandits, which is super fun.", Dima noted.
"Aye, giving Livid the good news was satisfying, but had I been there at War Lab, perhaps... Perhaps Micha would still be alive.", Dimuha sighed, and Dimka could feel a shift in the group's mood.
"No, you would not. None of us knew what would happen there, and we all knew Micha's fate could have been our own. Had you been in his stead, we would still be inside that spatial anomaly.", Boris explained, and Dimuha seemed to ponder on it for a second before hesitantly nodding.
"Past is not something to dwell on too much. Hindsight is a wonderful tool but also a trap of thoughts and hypotheticals.", Meeker chimed in, having marched in silence beforehand.
"Robot man is right. There's things I'd wish I had done differently, but ultimately there's little we can change. Sometimes the best we can do is take heed from those events.", Rogue remarked.
"Indeed. And make those responsible pay.", Boris muttered quietly.
They continued on in silence, the conversation having turned sour for many of the veterans of the northern campaign. Dimka took the chance a look around him more carefully now, given that this could be one his last days in the Zone. They were travelling down an overgrown road, building blocks reaching for the clouds around them. A couple vehicles had been abandoned by the roadwalks, including a bright yellow DU-47 paving machine. Weirdly enough, moss had began to grow on parts of it, even those seemingly completely metallic. The Zone's flora was a wonder in itself, and especially out here in the Pripyat it seemed to take bizarre forms. Dimka felt some sadness about leaving, this truly was the frontier he had always wanted to find. But he had duties elsewhere... Or at least, he thought he had. Perhaps they would turn him into a desk jockey after this epic of a failure, Dimka pondered.
The scenery changed to a small park. There was interesting, cacophonic statue standing on a yard of a tall and dilapidated building. It was made with the finest Soviet visual styles, meaning it was as blocky as a gopnik's Lada and almost as filled to the brim with depression and broken vodka bottles. Boris signaled for everyone to spread out, and Dimka joined Sevka and Meeker on the left flank. They moved quickly through the bushy area, passing by a couple blind dog corpses. The gunshot wounds on them indicated that either Strelok's entourage had finished them off or the uninvited guests had made their way here before Redemption. Thankfully the former turned out to be the case, as a man in Sunrise/exosuit hybrid waved his hand at them. Seeing Rogue and Stitch among the squad, the man breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank the Zone, we thought you were goners. Quickly, come inside, Strelok is on the second floor.", the man said.
"We're not that easy to kill. Ran into a few hiccups on the way, that's all.", Rogue replied.
"Like locking yourself into a metal closet.", Dima mocked.
"Alright Kamaz, let the others in but keep this one out. He is a threat to our sanity above all else.", Rogue ordered, and the stalker acting as welcoming committee scoffed.
After some back and forth insults and jokes, the entire group, Dima included, made it inside. Boris ordered Dimuha, Dimka and Dima with him to Strelok's hideout. On the way, Dimka noted that the legendary stalker seemed to only have two men with him, the Kamaz fellow at the door and Yakut, a man in a SEVA suit, guarding another entry into the building. Strelok was not a fan of security, or just confident in his abilities, then, Dimka wondered. On the second floor, Boris led them into a room where Strelok was sitting on an antique, ruined sofa. Dimka was quite surprised at seeing the legend himself, the man was nothing extraordinary by the looks. In fact, had Dimka ran into him in the Big Land, he would've probably taken the man for some lowlife, given his scrawny appearance.
"Boris! I am glad to see you again. I heard Rogue and Stitch got here alright, yet the international agent problem persists?", Strelok asked.
"Indeed. And on top of that, there is a Secret Service force looking for us and them here in the city. Led by Degtyarev of all people.", Boris answered, and Strelok's expressionless face contorted.
"I see. I'm fairly certain he isn't here only because of the interlopers. He's here to bring me back to the Institute.", Strelok sighed.
"Care to elaborate? What beef do you have?", Dima questioned.
"I deserted my post there. Too much oversight yet too little reaction to when I notified the higher ups of alarming development. The complacency of Ukrainian Ministry of the Zone of Alienation is incredible, I warned them years ago that the source of emissions could be utilized as a weapon and they repeatedly denied funding to an expedition to find it. So I took matters to my own hands. I am sure Alexander would have approved personally, but he also has to fulfill his duties. Now, it seems that those duties have brought him to capture me.", Strelok explained.
"If so, you can trust on us to keep your back. I respect the Colonel, but you and I are stalkers while he is a jarhead.", Boris said in a solemn tone, but Dimka did wonder that part of this declaration had to also be related to the two UNISG fugitives within the ranks of Redemption.
"I thank you, Boris, you are as steadfast ally as ever. I hope it does not come to violence, but if we must face him in battle, then so be it. But now, let us prepare for those... UNISG, was it?", Strelok said, and they quickly formed a plan based on Dimka's insight of Khan's character, Strelok's knowledge of the surrounding terrain and Dimuha's battle instinct.
Twenty minutes later orders were barked and battle stations mounted, but just as they were rushing towards the battlefield, an announcement on PDA network made all of the group's devices beep. Pulling out his PDA, Dimka looked at the message and a picture next to it. The SSU cross clearly visible on it, the message ordered Redemption and Strelok's group to stand down as the building was surrounded. Dimka shot a glance outside, seeing men in dark blue Berill and Skat suits mount up weapon's nests and sniping spots.
"Chyort, they got here faster than expected!", Boris shouted in anger and frustration.
"There's a launcher on them, get down!", came a shout from Yakut downstairs.
"This is your last chance. Surrender now and you will face no charges of treason.", Colonel Degtyarev's voice rang in the cold morning air.
"Do we resist? What do we do now?", Sanyok asked.
"Hold the line. Strelok, get the hell out of here, he wants you captured, but we may be able to bargain with him. Rogue, Stitch, Kamaz and Yakut, cover his ass.", Boris ordered.
"But the place is surrounded!", Kamaz protested.
"Not the tunnels below. I used them once before, and I checked this place before. There is an access hatch here. Stalkers, on me, we'll flee for now. Boris, I cannot thank you enough.", Strelok said, gratitude strong in his voice, and Boris only nodded.
"What now?", Dimka queried, looking anxiously at the outside.
"Now, we go out there and convince him that it's not worth his while to be fighting us.", Boris said, grinning, and Dimka gulped.
"That's in-...", he started, but the exoskeleton frame of Boris had already disappeared through the door.
Dimka watched Boris walk over the courtyard. The SSU agents pointed their guns at him, but lowered them once the familiar helmetless Skat-wearing man stepped between them. Degtyarev looked at Boris disapprovingly, as the hiss of his exoskeleton servos and powerpack faded between the husks of buildings. Boris raised his hand as nonchalantly as possible, stopping on his tracks a couple metres from the line of various special operative weapons.
"Good morning, Colonel.", Boris greeted.
"I presume you've come to surrender.", the secret service agent said, raising his eyebrow.
"Not really. You see, we were sitting here, on a picnic, and then you decided to pop in and ruin the fun. How very rude.", Boris replied in a mockinly paternalistic tone.
"Cut the crap, Boris. You disobeyed my orders, breaking the agreement we made in Zaton. And now you're actively helping a fugitive. I know you and Strelok have history, but me taking him back to the Institute is for the best of us all.", Degtyarev said, infuriated.
"I broke the agreement? Colonel, we agreed to be allies. Then you spat on that by telling me that my men were no longer welcome, after we had fought and bled for your cause. We have been nothing but loyal this entire time, yet we are discarded us the second we had done our task.", Boris retaliated.
"It was becoming harder and harder to keep it under wraps, especially when I had to bail your man out from Zhurov's custody. He lost a lot of good men in Cordon, I was in boiling hot water afterwards. But you are right, I should have been less blunt about it. And I apologize. But I also know you are stalling. As a sign of goodwill, hand over Strelok and your men can return to Meadow unharmed.", Degtyarev proclaimed.
"No deal. Strelok himself told us that he was merely shackled by the Institute, not allowed to combat threats to the Zone and Ukraine due to big shots withdrawing funding. Yet ever since coming to the Zone, he has led an effective raid against the resurgent Monolith, blocked Sin's grand plan and is now allowing us to finally cut down UNISG by voluntarily acting as bait.", Boris countered, adding the last point as a little white lie.
"That may be true, but I have my orders, orders which I have had to bend far too much already. I'm sorry, but it has to be this way.", Degtyarev sighed.
"Then it must. Cut me down then, for I will not abandon my allies. Unlike you.", Boris spat, and he could see even Degtyarev's facade of calm splinter slightly as he flinched at the insult.
Boris held his breath, knowing that death was staring at him from the rifle barrels of Degtyarev's men. The colonel hesitated, torn between duty to the government and personal feelings towards the inhabitants of the Zone. It was as if he was reconsidering the entire fabric of his being, and what he had actually been sent to the Zone to do. Boris would never learn what his decision had been, as the rightmost SSU agent was struck by a bullet cracking his helmet open. Two grenades landed on the feet of the group, and Boris lunged onward by instinct, kicking one of them further away. The blast from the other one tossed him to the side, his Absolver armour sheltering him and the special forces operators from worst of the blast. They were disoriented and stunned by the explosion, however, and gunfire rained on them. Two more SSU agents died, when Boris began pushing them towards the building, out of the fire.
"It's UNISG, they found us!", Boris shouted over the fire as the six survivors of the ambush darted across the yard towards the building.
Sniper fire struck the ground around them, and finally the foes showed themselves. Two UNISG troopers from Khan's squad, clad in looted Monolith Nosorog armour, jerked upwards from a nearby basement and began advancing. Their movements betrayed inexperience with exoskeletons, moving too quick and risking injuries to themselves or others around them, but the venerable armours would still protect them greatly. Dimuha led a charge out of the building block to buy some time for the retreating SSU, Sanyok and Sevka blasting at the UNISG stormtroopers while Dimka, Dima and Meeker kept the heads of the snipers down. The Nosorog battleplates took a beating, but given that their armour was thicker than a renegade with brain damage, they continued on unhampered. One flicked the launcher sight on his rifle and took aim, Dimka realizing a second too late what he was attempting to do.
"Grenade, spread out!", he screamed, but just that second he saw one of the SSU agent's Skat armour take a direct hit.
Dustcloud settled over the entire yard, and gunfire continued. Through it, Boris emerged to the half-circle formed by Dimuha's trio, dragging Degtyarev behind him. Another SSU agent limped out of the blast zone as well, holding a butchered but alive operator alift. Rest of the UNISG force had appeared, and they now pushed over the yard. Dimuha's armour took a hit, yet he soldiered on despite a broken rib and kept shooting at the advancing Nosorog pair. One of his shots lodged itself between the ceramic plates, keeping enough momentum to break through and strike the man's heart. Sergeant Němec breathed his last sigh and fell down.
"Fall back inside, we can't fight them in the open at this state!", Boris ordered as Degtyarev started to come back to his senses.
"We were fools, letting ourselves get ambushed like this.", the colonel muttered.
"Well you are special forces, alright.", Dimuha growled and shot his last burst as the machine gun ran dry.
They stumbled inside, where Meeker took the wounded SSU trooper further in for emergency treatment. Seeing the ex-Monolithian after such a long time, Degtyarev gave him a slight nod and Meeker smiled faintly. The others took positions on the windows, trying to remain in cover while the building was peppered by bullets. Dimka tried to spot Khan among the attackers, but the swarm of angry lead mosquitoes made it difficult. The lone Nosorog trooper lumbered on, struggling to control the suit. Boris told Dimka to focus on him with the Vykhlop, given that it had the best chance of punching through, while the others kept pressure on the other infiltrators zigzagging between cover towards the defences.
Dimka did as ordered, waiting for the agent to make a mistake. He was clever about using cover, only exposing himself for a brief second, but his inexperience with the large machine wrapped around him showed. When darting between a broken car and the corner of commieblock, his exoskeleton shot upwards with too much force. Shocked momentarily by the strength of the machine, this second of confusion gave Dimka enough time to center the scope. Aiming between the breastplate and Spartan helmet, Dimka squeezed the trigger and felt the kick of his rifle. Blood spurted from the wound, and the man slouched down like a powerless automaton. Yelling triumphantly, Dimka cycled the bolt of his rifle and took another target. With the armoured spearhead of UNISG broken, their attack slowed down, giving the initiative to Redemption.
"Target left, Dima and Sanyok, hose it down. Dimuha, Sevka and Degtyarev, on me, let's counter-attack!", Boris shouted.
"Since when are you ordering SSU officers around, stalker?", the lone surviving SSU trooper asked angrily.
"Since when my men did not run into an ambush and require the assistance of the men they were supposed to arrest.", Boris retorted and Degtyarev groaned.
"We wouldn't be in this situation if you had surrendered.", Degtyarev commented.
"Or if you had allowed us to ambush the UNISG.", Dima replied.
"Shut the hell up, all of you, and let's drive the fuckers back.", Dimuha ordered in turn, and this time everyone shot back into attention, realizing the folly of bickering in the middle of a battle.
Boris' Absolver ran through the dust and smoke, followed by Degtyarev, Sevka and Dimuha coming out of the building guns blazing. Dimka managed to squeeze a shot between car windows into the shoulder of a UNISG rifleman, killing him on the spot. The shoe was in the other foot now, with three heavily armoured stalkers bearing down on the internationals' force, Sevka giving fire support behind the spearhead. Three UN troopers keeled over after a sustained barrage of sniper and shotgun fire, all the while Boris and Dimuha suppressed the others with their machine guns. Degtyarev was not idle either, having used the suppression to flank around using the dense bushes. He was now at the same monument Dimka had admired earlier, and his Abakan racked up a tally of two more spies when he sprung the trap. These two had been hiding behind a rusting hulk of a ZAZ car, when two bursts from the odd rifle struck them down. That was when a pack of blind dogs and pseudodogs burst from the foliage, attacking Boris' group. They had to redirect their fire towards the mutants, with Dima and Sanyok opening up on the last hideout of the remnants of UNISG.
Now, the last two UNISG troopers were visibly panicking. Having expected to smash the defenders in a calculated ambush, they had missed the Redemption squad in the building and paid for it. They took off in a desperate last ditch attempt to escape. Dimka was watching them through his scope, angling for a shot yet failing to get a proper view of them through all the junk and flora dotting the field ahead. He was sure Khan wasn't dead yet, and seeing the battle draw to a close, the hotheaded part of him let loose. Anger gripping him, he left the Vykhlop on the windowsill, grabbed his handguns and stormed out with vengeance on his mind. Dima yelled after him but Dimka was already far ahead, racing across the asphalt to be the one to strike the final blow. Memories of the betrayal, his dead comrades, the framing of his allies as traitors and the attack on the checkpoint in Jupiter flooded to his mind and quickened his pace. Gripping the guns, he made it past Boris, Dimuha and Degtyarev who were still fighting the mutants.
"What the hell are you doing?", Boris shouted to him.
"Getting my payback.", Dimka replied quickly and continued.
He heard Boris shout something more, but more gunshots masked the order. Dimka continued, unwilling to let his most hated adversary escape. The two survivors were running ahead, towards the grocery store, when Dimka opened fire. He was using both guns simultaneously, so the fire was as accurate as that of a drunk bandit, but using the time old classic tactic of "throw enough shit at the wall and some of it will stick", he managed to cut down one of the UNISG troopers. Bullet hole in his back, the man fell down face first like a ragdoll. The last survivor made it inside, jumping over the makeshift barricade and forcing the wooden doors open.
Dimka was hot on the man's heels, and soon stepped inside as well. Turning on his night-vision in the dark corridor, he found the store to be a mess of doors and small rooms. A proper labyrinth. He continued down the corridor, guns trained on any possible ambush location. But the further he went, the more nerve-wracking the experience became. He saw no sign of his enemy, yet every shadow, every dark corner, seemed to hide him. Then, crossing one corridor, three shots rang out and Dimka felt sharp pain surge into his brain like a sledgehammer striking it from the inside. Dimka dropped to his knees, blood flowing down his leg. Khan stepped through the door, where three bullet holes had now appeared on the old wood.
"Torodov? You traitorous bastard, you're helping the enemy?", Khan said in an astonished tone.
"You would know traitors, you lapdog. The blood of my comrades is in your hands.", Dimka growled.
"So? You're soldiers, we're soldiers, our task is to kill one another by any means necessary. You got bested, and now the last of your company of idiots will die.", Khan replied calmly.
"Wrong.", someone else said, and a shotgun blast struck Khan in the centre of his torso, tossing him against the wall.
Sevka stepped out into the corridor and saw Khan attempt to reach for a sidearm despite his grievous wounds. Dimka, wounded and bleeding yet still sound of mind, fired him in the limb. Khan screamed in pain and let go of the pistol.
"It's your company that meets its end here.", Sevka said, and raised the shotgun.
"Perhaps... But... We are not the only ones after Strelok. You'll... see.", Khan replied, barely able to speak due to the agony of his wounds.
Dimka had had enough, and his revolver fired once more. The last of UNISG infiltrators died with a simple sigh and .45 ACP bullet in his skull. Major Hernandez's men, the original unit of Dimka and Sevka, had been avenged. Sevka stepped next to his friend, stuck a stimpack into his arm and bandaged his wound. Once colour began returning to the Bulgarian stalker's cheeks, Sevka sighed and reprimanded his comrade.
"I thought you learned from that scuffle with Skull that rushing off alone gets you killed."
"I'm a slow learner, alright?", Dimka argued, grinning.
"That much is clear. Now, let's check his pockets for our "get out of jail free" card.", Sevka proposed, and Dimka nodded.
They went through Khan's belongings, checking through the various pockets of his Mk. II suit. There was little to find there, but in his backbag, there was a document detailing some of the mission parametres set by Khan's employers. The liquidation of original UNISG was mentioned among them, and Dimka also pocketed the encrypted PDA of the traitor, hoping that Maus could decrypt it.
"That alone should help, but this here might be a jackpot. Alright, Mr. De Luca, seems like we're off the hook now.", Dimka commented, shaking the PDA.
"Let's hope so. But what do you think Khan meant when he said there are others looking for Strelok?", Sevka asked.
"Those men in black suits perhaps? I wouldn't worry, they ran with their tails between their legs when we stormed the hideout yesterday.", Dimka scoffed.
Sevka nodded hesitantly, looking at the dead captain laying on the floor. Yet Dimka's comment was quickly revealed to be dead wrong, when the sound of a helicopter engine echoed through out the city. Outside, Boris and Degtyarev raised their eyes towards the sky, and the black helicopter they had seen leave before now approached yet again.

From time to time, we experience injuries that can cause significant pain in our shoulders, hindering our ability to perform daily tasks. Incorporating yoga poses into our routine can be highly beneficial for reducing shoulder pain. Whether you're recovering from a shoulder strain, dislocation, or any other shoulder-related issue, these poses can prove useful.
Including appropriate yoga poses can expedite the recovery process, strengthening the shoulder and enhancing its flexibility. By following a regular and dedicated yoga routine, the shoulder's original functionality can be restored.
Understanding the Anatomy of the Shoulder:
The shoulder is a complex part of the human body composed of muscles, bones, and joints. Identifying the specific source of pain can be challenging, so it's important to have a basic understanding of its anatomy.
The primary bones comprising the shoulder are the clavicle (collarbone), scapula (shoulder blades), and humerus (upper arm bone).
The key muscles in the shoulder include:

1. Anterior deltoid: Located in the front area of the upper arm, it provides arm flexibility and rotation.
2. Medial deltoid: Positioned on the outer area of the arm, it assists with overhead pressing and movement.
3. Posterior deltoid: Found on the back side of the upper arm, it aids in arm extension and lateral rotation.

The shoulder consists of several joints:

1. Glenohumeral joint: Facilitates arm movement.
2. Acromioclavicular joint: Provides stability.
3. Sternoclavicular joint: Assists in throwing and thrusting movements.
4. Scapulothoracic joint: Connects the shoulder to the chest wall.

Causes of Shoulder Pain:
Shoulder pain can arise from various factors and conditions. Here are some common causes:

1. Strains, tears, or inflammation in the rotator cuff.
2. Shoulder impingement.
3. Thickening and tightening of the shoulder joint capsule, leading to a frozen shoulder.
4. Joint stiffness.
5. Arthritis.
6. Bursitis.
7. Tendon inflammation.
8. Shoulder dislocation.
9. Fractured shoulder bones.
10. Muscle strain.
11. Imbalances due to poor posture.
12. Lupus, an autoimmune disorder in which the body's immune system attacks itself.
13. Neck pain.

Accurate diagnosis of the underlying cause is crucial to determine the appropriate yoga poses for treatment.
Importance of Yoga Poses for Shoulder Injuries:
Yoga offers several poses specifically designed for shoulder injuries, offering the following benefits:

1. Accelerates the healing process.
2. Improves blood circulation to the shoulder, aiding in faster recovery.
3. Alleviates chronic shoulder pain.
4. Reduces inflammation in the shoulder.
5. Strengthens and increases the shoulder's flexibility.
6. Restores joint mobility and movement.
7. Enhances range of motion.
8. Promotes proper posture alignment to alleviate shoulder pain.
9. Reduces stress and relaxes the shoulder.
10. Enhances shoulder endurance.

Yoga Poses for Shoulder Injuries:
Numerous yoga poses focus on shoulder strengthening. However, when practicing yoga poses for shoulder injury recovery, it is essential to exercise caution and modify them to avoid putting excessive strain and pressure on the injured shoulder. Here are the recommended poses and their modifications:

1. Urdhva Hastasana (Upward Salute Pose)
2. Utkatasana (Chair Pose
3. Virabhadrasana 1 (Warrior 1 Pose
4. Anjanayasana (Crescent Lunge Pose)

In the original forms of these asanas, the arms are raised straight upwards shoulder-width apart. However, in the case of an injured shoulder, it is advisable to modify the pose by making a V shape with the arms, reducing stress on the injured shoulder.

1. Virabhadrasana II (Warrior 2 Pose)

In the original form, the arms are kept straight and extended outwards with palms facing downwards. To modify this pose, bend the arms at the elbow and keep the palms facing upwards.

1. Utthita Trikonasana (Extended Triangle Pose) and
2. Utthita Parsvakonasana (Extended Side Angle Pose)

In the original form of Utthita Trikonasana, one arm is extended straight upwards, while in Utthita Parsvakonasana, one arm extends outward. To modify these poses, rest the extended arm on the body to avoid placing stress on it.

1. Adho Mukha Svanasana (Downward-Facing Dog Pose)

In the original form of this pose, the body is bent forward in a triangle shape, and the arms bear the body's weight. However, to prevent stress on the injured shoulder, reduce the distance between the arms and legs and place the hands on blocks.

1. Parsvottanasana (Pyramid Pose)

In the original form of this pose, the hands are kept behind the back. In the case of an injured shoulder, modify the pose by bending the elbows and placing the hands on the sides of the hips.
Yoga Poses to Avoid for Shoulder Pain:
In the case of shoulder pain or injury, the following yoga poses should be avoided as they exert significant pressure on the shoulder area:

1. Chaturanga Dandasana (Four-Limbed Staff Pose)
2. Urdhva Dhanurasana (Wheel Pose)
3. Sirsasana (Headstand)
4. Sarvangasana (Shoulderstand)
5. Bakasana (Crow Pose)
6. Vasisthasana (Side Plank Pose)
7. Plank Pose

Precautions for Yoga Practice with Shoulder Injuries:
When practicing yoga with a shoulder injury, it is important to take the following precautions:

1. Maintain good technique.
2. Ensure proper body and arm alignment.
3. Avoid exerting excessive effort and practice with ease.
4. Seek guidance from a qualified yoga instructor.

Conclusion:
It is important to keep in mind that every individual’s healing process is different so one needs to have patience. Moreover, before starting with yoga poses for shoulder pain relief, one must take the guidance of a healthcare professional and an expert yoga trainer. The yoga trainer may advise you to go for poses as they are or in their modified form. Stop doing a pose or it modified version, if you are experiencing pain while doing it. The use of yoga should be to help yourself and not to aggravate your problem.

Alright so I just barely woke up after dreaming about playing Minecraft of all things. In it, I came across a biome or part of the map that was such a bizarre but neat idea that I just have to get it off my chest. Forgive me if it sounds ridiculous but hear me out:
So you know those sunken ships you find around the ocean? In my dream, I was flying around and I came across a giant bay housing a bunch of these abandoned ships, except some were still afloat and some sunk deep underwater. Everytime I entered that part of the map a deep, gray fog would envelop it, and even the water lost a bit of its blue vibrancy. I only explored around the surface, but I found some ships that had some loot in them, just like the game. One thing stood out in the loot though, and this is where it may begin to get ridiculous, but in all of the regular loot, there was one Aztec death whistle. I never used it but, I remember my dream portraying it as some rare item.
So, I woke up a little later after goofing off in that dream and all, and I thought of some ways this could be improved:

• So let's make it a very rare biome/structure (honestly dont know which it should be). Maybe as rare as a woodland mansion, and you can only pinpoint one down by finding a very rare map in a sunken ship that leads to it.
  
• Some ships will still be afloat, but the rest have sunken deep underwater. Maybe the surface can have a bunch of docks to help locate the area on land.
  
• Underwater would be many of the regular ships we're used to, but there would be a much larger ship in the middle of them all where you can find the special item in the captain's room. I'd say the Aztec death whistle would be it, but that might be too far of a stretch. I'll leave that idea up to you.
  
• It shouldn't just be a free lootfest of course. Something should be stopping you from trying to get into the big ship, or just all the ships in general. My idea would be some kind of pirate curse you have to overcome by some means, but I'll also leave this idea up to you.
  

That's really it! I hope it doesn't sound too silly, lol. Not going to push for this to actually happen, not like it ever will, just really needed to tell everyone about it after dreaming about this. Leave some ideas!