The small cargo ship, in the default medium grey, was wholly unremarkable. The same and similar made up the fleets of corporate and private couriers, with the result that it was not surprising to see it anywhere. The anonymity and ability to blend in served Sidra well…usually. This station, run by the hyper-bureaucratic aslodzhins was the exception. The “bugs,” as many humans called them, had their own ways of doing things and didn’t like a “squishy,” as they called humans and other endoskeletal beings in their own language, upsetting the order. “Private vessel Hobby Horse, please state the purpose of your visit and expected duration.” “Station 47 control, I say again: PV Hobby Horse requesting permission to dock in an out-of-the-way small cargo dock for fueling. Expected visit duration no more than a week…seven standard days, but no less than an hour.” “PV Hobby Horse, docking for fuel cleared at Lock 7-16. All passengers and crew are required to wait inside the vehicle until security arrives to clear you. …Cracked-shell squishy thinks they can—” The controller’s voice cut out as they must have noticed they were still transmitting. “Thank you, station 47 control. Docking at Lock 7-16. Squishy out….” Sidra expected one or two security to show up to clear her to enter the station, instead, there were a dozen. She opened the airlock and waited inside. “Come on in.” The leader, obvious by the shiny, silver emblem in the center of its blast armor, stepped in, followed by two others that made a quick inspection of the ship to verify the claim of no other persons aboard. The brown color of the leader’s head carapace marked them as a drone, while the black carapaces were male and bright blue were female. Sidra extended a hand. “Sidra Boston; captain, owner, pilot, and sole crew of the Hobby Horse. Welcome to my home.” “Sub-adjutant-lieutenant-detachment-commander Slivdzak.” The officer looked at her extended hand and grasped it with one their six manipulators. “Pleasure to meet you, Slivdzak. How can I help?” Sidra felt a secret rush of joy at the way the officer tried and failed to hide their discomfort. She knew that the lack of carapace was as disconcerting to them as the feel of a surprise tarantula crawling on the neck was to humans. “Captain Sidra Boston—” “Please, just call me Sid. Drop all the Captain and Boston stuff.” “Sid, you have not made clear the purpose of your ‘one-hour to seven-day’ stay. Please elaborate.” “I’m meeting someone here and taking them home.” The officer looked at a small device it carried. A hologram rose from it, her close-cropped black hair, medium-brown skin, large, green eyes, and humped nose obvious. Beneath the hologram was writing in the bugs’ script. “Are you not a hunter of bounties?” “Well, if that’s what you want to call it, I guess.” “Such activity is only allowed in teams of three or more by aslodzhin law 9314-27.664 and safety regulations 647-88.932 and 90991-17.0. In addition, at least one of the team must be aslodzhin.” “That’s kind of speciesist, isn’t it?” “The courts have allowed for permanent residents of aslodzhin space to fill the requirements where applicable, in accordance with Galactic Union Resolution on the Rights of Sapients, 74.23.08 Paragraph 12.” “Great, good to hear. Problem is, I work alone and I’m not after a bug.” She shrugged. “You know how we squishies are.” “Station command has already decreed that you are not to leave your vessel without the two members chosen for you.” The officer raised to its full height, its head carapace close to scraping the ceiling. “Your team will be here soon. Good day, Captain Sidra Boston.” “Good day, sub-whatever-whatchamacallit Sliv.” After the security detail left, she stepped out of the ship to check on the refueling. No sooner had her foot set down outside the airlock than she found herself in the crosshairs of two armed security guards that had been standing out of sight. “They aren’t kidding about not leaving without a team, huh? Damned bureaucracy.” She stepped back inside the ship and sat on the floor to await her babysitters. When her team arrived, she was surprised by the presence of the furred, six-limbed hikarin hemi-male. He was easily head and shoulders taller than her, but slight of build, and thin-boned, coming from a lower-gravity world. The aslodzhin female didn’t surprise her, even in her law enforcement uniform. She wore a red symbol on the chest of her uniform. Sidra stood. “Okay guys, I’m Sid, and this is my job. You do what I say and stay out of the way we’ll get along fine. You,” she said, pointing at the aslodzhin female, “change out of that uniform. You’ll scare off my skip.” “Sid, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m senior-squad-chief Dliz, and this is Soolyasin.” Dliz extended a manipulator for a shake and Sidra obliged. Dliz’s compound eyes rotated in a way Sidra didn’t know they could, and she showed frank wonder at the feel of a hand in her manipulator. “Could you do that again?” she asked. “Do what?” “You moved your hand, and I could feel the muscles flex…yes! That’s it!” Dliz laughed. “That’s the neatest feeling ever!” “Am I the first squishy you’ve met?” “Oh, no. I’ve known Sool since I was a nymph.” Dliz continued to hold on to Sidra’s hand. “How about humans?” Sidra raised an eyebrow and tried to extricate herself from the increasingly awkward handshake. “Yes. I mean, I’ve seen plenty passing through, but never met one.” Dliz let go and uttered a quiet apology. Soolyasin stepped forward. He was dressed in technician’s clothes, complete with tool belt. “You’ll have to forgive Dliz. She’s a fan of bounty hunters in general, and you in particular.” “Shush.” Dliz stood straight up at attention on her four hind legs, her head scraping the ceiling, her three left manipulators raised in a salute. “What are your orders, Sid?” “First order of business, you need to lose the uniform and dress in something less conspicuous. Sool, is that a disguise?” “No, these are my work clothes. When Dliz called I ran straight here.” “That’s fine. You’ll blend in, no trouble.” Sidra put on a ballistic vest and covered it with a loose jacket. She checked that she had cuffs, shackles, bench warrant, and badge. She turned toward Dliz. “Do you have a ballistic vest?” “I have a carapace; I’m not a squishy.” “Will your carapace stop a slug from a weapon like this?” Sidra held up a high-powered, 6mm rifle. “Um, no. I have armor, though.” “Can you wear it under clothes?” “Yes, but it’s against the regulations.” “Screw the rules, wear your armor…under your clothes.” She muttered under her breath, “Damned bureaucracy.” Sidra turned toward Soolyasin. “I think I have a vest that’ll fit you.” He looked at Sidra, then Dliz, then back again. “Is it going to be that dangerous?” Sidra showed them the bench warrant. Soolyasin’s eyes grew wide and Dliz’s eyes rolled in a different way to earlier. Sidra thought she might be able to read bug emotions if this kept up. “You were going after a turgen terrorist by yourself?” he asked. “Still am. Just don’t want to see my babysitters get hurt.” She turned to look at Dliz. “Dliz, relax. You don’t have to stand at attention. I need you to tell me which of these weapons you’ll let me carry on the station.” Dliz settled back down onto six legs and looked over the cabinet Sidra had unlocked. In addition to the rifle, she had pistols, tasers, batons, knives, and a shotgun with less-lethal beanbag loads along with standard loads. “Which of them are capable of breaching the station hull?” “The 6-mil, and the shotgun, if I loaded it with steel shot or slugs instead of beanbags.” She didn’t mention that the 10mm pistols were just as likely to do the same damage, but she wasn’t going out without at least one lethal weapon. “In that case, leave the rifle and lethal shotgun rounds behind. I’ll be carrying a beam weapon, too, so we should be covered.” “What about me?” Soolyasin asked. “The only thing I need you to do is stay out of the way. Unless I need some inconspicuous eyes in the bay.” After fitting Soolyasin with a ballistic vest and Dliz getting into civilian clothes over her armor, much to her dismay, they moved to the main cargo bays where they expected their quarry to show. Sidra positioned them so that she could watch arrivals, Dliz could watch her back, and Soolyasin could stay well out of the way unless and until needed. The first hour went by at glacial speed, with constant interruptions from Dliz and Soolyasin asking questions or pointing at every passerby that might be a turgen in disguise. The next two hours dragged compared to the first. It was in the middle of the fourth hour that Sidra got notice that the ship carrying her quarry was docking. She moved them to cover the lock where it pulled in, granting them a view on both the personnel airlock and the cargo airlock. A much smaller contingent of security met the ship, cleared the crew for the station, and left. Four crewmembers, all turgen, filed off. Larger than humans in bulk, grey skin covered with hard dermal denticles, they had two arms, two legs, the remnants of a dorsal fin, and a long, flat tail with which they could do bone-breaking damage. Sidra waited. If he was going to sneak off the ship, he’d need to do it soon. When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to get out on his own, she radioed Soolyasin. “Okay, Sool. It’s clear around the ship. Just carry your tool case and walk onboard like you belong there. You’ve seen his picture, if you see him, run. If there’s anyone else on the ship, just tell them you’re checking the fuel gauges because of some regulation or other.” “Are you sure?” “I’m sure. You got this, and I’ve got your back.” Soolyasin walked onto the ship, and they could hear him in their headsets, “Hello? Anyone here? I need to check your fuel gauges. Hello?” A few quiet moments passed before Soolyasin spoke up again. “There’s no one else here,” he said, “I’m co—” His voice was cut off by the sound of a heavy thud. Sidra ran for the ship, pulling her shotgun into firing position and cycling a round into the chamber. She stopped at the door of the ship and called inside. “Give it up, Otto. The only way you’re leaving here is in cuffs.” When she didn’t hear anything else, she moved to clear the corners. She looked right where the door to the cockpit was closed. She swiveled around to check the other side only to find it empty as well. “Dliz, move up and cover the exit. The cargo airlock hasn’t been cycled, so this is the only way off.” She began to move down the passageway when she heard the cockpit door click behind her. She swung around a delivered a 12-gauge beanbag into Otto’s gut at near point-blank range. Rather than stopping him, it enraged him. He turned and swiped at her with his tail. Sidra tried to dodge out the way, but he managed to knock the shotgun out of her hands. He picked it up and threw it behind himself into the cockpit, next to the limp form of Soolyasin. “Time to go away, bounty hunter.” He began to move toward her. When he stepped in front of the open door, he was met with a concentrated beam of infrared energy that forced him to jump back. “Listen, soft-skin. You leave now, and I’ll throw your friend out. It’s your one chance to leave alive.” She drew her 10mm pistol and pointed it at him. “And if I don’t?” He started toward her again, then stopped when the beam almost connected. “I’ll start by killing your furry friend, then your trigger-happy friend, then you…but nice and slow. There’s no way you’re taking me to a human prison.” Sidra couldn’t see Dliz, but from the angle of the last beam, she’d moved to where she had more coverage of the passageway toward the cockpit. She knew that if he wanted, he could ignore the burns and rush her, crushing her carapace in a thousand different ways. Her shotgun was far out of reach, not to mention ineffective, but the 10mm pistol was a comforting weight in her hand. Otto turned his back on her, his tail swishing wildly, smashing against the bulkheads on each side of the passage. “Very well, then. On to killing your furry friend first.” “I’m warning you, Otto, these are lethal rounds. Put your hands behind your head, your tail between your legs, and drop to your knees.” By the time Otto had taken a step, Sidra had taken aim and fired a shot into his torso and another into his thigh. He stopped and turned to look at her, bright pink blood running down his leg and back. He laughed. “You’re going to be so much fun.” The courts tended to look down on spinal injuries, but when a round in the torso and thigh didn’t slow him down, she didn’t feel like she had much choice. She took aim again and fired at the base of his tail. His tail dropped like a dead weight, and he cried out. The pain dropped him to his knees. Sidra finished the motion by jumping between his shoulder blades to put him flat on the deck. She cuffed his hands behind his back, and secured his ankles with shackles before motioning Dliz to come in. “Call for medical for Sool and for the idiot here.” Dliz made the call and medical teams arrived in less than a minute. “Damn,” Sidra said, “I guess bureaucracy is good for something after all.” Soolyasin was awake by the time he was loaded onto a stretcher. There didn’t seem to be any broken bones, but he’d been thrown rather hard by Otto’s tail strike. “Sorry I wasn’t any help,” he said. “Nonsense. I’m sorry I sent you in there and you got hurt. I’m splitting the bounty three ways, even across with both of you.” “I can’t take any payment,” Dliz said. “It’s against the regulations for police to have any outside earnings.” “You saved my bacon, though. If you hadn’t been enough of an inconvenience with the beam, he would’ve tail swiped me before I could draw.” “Still can’t accept any payments or monetary gifts.” “How about this? You two have been friends forever, right? I’ll pay your portion to Sool, and he can treat you to fancy dinners for the rest of your life.” “Wha...how much is the bounty?” “Three-point-seven million Terran credits. About sixteen million galactic.” Dliz’s eyes rolled in yet another motion. “Damned bureaucracy.”
Reedsy Prompt: Write about someone who has always done something as part of a group, and is now starting to set out solo, or vice versa.
Story published here.

Hello, to all reading this, I wanted some help scaling the verse of my novel "Murim: Struggle of the Weak."
So I don't know much about powerscaling but I do enjoy watching some scaling videos here and there so if you think something is missing please comment and I'll clarify.
Firstly the world is a Xianxia crossed with a Wuxia world that has multiple dimensional planes.
1- Human World: It is essentially a replica of our universe and yes it is infinite in size with many alien worlds.
2- Xuanjie Realm: A dimensional plane of existence above the human world which contains multiple continents that scale to infinite universes that are separated by voids of space that can only be covered by creates known as the abyssal spirits or through artifacts.
3- Mirror World: A world that exists parallel to the Xuanjie Realm, it's size is unknown but it is home to creatures that existed since the beginning of time known as the Ganshin.
4- The Abyss: A void in existence itself that exists below everything, this place is a void where even platonic concepts die, the only thing that exists in this area are creatures known as Spirits - entities made from fragments of souls that ascend to samsara.
5- The God Realm: A higher plane of existence where entities that control concepts exist with the strongest being entities that embodies platonic concepts and killing them, kills the concept from the verse.
6- The World Tree: An entity that acts as a bridge between an infinite number of dimensional realities and timelines. The world tree contains a bridge to the room of the cosmic dreamer. The world tree can also protect from outer gods.
7- The Room of the Cosmic Dreamer: A room that is beyond the concept of dimensionals, a room that contains that bed where the corpses of the cosmic dreamer lies.
So, this is verse, with the important places, the only places I missed where Hell ( which is a 9th dimensional plane of exitence where souls are purified for samsara ), Limbo ( a dimension that is home to the embodiment of death ), small pocket worlds.
I also would appreciate it if you could scale the following characters.
The Cosmic dreamer ( the author ) - he dreamed up the entire verse and all the characters.
Alexander : the main villain of the story, he is someone that scared the embodiment of death with his presence, he can manipulate causality on a scale that each of the one of variants across every timeline has arrived at the same goal as the original. To gain the corpse do the cosmic imagination. He absorbs the corpse of the cosmic imagination.
The MC : A variant of Alexander which was formed when Alexander expelled all the good from himself as it reincarnated into a new form, the MC, who has the power of the concept of judgement, he has shown feats of running through the voids in space and time, he has been able to astral project in the abyss, he absorbs all infinite versions of himself into one, creating an infinite number of lotus petals, each petal increases all his stats exponentially, he and Alexander destroyed the entire verse during their final fight and at the end the MC spares Alexander out of curiosity if Alexander was left to roam the infinite existence, what would he do ? The MC then recreated the everything in the palm of him hands so he can observe what Alexander would do with the powers of the cosmic imagination. Alexander never knows that he is destroying all of the reality in the palms of the MC.

okay so i recently found out about a position with hawk pest control that is NOT d2d (their Pest control division is d2d) but this is for termite sales (a new division where you get set up with about 8-10 appointments a day and you basically just go close) you get housing and a rental car(they are in several markets in the south) and at minimum KPIs the guy said you should bring in 12 a month (commission is 20 percent of revenue, need to be selling 60k a month). has anyone hear worked with them, know if its too good to be true? ive read mixed reviews about hawk online but am interested. ive sold solar and insurance but know nothing about pest control/termites/bugs

Everything in my inventory is up for trade. The most valuable items are listed here, the rest you can find in My Inventory

Feel free to Add Me or even better send a Trade Offer. Open for any suggestions: upgrades, downgrades / knives, gloves, skins / stickers, patterns, floats.

All Buyouts are listed in cash value.

KNIVES

★ Butterfly Knife Freehand FN #1, B/O: $2500

★ Butterfly Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $822

★ Butterfly Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $616

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★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW #1, B/O: $1300

★ Bayonet Autotronic FN, B/O: $1050

★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW, B/O: $629

★ Bayonet Bright Water FT, B/O: $326

★ Bayonet Safari Mesh BS, B/O: $233

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★ Karambit Lore FT, B/O: $1110

★ Karambit Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $840

★ Karambit Freehand MW, B/O: $784

★ Karambit Bright Water MW, B/O: $759

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★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801

★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1801

★ M9 Bayonet Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $751

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★ Nomad Knife Fade FN, B/O: $1156

★ Nomad Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $544

★ Nomad Knife Blue Steel WW, B/O: $318

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★ Flip Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $646

★ Flip Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $574

★ Flip Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) MW, B/O: $552

★ Flip Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $257

★ Flip Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $255

★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $287

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★ Huntsman Knife Lore FN, B/O: $461

★ Huntsman Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $436

★ Huntsman Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $353

★ Huntsman Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $212

★ Huntsman Knife Bright Water FT, B/O: $129

★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT MW, B/O: $129

★ Huntsman Knife Forest DDPAT BS, B/O: $123

★ StatTrak™ Huntsman Knife Rust Coat BS, B/O: $127

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★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $375

★ Bowie Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $363

★ Bowie Knife Tiger Tooth FN, B/O: $269

★ Bowie Knife Crimson Web WW, B/O: $192

★ Bowie Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $159

★ Bowie Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $126

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★ Stiletto Knife Slaughter FN, B/O: $616

★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web FT, B/O: $412

★ StatTrak™ Stiletto Knife Night Stripe FT, B/O: $227

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★ Falchion Knife Lore FT, B/O: $214

★ Falchion Knife Autotronic FT, B/O: $192

★ Falchion Knife Scorched WW, B/O: $105

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★ Survival Knife Crimson Web BS, B/O: $216

★ Survival Knife Case Hardened FT, B/O: $198

★ Survival Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $111

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★ Shadow Daggers Fade FN, B/O: $368

★ Shadow Daggers Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $228

★ Shadow Daggers, B/O: $201

★ Shadow Daggers Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $108

★ Shadow Daggers Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $105

★ Shadow Daggers Black Laminate FT, B/O: $99

★ Shadow Daggers Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $85

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★ Gut Knife Doppler (Sapphire) MW #1, B/O: $1700

★ Gut Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $223

★ Gut Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $203

★ Gut Knife Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $191

★ Gut Knife Case Hardened BS, B/O: $127

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★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199

★ Navaja Knife Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $199

★ Navaja Knife, B/O: $138

★ Navaja Knife Damascus Steel FN, B/O: $111

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★ Classic Knife Urban Masked FT, B/O: $146

★ StatTrak™ Classic Knife Stained BS, B/O: $168

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★ Ursus Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $476

★ Ursus Knife, B/O: $375

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★ Skeleton Knife, B/O: $1137

★ Talon Knife, B/O: $608

★ Paracord Knife, B/O: $305

★ Survival Knife Forest DDPAT FT, B/O: $97

GLOVES

★ Moto Gloves Transport MW, B/O: $204

★ Moto Gloves Polygon BS, B/O: $142

★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84

★ Moto Gloves Blood Pressure BS, B/O: $84

★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63

★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $63

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★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Kimono WW, B/O: $1215

★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike FT, B/O: $672

★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander FT, B/O: $305

★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander BS, B/O: $140

★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web BS, B/O: $137

★ Specialist Gloves Buckshot FT, B/O: $75

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★ Driver Gloves Crimson Weave FT, B/O: $359

★ Driver Gloves Imperial Plaid BS, B/O: $229

★ Driver Gloves Overtake BS, B/O: $77

★ Driver Gloves Racing Green FT, B/O: $48

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★ Sport Gloves Omega FT, B/O: $739

★ Sport Gloves Amphibious BS #2, B/O: $733

★ Sport Gloves Arid BS, B/O: $292

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★ Hand Wraps Giraffe MW, B/O: $212

★ Hand Wraps Leather FT, B/O: $160

★ Hand Wraps Desert Shamagh MW, B/O: $101

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★ Broken Fang Gloves Yellow-banded MW, B/O: $185

★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point FT, B/O: $67

★ Broken Fang Gloves Needle Point WW, B/O: $59

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★ Hydra Gloves Case Hardened BS, B/O: $65

★ Hydra Gloves Emerald FT, B/O: $65

★ Hydra Gloves Emerald BS, B/O: $62

WEAPONS

AK-47 Case Hardened BS, B/O: $130

AK-47 Bloodsport MW, B/O: $79

AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76

AK-47 Fuel Injector BS, B/O: $76

AK-47 Bloodsport FT, B/O: $70

AK-47 Neon Rider MW, B/O: $60

StatTrak™ AK-47 Aquamarine Revenge FT, B/O: $72

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AWP Fade FN, B/O: $1039

AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139

AWP Asiimov FT, B/O: $139

AWP Wildfire MW, B/O: $95

AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93

AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $93

AWP Duality FN, B/O: $81

AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79

AWP Asiimov BS, B/O: $79

AWP Chromatic Aberration FN, B/O: $60

StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68

StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $68

StatTrak™ AWP Electric Hive FT, B/O: $55

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Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $623

Desert Eagle Emerald Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $241

Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81

Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81

Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $81

Desert Eagle Printstream FT, B/O: $54

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M4A1-S Blue Phosphor FN, B/O: $434

StatTrak™ M4A1-S Bright Water MW, B/O: $55

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M4A4 Poseidon FN, B/O: $1465

M4A4 Asiimov BS, B/O: $55

M4A4 Hellfire MW, B/O: $50

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USP-S Kill Confirmed MW, B/O: $72

USP-S Printstream FT, B/O: $69

StatTrak™ USP-S Kill Confirmed FT, B/O: $139

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AUG Flame Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $234

P90 Run and Hide FT, B/O: $147

Five-SeveN Candy Apple FN, B/O: $61

Trade Offer Link - Steam Profile Link - My Inventory

Knives - Bowie Knife, Butterfly Knife, Falchion Knife, Flip Knife, Gut Knife, Huntsman Knife, M9 Bayonet, Bayonet, Karambit, Shadow Daggers, Stiletto Knife, Ursus Knife, Navaja Knife, Talon Knife, Classic Knife, Paracord Knife, Survival Knife, Nomad Knife, Skeleton Knife, Patterns - Gamma Doppler, Doppler (Phase 1, Phase 2, Phase 3, Phase 4, Black Pearl, Sapphire, Ruby, Emerald), Crimson Web, Lore, Fade, Ultraviolet, Night, Marble Fade (Fire & Ice, Fake FI), Case Hardened (Blue Gem), Autotronic, Slaughter, Black Laminate, Tiger Tooth, Boreal Forest, Scorched, Blue Steel, Vanilla, Damascus Steel, Forest DDPAT, Urban Masked, Freehand, Stained, Bright Water, Safari Mesh, Rust Coat, Gloves - Bloodhound Gloves (Charred, Snakebite, Guerrilla, Bronzed), Driver Gloves (Snow Leopard, King Snake, Crimson Weave, Imperial Plaid, Black Tie, Lunar Weave, Diamondback, Rezan the Red, Overtake, Queen Jaguar, Convoy, Racing Green), Hand Wraps (Cobalt Skulls, CAUTION!, Overprint, Slaughter, Leather, Giraffe, Badlands, Spruce DDPAT, Arboreal, Constrictor, Desert Shamagh, Duct Tape), Moto Gloves (Spearmint, POW!, Cool Mint, Smoke Out, Finish Line, Polygon, Blood Pressure, Turtle, Boom!, Eclipse, 3rd Commando Company, Transport), Specialist Gloves (Crimson Kimono, Tiger Strike, Emerald Web, Field Agent, Marble Fade, Fade, Foundation, Lt. 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First Previous Next ​ ​

In a bustling mining town:

Jax had been enjoying himself. The war stories and barely believable tales of antics of the Humans he'd served with he told in the coffee parlors were popular among the intoxicated of both sexes, though the admiration and further libations from the men were far less captivating than the rapt attention a very pretty woman with a lithe figure and strong tail gave him. Comely indeed, and she would come to listen to him. Though it seemed to onlookers that he had captivated her, it was her dark pools of eyes that he had dove into, and found them deep and inescapable. She kept those eyes trained on him so long as he spoke, and so he spoke, seeing in those depths possibilities.
Indeed, Jax had begun to expect that if he were to ask Rae to accompany him to the upcoming autumn festival, she might not reject the notion. Even with troubling rumors about somebody attacking a neighboring nation, and the sudden vanishing of the Star Sailors from Star Council space were far from his mind, and the minds of the other coffee patrons parlor patrons. It was in this ease and comfort that he and many other Numiindan residents found their lives shattered by horror.
It began with the burning streaks of the wrecked Space Defense Force, more law enforcement than military, fell from the sky. He was just in the middle of a story about the time his buddy Erin had gotten stuck in his own armor when he stopped and said, "Does anybody else smell smoke?"
There was a general testing of the air by the group of variably intoxicated patrons, followed by a fruitless checking of datapads for the news. "Network's down," somebody in the small crowd said.
"Well, we'll just go outside and take a look," Jax said, and Rae subtly clasped his hand. Outside, the pair squeezed each other's hands so hard they hurt. The sky was streaked with gashes of billowing black smoke of destroyed ships and fighters, and what destroyed them was descending while raining hot plasma down on anything that looked vaguely like it might be fortified.
"The Ancestors preserve us," Rae whispered.
"I'm not going to wait on them," Jax said, "we need to get under cover now, and not just the lounge!"
Someone in the crowd said, "The mines! There are some pretty big chambers down there, and it's like, miles of rock to burn through."
"Good plan," Vex said, "If they're doing areal lances like that they don't care about collateral damage, everyone, split up in groups of three or four, and get as many people as you can to get to the mines."
"What if they follow us down?" Rae asked.
"We'll flood the mines. Hopefully they can't swim."
An hour later, a press of over a hundred panicked elderly and children were running along behind Jax. The majority of the parents and other adults had elected to buy time. Jax had to focus on his mission, save the civvies, get them under cover, to keep from bolting off to join them. "As long as the pups are alive," he muttered.
The sounds of shouting and plasma lance discharges spurred him and Rae on, and though he was obliged to lead the way, she insisted on bringing up the rear. She insisted that none of the injured were left behind. Then, they saw it, salvation. The gates to the mines, and behind them, the shaft plunging down beneath the rock. There were miners with plasma cutters and force axes at the gates, and Jax knew better than to relax. Even as the miners swung the gates open and escorted their panicked charges to the shaft elevator.
"We're getting ready to flood the main shaft, and everything but the vents to the largest chamber," one of the miners said, "get everyone up against the back wall, and pray the Ancestors remember us."
Jax just nodded and gripped his crowbar as he scanned the road they had run down saying, "I'm going to need fighters. We have to hold out until the Republic gets here."
"The Republic? You think they'll come?"
"Of course," Jax said with steel in his voice, "of course."
The next day, Jax held a meeting with the others he was thinking of as the leaders, or maybe other fighters, to tell them what he thought and hear what they thought in return. They had swam to an air pocket in one of the flooded tunnels and held their conversation in the dim light of a portable glow lantern to keep the civvies from panicking at what might be said. There Jax and Rae floated with Kai, a miner and the one who had suggested sheltering in the tunnels, Mei, an engineer in from the big city to help design an upgraded refining facility, and Ash, a man reluctant to divulge his past.
"So, we have about eight hundred civvies, none of whom are in fighting shape, no weapons, no food, and a highly defensible position," Jax opened, "I believe our first priority should be arming ourselves so we can raid the surface for food."
"The first aid kits are barely adequate. They're made to deal with maybe a localized plasma burn from a cutter malfunction, or to put temporary splints on a broken limb. Not lance wounds and to stabilize breaks for healing," Rae murmured softly.
"I did a little scouting," Kai said, "Just popping up in the vent covers, they didn't see me. I saw my house. What's left of it. Anyway, I know how to get to where there are some weapons we could get if we're quick. If we're quiet."
"The flooding did significant damage to the mines," Mei muttered. "I haven't seen any signs that it's getting worse, but the quakes will probably keep on. We will have to reassure the civilians. If they bombard the town from orbit though…"
"There's not much we can do about that," Jax said firmly, "so let's focus on what we can manage. Weapons, food, medicine."
"Blankets," Ash said, "The people are cold, scared. Blankets will help with morale. Survivors. There might be survivors."
"Weapons, food, weapons, blankets, and survivors. Okay, that's a start. Who wants to tell them?"
"Will the Republic really come?" Ash asked.
"They will come," Rex said firmly.
"I can tell them," Rae said as she reached out to clasp hands with Rex. He let her squeeze his hand once, and they dove down into the water to swim back to the main chamber.
The people were understandably stressed at the news that their only protectors would soon leave them alone, but they were reassured when Rae explained that they planned on raiding the surface for supplies and planned to be gone for a few hours at most.
Later, Ash was skulking around a police station, or at least the charred remnants of one, while Jax tried to see him doing so from inside the vent cover. He had been a little aprehensive of the man's claims that he could scout the building unnoticed, but the proof of the meat was inside the shell, so he took a chance. It paid off.
"All clear," Ash whispered from outside Jax's field of view.
"You made your point," Jax said, "good work."
"It's… it's not good in there."
Jax opened up the vent cover, and dropped to all fours to creep his way to the shattered building, and his companions did so behind him.
They squeezed through a gap in the rubble and slowly shifted the rubble until they had tunneled their way to the basement stairs, which they descended immediately. They tried to ignore the singed and shattered corpses of the police officers as they crawled past or over them. They failed at this. They had marginally more success in ignoring Rae's vomit at the grizzly task.
In the basement they found chemprop weapons, magacs, plasma casters, and long distance tasers in rifle and pistol configurations, as well as some light flak armor and personal shields. "Don't bother with the casters or tasers," Jax ordered as he wrapped his hands around the familiar shape of a rifle stock, "Terrans use these for a reason." The others deferrred to his experience, and Rae went to check the other basement rooms for medical supplies.
When she cried out, Rex and the others rushed into the adjoining room, but found no danger there. Only the chief of police, a magac pistol lay at his feet, and the wall to his left was painted in a sanguine splatter. "Nim," she almost moaned in grief.
"You knew him?" Ash asked.
"My uncle."
The others murmured their apologies, none of them strangers to such loss in the past day, and Ash pulled a discarded coat over the man taken by despair. "We have to make sure the people don't decide that this is a good idea," he softly murmured.
"Okay, see what else we can find for supplies here. Kai, can we get to a clinic from the tunnels?"
"Three of them."
"We'll hit the nearest one first, then we swim out to the bay and see if we can get anything from the fishery."
Then, they once again committed to the grizzly task of crawling through the rubble.
The clinic was miraculously intact, only a little exterior fire damage from the fighting, but it was also guarded. The invaders hadn't expected anyone to actually attack with weapons, as thus far most resistance had been fierce but only armed with improvised weapons. The two guards were relieved of their duties by magnetically accelerated iron chunks that left golf ball sized exit wounds in their backs before they even knew they were under attack. Inside, there was not only a treasure trove of medical supplies, which Rae directed them to take only the most versatile or in most dire need, but there were also prisoners in one of the exam rooms. They had injuries that indicated that they were painful but not lethal. Jax was furious.
The fishery offered enough food for the next few days, and their triumphant return kindled hope in the sheltering civilians that they might just hold out.

In low orbit over Numinda:

Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon surveyed his glorious conquest. Glad he was to have received orders to seek out resource rich planets, for instead of wasting his talents spilling unworthy blood to sate the thirst of Axzuur, he had instead found a race worthy of toiling for his glory. They could never be true warriors, Five days, and he had obtained control over the system and planet. Truly, the pathetic resisance offered by their so-called fleet had dismayed him, but the reports of the ferocity with which the males and some of the females on the orb below fight against his warriors armed only with what is to hand, and sometimes merely tooth and claw, excited him greatly.
It would be pleasing to elevate the lion's share of Axxaakk serfs to more worthy work, to more… worthy services. This new acquisition would even free up many serfs to become warriors, even, which would mean more sacrifices to Axzuur, which would mean greater favor. Although, there were still pockets of resistance across the planet. Even though his forces controlled the communication infrastructure for the planetary and superluminal networks, these pockets seemed to somehow act in concert to keep vital positions outside the Axxaakk's rightful reach.
It would seem that a mere scout group was insufficient, so he was being reinforced by, Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn, who had been reassigned to a subjugation group including a battleship, three frigates, and their escorts. This should provide sufficient warriors and equipment to properly subjigate the planet, freeing Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon up for the much more pleasant task of crushing the next planet's defenses. Just two days of further drudgery until Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn arrived to take on the unenviable task of crushing the indipendent spirits of the new serfs. At least he had a few specimens for his own research in the best methods to do so to occupy his time.
Two days later, Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn had sent his counterpart sprawling off of his own dais with a metalic backhand slap, "WHY ARE YOUR ESCORTS NOT INTERDICTING HYPERSPACE EXITS AROUND THIS POSITION?"
Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon staggered to his feet in a fury, "BECAUSE MY SCOUT FLOTILLA WIPED AWAY ALL RESISTANCE IN LESS THAN A DAY!"
"Observe," Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn said coldly as he slammed a data crystal into an input, and the display screen lit up with the scene of a Terran fleet engaging an extraction fleet, and far from being swept away, they were fighting the extraction fleet to a slow defeat.
"Is that a stone temple?" Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon blurted out.
"It is."
"Why?"
"To show they can," Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn said with disgust.
Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon's eyes went wide as he asked, "How did that curiser take hits from behind."
"The Terrans apparently use kinetic weaponry, they fired the munitions in a slingshot trajectory while another ship forced it to maneuver into the line of travel."
"The calculations involved…"
"It is my belief that this is not even the main fighting force of the Terran military, for observe further," Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn twisted the crystal to display a split video of several systems on the screen. "These look like merchant vessels with guns strapped to them, and Priest-Lord Tiglach-Pilexer agrees that is likely the case. These fleets are likely auxiliaries sent out to probe our strength while the Terrans gather their true forces."
"Thank you for relaying this, I shall indeed run hyperspace interdiction at the next world."
"Your orders have changed. We are to extract what we can, and carry it off to the Dominion. The expeditionary fleet is insufficient."
Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon resisted the urge to spit upon the floor. "I too have information. These… these mammal-worms are worthy of at the very least toiling underneath the Axxaakk. Though their forces are defeated, the people fight on, just as the serfs did before they were broken and rebuilt to Axzuur's glory, may the stars tremble at his step."
"They are mammals, hold hostage their young, as we do for an unruly serf."
"This is a good plan, brother."
"We must not allow the Terrans to surprise us as they did Acolyte-Lord Xamxi-Avav."
First Previous Next ​ ​

Since 2018, I've worn Wranger flex waist cargo pants exclusively for work. They handled every occasion from just being a technician in the outdoors, roofs, crawl spaces, sales meetings, and just lounging around the house or going out with the family. There was nothing else, this is all I wore.
Fast forward to now, and I'm on the fast track to be VP of Operations for a regional pest control company, and I need something far more office friendly that looks great with our light blue, embroidered dress shirts. I'd prefer something like chinos or golf pants that won't break the bank (under $50 per pair), but still wear like those pants. The flexibility of them is fantastic, they're incredibly comfortable, and I suppose I just got used to them. But it's time to switch it up.
For reference, I'm 5'11", 335 lbs. I wear a 4xl shirt and a 44w30l pant.
Thanks guys!

First Previous
Ja’vail woke up with a yawn, her eyes squinting in the evening light. Her room was positioned in the castle on the west side, to ensure that Tor’s sun would wake her up for her duties. It was a purpose that it served with perfection, despite the fact that she really would have liked to sleep for a few more minutes.
However, her duty could not be delayed. It was her power that served as the linchpin to Tor’s spell, and she would fulfill her duty to ensure her Diarchy’s, and her world’s, future. With a grunt of exertion, Queen Ja’vail rose from her bed, stretched out her wings, and moved to the balcony before picking up her robe. As soon as she was somewhat decent, the Queen of the Night then opened her wings, looked to the skies, and began channeling her power into the spellform that had been weaved between the planet and its moon, renewing the bonds that connected them, and ensuring the delicate balance between her magic and her husband’s would not come undone.
She performed this ritual twice a day, every day, to ensure the spell’s continued existence. In the past few months she had performed it well before Tor had performed his own renewal, and had had to go remind the foolish drake to not only perform his duties, but to hurry up and get his tail to bed. Without her efforts, and her constant reminder to the king, the entire thing would come undone, ensuring their planet’s rapid descent into division once again.
Without the two dakri turning the planet, the two sides would either become too hot or too cold to sustain life, with the twilight between them ruled by monsters birthed from the nightmares of the oppressed.
It was with some surprise, then, that as she poured her soul into this undertaking, she could feel the thrum of her husband’s power clear in her mind, letting her know that Tor had already renewed his half of the spell for the night.
He really did need that sleep, she thought, giving a self-satisfied nod towards the setting sun before turning back towards her private chamber. She still had much to prepare for her night; even with the most pressing matter out of the way, she still expected a full schedule. Her court wasn’t especially busy, as the dakri found the night to be the best time to sleep and prepare for the next day.
That was besides the point, though, as her duties rarely involved overseeing the day-to-day rule. Rather, her task was to patrol the ǣther, hunt the nightmares that plagued her people, and to do her best to heal the source of those nightmares.
This was especially important now that she had cleared the Forest of Yith and had located the source of that particularly violent nest. It was best to keep those nightmares from returning, and for this cause she was going to attempt to enter the survivor’s dreams again. She doubted she would have as much success this time as she had last time, simply because almost drowning had weakened the creature’s defenses significantly. However, she had faith that she would at least be able to soothe the visitor’s dreams, and possibly gain a little more information on how he thought.
At the very least, she’d settle for a name. She couldn’t just keep calling it ‘the creature’ or ‘the survivor,’ as those ‘names’ grew heavy on the tongue, and wore down her patience. A name would also help the visit she had planned go a lot smoother, and would hopefully help them as they tried to convince him to come to the castle with them.
Once Ja’vail was dressed, she left the comforts of her room and made her way to her husband’s study. As she expected, he was still there, his desk still quite messy, a combination of his daily paperwork and the reports of the crashed alien spaceship forming the majority of the clutter.
Much to Ja’vail’s surprise, however, Tor wasn’t at his desk. Instead, the drake was standing at his window, looking out over the countryside and the eerie sunset before him, a reminder of the twilight that his people had escaped. In his hand he held a memory crystal, its red glow plainly visible in the slowly darkening room.
“Tor, are you alright?” the queen asked as she approached her husband.
Tor turned to look at her, surprise on his face. “Oh, I am well enough, I suppose…” he said, clearly still lost in thought. The king then looked down at the memory crystal in his hand, his brows furrowing in displeasure. “I have just received some… unsettling news. I was actually waiting for your arrival before deciding on anything.”
Ja’vail took a few more steps, her eyes locked on her husband's diminutive form. “What happened?”
Tor looked at her, then back at the stone. “It isn't easy to say this, but… we may have to kill the visitor.”
Ja’vail felt like her stomach had turned to ice. “Kill? Tor, what madness are you spouting? What crime could he have possibly committed while I was asleep to earn him a death sentence?”
Tor looked at his wife, pain in his eyes. “Nothing, dear. He’s completely innocent. That is beside the point, however.”
“Then tell me, what madness has overtaken you that you would murder an innocent?” Ja’vail demanded, her tone brooking no argument. “Or what monster are you, to have taken the place of my Tor? I must say, you have the likeness down, but your impression of his mannerisms leave much to be desired.”
Tor let out a mirthless laugh at that. “No monster or madness, my dark princess. Just a visit from an old friend…” he sighed again, before turning and holding out the crystal for Ja’vail to take. “Lady Siv paid both me and the survivor a visit today. She left me this, as well as a decision to make.”
Ja’vail looked at the crystal, before staring back at her husband, a dubious expression on her face. "And she told you to kill him? I do not remember her being so heartless.”
“And you would remember correctly. She was nearly in tears when I met her, though she did well in hiding them,” Tor said, before approaching his wife. He gently took her hand, and placed the crystal in her palm. “When she saw the visitor, she also looked into his future. This is what she saw. Please, do not force me to bear this knowledge alone.”
Ja’vail’s expression softened ever so slightly before she glanced down at the stone in her hand. “I will look, but I do not promise anything.”
Tor’s crest rose, but he did not say anything else. Instead he turned back to the window, waiting patiently for his wife to see what he had seen.
The memory took Ja’vail less than a second to go through, but she felt like she had been gone for a lifetime when the world came back into focus. She stared at the rock in horror, before throwing it to the ground. It did not shatter, it being made of quartz, but it still felt satisfying after the horrors she had witnessed.
“I was not pleased, either,” Tor said, not even bothering to turn and look. “Even if the visitor was guilty of some crime, I would spare him for what he could teach our people. As it stands, he is lost and alone, hoping for a friend. And I have to kill this lonely soul.”
“But… but we can’t do this! You’re better than this… we’re better than this!” Ja’vail said, nearly in tears. “Would we really sacrifice an innocent for the security of our own realm? Would you… would you…”
“Would I what?” Tor asked, turning to his wife, fire in his eyes. “Would I judge the worth of souls? Would I weigh a single life against the good of my people? Of his people? Would I become my father?”
Ja’vail looked away, her eyes closed as she folded her arms. “I’m… I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be,” Tor said, turning back to the window. “You have no need to apologize. I cannot measure the worth of anyone’s soul, nor would I try. However, this visitor’s life is not worth the lives of every person on this planet. When you include the lives of his own world, as well as the unnamed snake people… well… the choice is quite obvious.”
Ja’vail looked down at the floor, her eyes filling with tears as she thought everything over. “Would it have been better, then, had I not saved his life? Should I have let him drown?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that the spirits have told us that the lives of others are better off if his is forfeit,” Tor said, his voice filled with bitterness. “I have not even seen this visitor in the flesh, and I do not know anything about him at all. What is he like? Does he have a family? What does he enjoy?” Tor asked, looking to his wife hopefully.
Ja’vail shook her head, not daring to bring her eyes up to meet her husband’s, as she didn’t think she could contain herself if she did. “I cannot say. I was only in his mind for a brief time, and I do not understand much of what I saw,” she said, her form gently shaking, as if a chill wind had entered the room.
Tor looked back at the window, his eyes closed as he thought on this. “Essentially, we are deciding the fate of not only an innocent, but a complete stranger.” Tor took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “And try as I might, I cannot measure his worth as greater, or even equal, to the lives of my people’s. If it comes to it, he will be slain, and his body destroyed, just as the spirits have told us to do.”
Ja’vail began crying in earnest, her shoulders slumping with the weight of guilt. This caused Tor to turn to her, lifting her beak gently with one hand until she looked him in the eye. “So… let’s ensure that it never comes to that.”
Ja’vail looked up at Tor, hope in her eyes. “But, Tor, we can’t-”
“Shhhh…” Tor said, encircling his wife in his arms. He was shorter than her, but she still felt comforted, simply because it was him. “I’m not going to murder someone simply because of the damage his life might cause. Siv’s vision wasn’t that his continued existence spelled our doom, but that we must do everything in our power to ensure he doesn’t leave.” He pulled away from her a little, looking up into her hopeful eyes. “His death will be treated as a last resort, nothing more. For now, let us see how much worth his life is. What can he teach us? What is his people like? I, for one, do not want to squander this opportunity that the spirits have gifted us, simply for fear of an unknown future.”
Ja’vail’s crest rose as she dried her tears with the feathers on the back of her arm. “Yes… I completely agree…”
The two of them spent quite a bit of time like that, lost in each other’s arms as the sun slowly set on the horizon. Even after the world was shrouded in night, they were still there, lost in the comfort that each other provided.
* * *
Kel’vara’s beak glowed as she wove her magic, pulling the water from the bucket in front of her. It coalesced into a ball hovering inches above her hand, the swishing, splashing sounds of the liquid a soothing counterpoint to the frustration she was feeling.
She liked working with liquids when she was feeling upset. It had always come easy to her, the seemingly chaotic way it flowed and ebbed was a balm on her nerves, instead of a frustrating mess that most other practitioners found the state of matter to be.
She slowly flexed her fingers and extended her wings, the movements giving a tactile presence to the shapes she was forming in her imagination. Slowly, as if watching ice melt in reverse, the ball of water stretched and flowed, extending here, twirling there, molding and shaping to her will to become whatever she wanted.
In this instance, the water took the shape of a dragon, its long, strong legs striding through the air as it looked around, its inquisitive, intelligent eyes searching for prey, or barring that, a dakri to play with. Its long tail wagged behind it as it seemed to spot something, before it shot off like an arrow, dashing towards whatever had garnered its attention.
The small, watery, facsimile of a dragon didn’t get very far across the room before the door opened, breaking Kel’vara’s concentration and causing her happy little pet to lose its cohesion. In an instant, the once watery, spiky, two legged reptile was nothing more than a mess on the once clean floor.
Kel’vara looked up in annoyance, her gaze falling upon an irritatingly unapologetic Valros as he entered the room. “Haven't you ever heard of knocking?” Kel’vara demanded as she used her magic to scoop up the water and return it to the bucket.
Valros was unimpressed. “Kel’vara, you can’t just stay here sulking, we still have work to do.”
“I’m not sulking! I’m just practicing my more precise spell work,” Kel’vara said, turning up her beak as her crest lay flat against the back of her head.
Valros, however, did not look convinced in the slightest. “Kel’vara, The Lady is her own person. You can hardly expect her to stay around and answer every single question you have.”
“I never said that she wasn’t.”
Valros let out a frustrated sigh. “Well, if you’re sure, then I really think we need to go over the plan for tomorrow,” Valros said, trying to get Kel’vara back on track. “I don’t think we’ll need many knights, the thing’s pretty docile, all things considered. Have you given much thought in how we’re going to actually communicate with it?”
Kel’vara thought about this for a while, her beak glowing softly as she played a little with the water in her bucket, causing the surface of the liquid to ripple in odd ways. “Ja’vail said that she was able to communicate pretty well with it while it was dreaming. The only problem with that is that it was dreaming. I don’t know how dreams work with its species, but for dakri at least, anything that happens to our subconscious from outside forces is quickly forgotten. Bad dreams, flights of fancy, nothing to be taken seriously, or remembered.”
“I’ve been talking with the Captain of the Dreamguards about that too. He told me that we can’t rely upon that for communication, since we’re just as likely to get a straight answer as one about how the creature loves to eat its own pillow and ride a dragon made of Twirly Whirlys,” Valros said, stretching his wings a little and grunting with discomfort. The knight quickly brought his arm close to his chest, searching the broad wing until he found the feather that had been giving him trouble, and quickly put it back into its proper place.
Kel’vara found herself staring a little as the knight preened himself, before she turned away, her feathers fluffing a little in embarrassment. “Yes, and… ah, and in addition, the creature won’t be as weak as when we fished it from the river. It has an ǣon level spirit, after all, regardless of any actual ability it may or may not possess. We’ll be lucky to be able to intrude on its dreams at all.”
If Valros noticed her discomfort, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stood up and made his way to the window. “I remember the Sunrise Tribe had something to communicate, but it was mainly used to control their apprentices during ǣon training. It was supposed to be able to cross language barriers, but I don’t think we want to be dredging up the old ways…”
Kel’vara shuddered a little. “Those ways were barbaric.”
Valros nodded at her, but did not say anything as he stared out the window. “I suppose the only choice we have is to slowly teach the thing how to speak.”
“That’s not as easy as it sounds, though,” Kel’vara said, shaking her head. Valros looked at her, one of his brows raised, prompting her to continue. “When I treated his wounds, I ran a number of tests on him. He’s showing the symptoms of someone who has been transmuted into another shape entirely, except that he has no binding spellform keeping him in that shape.”
Valros looked confused at this. “You’ll have to forgive me, M'lady, but my knowledge of magic is somewhat limited to a handful of combat spells. You’ll have to use less formal terms with me.”
Kel’vara rolled her eyes a little, then used her magic to pull the water from the bucket again. With a thought, she caused the water to take on the shape of a dragon again. “With magic, it is possible to force something to assume another shape or state. Such as turning a dragon into a pig.” With a little exertion, the water took on the desired shape. “I’ll not bore you with the details, but things… well, they remember what they were. Always. If the spell is not properly maintained, the spellform will eventually fall apart, and the thing will revert. This is because things want to return to their old state. They’ll continue chipping away at the spellform, increasing the difficulty of keeping things in their altered state, until it grows beyond the mage’s ability to control. It’s why you cannot turn copper into gold and have it stay that way, or why you cannot turn dirt into food without accidentally poisoning someone.”
“Or purposefully poisoning someone,” Valros pointed out. “I remember history class at least. That happened quite a number of times during the Clan Wars.”
“It was a popular method of assassination, yes, but the old ruling class quickly caught on, and began screening their food before eating.” Kel’vara furrowed her eyes as she twisted the water to appear like the creature. “Whatever the bug-like aliens did to the creature, it didn’t involve magic. ‘The creature’s shape isn’t his own,’ if you remember what the queen told us. It’s entirely possible that it’s lost the ability to speak, even in its own language.”
Valros thought about this for a time. “Well, can’t we turn it back? Reverse the changes, and return it to its original shape?”
Kel’vara thought about this for a little bit, but shook her head. “It’s… possible, but there are so many unknowns. I was even afraid of using regeneration magic on him when I healed him. I had to resort to sealing spells to repair the damage.”
Valros looked confused. “I’m not sure I follow. I thought you healed it up pretty good.”
“I didn’t heal it at all. All I did was fuse its skin together, and do some very basic repair based on that strategy, to keep it from bleeding internally or externally. It’s why I still applied bandages, in case those wounds reopened; I couldn’t risk regenerating it,” Kel’vara explained, her voice both pained and exasperated.
Valros still didn’t understand what the fuss was about, though. “Why not? What’s the big deal if you use a little regeneration? And what does this have to do with changing it back?”
“Everything!” Kel’vara said, standing up in anger as she rubbed both hands through her crest. In response, the water in her grip twisted and flowed into strange shapes, a clear reflection of the tormented state of the battlemage’s mind. “This is an entirely unknown scenario, with an entirely unknown species! The spell to do this doesn’t even exist! All we have are spells to change something into something else, not to return something to its original shape. The way we would do this if this were a magical affliction would be to simply collapse the spellform, but this isn’t magic! If I were to try to change it back, any number of things could go wrong, the least being the creature dies a quick, painful death as it turns completely inside out! The closest I can come up with is the regeneration spell, which would force accelerated cell mitosis using the target’s remembered form, not its changed form. If I did use regeneration, it is entirely possible that the creature might revert…”
“...But?” Valros asked, knowing that there was a but in there somewhere.
“But the creature’s body might start attacking itself, killing itself from the inside out! The two different sets of genetic material might merge, making it into something even more monstrous than it is now! Any number of things could go wrong!” Kel’vara shouted, the water next to her turning into some kind of lumbering beast, whose basic shape only vaguely resembled the creature in the forest.
Valros held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, I get it. It’s probably a bad idea… but what do we do, then?”
Kel’vara collapsed into her chair, the water that she had been shaping falling into the bucket at the same time. “I don’t know… I really don’t know…”
Valros rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, there’s always pictures and trying to teach it to read…”
“That would take even longer than just teaching it to talk,” Kel’vara said dismissively. “Especially since it probably can’t-”
Before Kel’vara finished, a voice chimed in, interrupting her thought process. It seemed to be coming from the lieutenant’s belt pouch, and based on the tone of the speaker’s voice, whatever it was was urgent. “Sir Valros! Are you there?”
Valros quickly pulled out his whispering stone and gave it a squeeze, worry building in his heart. “What’s wrong, Calis?”
He almost wished he hadn’t asked, because what Calis said next turned his insides to ice. “Sir, I’m relaying a message. Viar and his drakes need backup, and they need it now. It’s those bug aliens the queen told us about. They’re here.”
First Previous
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Dun dun dun!!
Remember: if you can't wait, and want to find out what happens now, you can always just buy the books...
Amazon:
What I've Become
Nightmare of the Past
Google:
What I've Become
Nightmare of the Past

Just in the evenings we can hear some noise in the corner (outside) of our bedroom. Took a look today and found this. We are thinking wood peckers did this and then maybe beetles got in? Just moved here so want to tackle it before it becomes an issue. Have to wait a week until any exterminatopest control person can come out and take a look.

Anyone have any experience with them?

I’ve been growing roses for about 3 years and I’ve gotten the hang of trimming and pruning and pest control but What is happening is some of the flower heads are too large and heavy for the stems to handle and end up bending or just snapping off is the anything I can do to make the stems thicker and stronger.

You are an aspiring young pirate hunter, a masterful user of the bow-and-arrow, along with your highly advanced Observation Haki, which allows you to see 1 second into the future, has risen you to to prominence in the East Blue. You are known under the name "The Unseen Demon" due to the fact that you have taken out most of your targets without them ever realising something was wrong. You've just stumbled on a treasure trove. By following a map that you bid on in the black market, you were able to narrow down the location of the most well-known legend in the East Blue: The Devil's Garden! The myth told of a mythical tree which only grows Devil Fruits. However, as you find out once you arrive, you're not the only one who was given the map - and three other forces have just arrived at the location. The Stinging Nettle Pirates, a weaker but more local group of pirates; a fleet captain of The Shiny Pirates, the most powerful pirates in the East Blue; and Asmodeus "Reaper" Willows, a solo pirate who is known as the most dangerous man in the East Blue, with an unquenchable thirst for violence. As you arrive at the ancient cave entrance, you see the walls splattered with the Stinging Nettle Pirates - Reaper seems to have wiped them out, leaving just the Shiny Pirates, you, and him to reach the treasure. The Shiny Pirates are all armed with crossbows and full-body golden knight armour. Asmodeus "Reaper" Willows is not a DF user, but he is known for his powerful ability to reinforce his large scythe with Armament Haki to create a powerful sweeping AoE attack. Running through the tunnels, you eventually find an ancient doorway which, after solving a puzzle, opens up and reveals a large dark cavern with a big mound in the middle. Illuminated by a golden beam of light at the top of the mound, is the mythical tree. However, two other doorways open up on other sides of the room, revealing Reaper and the Shiny Pirates. It's a race to the top!
(Comment which fruit you would choose, and any strategies you have for making it out alive!)
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**Root-Root Fruit** Type: Paramecia Ability: The user becomes a root human. By sticking their hands into the ground, the user is able to spread many large roots throughout a large area, and use them to attack and restrain many enemies at once. You can do it with one hand in the ground only, but that warrants fewer roots available.
**Cloud-Cloud Fruit** Type: Paramecia Ability: The user becomes a cloud-weaving human. Allows the user to "weave" tangible clouds into existence using their hands, with specialised properties. Stepping Clouds are small, solid clouds that once thrown to a place in the air stay there, allowing the user to step on them. Pillow Clouds are soft and absorbent, allowing for the cushioning of a fall or some absorption of damage. Iron Clouds are darker clouds which are tough and very dense, like metal. These clouds can be used block attacks or hit opponents, and if the user is an adept Armament Haki user they can turn Iron Clouds into even darker Reinforced Iron Clouds.
**Bug-Bug Fruit, Model: Tick** Type: Zoan Ability: The user becomes a tick human. In full Tick form, the user actually shrinks, becoming a tick about size of a house cat. In this form, the user can use a move known as "Parasite Avatar", where by jumping onto the back of a target's head, the person becomes their puppet. The user experiences this as if they were actually living in the body they have hijacked, and can use all of their abilities and muscle-memories. However, this does make you very vulnerable as your tick "helmet" is very easily killed like this. In hybrid form, you shrink to about 4 feet, but gain an extra pair of arms, and become much more agile than your human form, but also stronger than both your full tick and human form.
**Honey-Honey Fruit** Type: Logia Ability: The user becomes a honey human, with the ability to turn into honey and control it. As well as just normal honey, the user is able to harden parts of their honey using the technique Honey Set, which will trap a target in the honey as if it were made of solid rock - although this technique may break if too much attention is diverted. As well as this, the user can use any techniques that honey would allow such as high stickiness and even drowning.
**Clover-Clover Fruit** Type: Paramecia Ability: The user becomes a luck human. The user can create up to three floating green clovers, about the size of your palm. These clovers are tough, and can be controlled to block or attack within 3 metres of the user. However, their main use comes their lucky properties. They can be "shot" into a person, with a 49/49/1/1 chance to bring good luck, bad luck, really good luck, or really bad luck respectively. An example of a consequence of really good luck is a bullet hitting bullseye and killing their opponent instantly, even when the shooter has picked up their gun for the first time; but an example of really bad luck would be the bullet somehow rebounding off and hitting you - there is no way to known which you got until you complete your next action. You can shoot them into yourself.

Welcome to Camp Redwood! The feel-good camp for ALL AGES.
We toast marshmallows around the fire, tell spooky ghost stories, and hide in random secret military bunkers under the campgrounds! Because SOMETHING IS HERE WITH US.
Camp Redwood is the PERFECT PLACE for a summer getaway where we start EVERY DAY with a CAMP REDWOOD SMILE. Where our counselors disappear every five minutes, and our campers disembowel us for funsies! Did I forget to mention our littles aren’t actually eight years old, but fully grown adults?
We hope you enjoy your fucking stay!
We are also not responsible for any counselors revealing they are not who they said they are—and not who they appear to be.
...
So. There’s a LOT to tell you and not a lot of time to tell it.
Right now, I suppose you could say we are under lockdown—if that is the word. I want to go over the last several days to get you up to date. That’s all I can do right now. I can hope and pray the thing with Teddy’s voice does not get in here, and once again cry out for help—that I know is not coming. Not from the authorities, at least. But hey, if any of you fancy coming to rescue us, we’re in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. The closest rest-stop is maybe three fucking hours away. So have fun. Has it really almost been a week since I posted? Well, we’re still here!
And surprise, surprise, help is not coming. So, please excuse the salt. I am seventeen years old and I have been abandoned by the adults who were supposed to be looking after us.
Who were supposed to act under protocol if something like this happened. I know they were waiting for it—there are specific fucking guidelines on an emergency evacuation for counselors if this ever happened. But then the little shits took over before we could do anything. I guess I’ll start by letting you know that there are two of us left. (three, if we count Rowan, but I’m not). What I thought was going to be a quiet summer getaway with kids my age has turned into a nightmare.
For one, we have been cornered inside the head counselor’s underground secret bunker. If you want to know why she has a secret military bunker, I guess you should keep reading.
Because shit gets weirder than animal crackers having the power to turn adults into kids, and vice versa. When I made my first post, I thought that was it for us. I thought for sure there must have been a self-destruct somewhere—which meant whoever was running this camp was waiting for something like this. I was sure we were going to die, so after making the post, I have to admit with ya’ll—I just slept. I curled up, tried to ignore Harry and Carmel calling our names through childish laugher, and went to sleep with the thought in my head that I was completely at peace with what I had done with my life.
Sure, I was young. Seventeen years old is too young to be ripped apart by littles who are in fact grown adults. But as I was falling into slumber and allowing myself to fall, with my head resting in my lap, my head turned towards a separate pile of files on the other side of the room—I realized I really wanted to know how this was possible. There was so much I needed to know. Why did eight-year-old Eleanor Summers have a file where here birthday dated back to 1979? Why had supposedly innocent sugary snacks turned our adorable littles into mini psychopaths?
These kids were not kids, somehow. But how? How was that even possible? Could it be that the files were wrong?
1979 was definitely 45.
But Eleanor Summers couldn’t be 45 years old. I knew what 45 looked like. I knew that they thought like. They spent half of their time on Facebook laughing at outdated memes, and the other half… I don’t know, working? They have job’s! They’re happily married with kids, maybe soon grandkids! That was not Eleanor Summers. Because Eleanor Summers was most definitely eight years old. I had played several rounds of teddy-bears picnic, and spent hours reassuring her that Harry's ghost stories were in fact not real, enough times for me to know that this little kid was little—and a kid.
But something was bothering me. More than the secret military bunker, and magic age-regressing animal crackers. When I first signed up to Camp Redwood, one of the tag-lines to gain attraction had been, “Solve mysteries in the woods in the dead of night, with nothing but a flashlight and your fellow campers!” I had no idea I would be solving this thing on my own, trapped inside a bunker.
“What are you doing?” Rowan, who was still looking through Allison’s dinosaur laptop, turned to me with half lidded eyes, when I slowly got to my feet, careful not to make too much noise, and crept over to the pile of separate files which seemed to be crumbling apart from age. He kept his voice low, but it sounded almost like a whine. He could have been scared, but from the way he was sitting, cross-legged with a frowny face, I figured something must have been going on with him. The guy looked tired. More tired than normal.
The bags under his eyes were practically shadowing his face, and were an odd contrast to unusually ashy colored cheeks and slightly dilated eyes. Still though, Rowan refused to look vulnerable. I caught glimpse of Harry’s raybans sitting on his head, pinning back thick dark brown curls from falling in front of sleepy eyes. Maybe he was finally losing his cool and breaking out of the well-constructed façade he had been hiding behind since Teddy disappeared.
We had just narrowly escaped a crowd of psycho littles high on age-regressing sugary snacks who were doing who-the-fuck knows to the other counselors who had been captured, so I didn’t blame him looking like that. I guess he couldn’t look me in the eye, because in Rowan’s mind, he was the reason why this happened. He was the leader, and the camp had fallen to psychopathic little eight year olds who had taken half of the counselors hostage, and the other half—most likely taken apart in the physical sense, after what we had witnessed in Cassie’s cabin. Still though, it wasn’t Rowan’s fault. He could sit there and pull a face all he wanted, it’s not like I was going to blow up at him for getting us stuck down here. He actually saved us.
And trapped us, judging from the footsteps upstairs, Carmel and Harry still bouncing around looking for us.
It was a game in their heads. The little’s thought it was cat and mouse. Harry and Carmel were the oblivious cats prowling, while we were the mice, hoping to fucking GOD we weren’t caught and eaten. Ignoring Rowan, I glimpsed what looked like a box full of DVD’S—all of which were labelled with dates and names. I saw familiar ones, my heart racing into my throat. Phoebe. Eli. Cassandra.
Each DVD had one of the kid’s names scribbled on the front, as well as a date.
I found Eleanor’s right at the back of the box.
Eleanor Summers.
08/05/2021. (PM)
Before I could hesitate and think what I was doing, I slid the DVD into the portable player attached to the MacBook. Rowan, to my surprise, didn’t move. But he did make an acknowledging noise when the screen flickered to what looked like video footage. Peering at the screen, I found myself staring at a small white room. There was no door. Only a wooden desk and a chair, and sitting on it was a middle aged woman with dark blonde curls tied into a strict ponytail. She was wearing what looked like a prison jumpsuit.
Her eyes were eerily glued to the camera, unblinking. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her. Though from the look on her face, she saw the restraints as a game. Her eyes lit up with intrigue and I could practically see the cogs in her mind starting to turn as she struggled with them.
As soon as I saw this woman, I felt all of my nerve endings set alight. I wanted to turn the screen off, or look away. But once I was looking at the screen, I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away. “Let’s try this again.” There was a woman offscreen. She sounded young. Too young to be in that kind of authority. I figured there was no way teenagers were being hired as special ops agents, but I guessed I was wrong. She cleared her throat. “It is 4:35 exactly. August 5th 2021. My name is Agent Lemrac,” she stated. “I am asking once again for you to comply with us. As I have said several times, the court are willing to lessen your sentence if you plead guilty with insanity.”
The woman surprised me with a snorting laugh. She seemed to come alive, leaning forward with animated features, her brow reaching her hairline. She was acting like a child, bouncing up and down in the seat, her lips stretching into a wider grin. “What did you just say?”
There was a pause. I could tell the woman was intentionally antagonising the interviewer.
“It means you have been legally declared insane,” the interviewer stumbled over her words slightly. “Mrs Summers, it would be in your best interest to work with us to lessen your current sentence which at the moment is standing at,” the sounds of shuffling paper crackled through the speakers. The interviewer cleared her throat again rustling paper. “Thirty six years. Without parole.”
The woman didn’t speak, only continued to smile—and the interviewer delved further into the sentence. “If you do in fact plead guilty with declared insanity, you will be sentenced to a program which is in the process of supporting and rehabilitating people with your…” she caught herself for a moment. I could tell this interviewer had a biased opinion and it was definitely showing through her interviewing style. I could hear the rapid intakes of her breath as she hurried through what seemed to be a script she was reading from. “Conditions.” She finished. “The Redwood program aims to help people exactly like you.”
Redwood? I thought.
Like… Camp Redwood?
Rowan whistled behind me. I guess I could call that a reaction. The guy was probably still in shock after seeing Café de Teddy splattered all over little Cassie’s cabin floor. I should have fucking know those little bitches weren’t playing Operation for eight hours straight. Turning my attention from Rowan and back to the screen, the woman in the jumpsuit appeared to have changed tactics. Her expression twisted into nonchalance. She leaned back in her chair. “I am not pleading insane because I am not insane.”
“Mrs Summers—”
The woman cut her off. “I am not crazy.” She raised her hands “I am doing what needs to be done.” She leaned forward. “Humanity suffers in the skin. We age and die— and how is that fair? What if we want to see the next millennium? And the next two millennia after that? Why should our bodies dictate our lifespan? Why should we sit here and wait to rot and wither and die when we have the intelligence and mindset to do it? If nobody else is willing to throw ethics aside to take a step forwards in human evolution, I should do it myself.” She folded her arms across her chest, again, like a child. “I did what was to be done.”
“Dr. Summers.” The interviewer’s tone grew stiff. “You and your colleagues conducted illegal and unethical procedures on your family and friends—as well as four other victims.”
The woman inclined her head. “You have a daughter, am I correct? I have a son.”
“A child you killed, Dr Summers.” The interviewer retorted in a hiss which was definitely expressing emotion. She ignored the mention of her daughter, but I could tell it had rattled her to her core. Her voice had cracked. This case was close to her.
That was obvious. Without seeing the interviewer herself, I could sense how uncomfortable she was, shuffling in the chair. Every so often I would hear the sound of her rubbing her hands on her knees and tapping her shoe against the chair leg. She oozed anxiety, not just from her tone of voice, but the way the frame seemed to move with her. “Dr. Summers, you used your son in your research, along with several of his friends. This was not science.” Her voice shook. I heard her sharp inhale. Unprofessional, but very human. Instead of staying stoic and keeping to script, this agent was cracking apart. “It was murder.”
“Agent Lemrac, concentrate on the interview only.” An official voice crackled through what sounded like an intercom on screen.
“Got it.” She spoke through her teeth.
The woman was finding wounds and pressing on them. She was scanning the interviewer for vulnerabilities and preying on every insecurity. She leaned back speaking through a sigh. “Without my son’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have created an answer to death. To growing old and dying, and leaving loved ones behind.” Her voice softened into a murmur, but I didn’t trust it.
After identifying the shattering pieces of this interviewer which were very clear visible in her view, the woman was taking advantage.
“Agent Lemrac, you have a daughter. Am I correct in saying her name is Mari?
“That… that is not relevant.”
“Glioblastoma.” Dr. Summers lips curved into a sickening smile hidden behind mocking sympathy. “A sickness of the brain--which, unfortunately, I cannot fix. If your daughter’s brain was in my hands, I would try. However, not even a brand new body would help her. One which would never age or grow sick. And for that, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” She reached her cuffed hands forwards. “My condolences, Agent Lemrac. Honestly. I have to hand it to you. You are incredibly brave for coming here today and talking to me while abandoning your sick child.” She shook her head.
“Your daughter is dying of an incurable illness, suffering inside fragile skin which will break and fall apart and be unable to keep her standing for much longer. While my son will live on forever. He will see every millennia, a planet which will crumble and build itself back together. And maybe the end of the universe itself.” There was a twitch in her expression and a glitter in her eye I did not recognise. Insanity.
She was fucking insane. I was seeing the pure of it, the depraved and disgusting gleam in eyes empty of remorse and regret. This woman did not care what she had done. I could tell from the look on her face. If she had the chance, she would do this again.
But there was no way they were trying to say her cruelty and complete disregard for her son’s life was due to insanity.
“You are sick, Dr. Summers.” The interviewer said after a moment of gathering herself.
The woman shook her head with a chuckle. “I told you. I am not sick--”
“Sick in the head!” The interviewer’s voice exploded through the speakers in a shriek—a terrified cry she had been trying to hold in. I finally saw her—or at least the back of her. She was a young woman with light blonde hair falling loose on her shoulders. She was trembling. Slamming her hands down on the table, she screamed at the orange jumpsuit woman.
“You are psychologically fucked in the head! You psycho bitch! That is my sister!” She spoke through strangled sobs rattling her whole body. “Mari is my little sister. She is not my child.”
Her breaths were strangled and harboured. I noticed figures looming in the background, but she was continuing. “You killed your own fucking son,” she spat. “You are not legally insane, you are sick!” she shrieked. “You planned and put this together! You sit there and you talk about your son like he’s a… like he’s a tool! You deserve to rot. Do you hear me?” I noticed the orange jumpsuit woman was still smiling, satisfied with the interview’s reaction. Her words were spoken in a vicious poison as she leaned forward and spat directly in orange jumpsuit’s face.
“Agent Lemrac!” Whoever her superiors were—were panicking. “I told you not to turn it off. I knew this was going to happen. Can we stop the demonstration, please? Human emotions present inside an Aceville soldier are too powerful—"
Voices were murmuring in the background, and Agent Lemrac raised her hands. “I want to stop.” She choked out, her hands trembling. She spoke like she still had control over the situation and wasn’t being apprehended. “I want to stop. Do you hear me?” The interviewer was crying, I realized. “Stop the recording! I can’t do this. Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick—”
When the footage ended in a burst of static, I found myself backing away, something slimy creeping its way up my throat.
The woman in the orange jumpsuit who had murdered her son and countless others in what sounded like an attempt at playing god, was Eleanor Summers. I thought back to Teddy’s corpse, and the surgical precision of every organ’s removal. The young interviewer had mentioned colleagues of Eleanor.
Was it possible that Camp Redwood was in fact nothing more than a rehabilitation camp for murderous criminals? There was a loud bang from above, and I was torn from my thoughts.
I turned to Rowan, who had been unusually quiet. And I realized why, when I twisted around to find him three inches from my face, his laboured breath tickling my cheek.
The boy jumped back with a chuckle—like me noticing him was some kind of game, before diving back into the chair. I did notice something odd, as my thoughts spiralled. Rowan couldn’t sit still. Slumped in the leather spinning chair, he fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrests while his feet jumped up and down. In the dim light of the bunker, I glimpsed a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and the flesh of his neck. He looked to be… feverish—and now that I was looking at him properly, all of my attention on the boy, I noticed small things which seemed… off about him.
For one, he wasn’t coming up with a plan. Rowan always had a plan. Even if he wasn’t completely sure of it, or was completely winging it. This time though, he was strangely quiet. I found my voice when he stuck out his tongue at me. “What are you looking at?”
“Rowan.” I spoke softly, careful not to garner attention from above us where Harry and Carmel were still clamouring around, playing games. “Are you… feeling okay?” I asked, when he turned back to the laptop, manically biting his fingernails.
“I dunnnooooo, Josie! Am I feeeeeeling okaaaaaayyyyy?” He surprised me with an uncharacteristic laugh.
But I did know it.
I knew it from earlier when he reacted to Allison’s bunker and I had been too freaked out to realize that I was dragging along the enemy with me.
Because the fucking idiot had consumed animal crackers. I had seen him for myself earlier, pouring a pack into his mouth for a snack. Which meant either the ‘kids’ had intentionally dosed him with mind altering sugary snacks, or the more likely, he could not resist those preservatives which was the equivalent of caffeine. It’s not like I could blame him when he harboured the weight of an entire camp, but come on, did he really have to sacrifice his own fucking mind to keep himself awake?
Rowan wasn’t just biting. His nails. He was gnawing. Which he previously thought was a filthy habit. He had yelled at a camper for chewing on her nails a few days earlier.
Now that I was noticing it, I couldn’t… stop noticing it. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed; the way he was sinking into the chair, instead of sitting up straight like usual—- I used to call it having a stick up his ass. The boy started typing on the laptop, ignoring me. But when I watched the pattern of his fingers, he was just typing gibberish. Footsteps pounded above us, Harry and Carmel acting as the kid’s’ brainwashed foot-soldiers. Or, more likely somehow, if the animal crackers had caused the littles, or I guess, the fully grown forty year old criminals, to relapse in age-- then maybe it was possible for the same thing to happen to us. To Rowan.
I could feel myself starting to back away, but there was nowhere to run. I just slammed into a cupboard. My gaze flicked to Rowan again, who was tapping a beat on the laptop tracking pad, swaying back and forth, his eyes elsewhere before his gaze found mine. “Marcoooooo!” Harry shouted from above, giggling with Carmel.
I had to guess their mental age had to be at least 8-10 years old. Which meant I wasn’t just dealing with a camp full of forty-year-old psycho’s, I was also dealing with mentally relapsed counselors acting like toddlers.
Rowan seemed to jolt in the chair, twisting his head around, his eyes suddenly incredibly childlike and playful, and very Un-Rowan, were finding the ceiling, his mouth stretching into a smile, like he was seeing butterflies. His eyes flashed to me, and I caught a twitch in his lip. I knew that look. It was the look on my seven year old sister, who knew mom was mad at me, and wanted to make it even worse.
His cheeks were starting to blossom scarlet from what must have been the overwhelming urge to laugh. Rowan pressed his lips together and held in a breath like a hamster, and the asshole was fucking with me. waiting for me to beat him to it by accident. Kids were fucking ruthless, but there was something terrifying about an 18 year old with a little kid’s mind.
I lifted my index to my lips, miming for him not to even try, but the boy just mimicked me, bugging out his eyes and pressing his finger to his grinning mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.” I managed to whisper. The boy was definitely playing his own game, moving in twitching movements, baiting me. When he cupped his mouth, I almost let out a cry, but then he dropped his arms with a giggle, as if to say, “I’m just kidding!”
Slowly, I turned around, grabbed the salt I’d found in Allison’s cupboard, and a flat can of soda. Without making too much movement, I poured a handful of salt into the can. But Rowan seemed to know exactly what I was doing. Because in the time it was taking me to advance towards him, with the can of salty soda, one arm shakily ready to grab hold of him, and put him into a headlock, he was cupping his mouth, all logic and everything adult, everything he had been as our leader, igniting in playful eyes, leaving me the last one standing.
“Pollloooooo!”
By the time Rowan had managed to reveal our hiding place in a spluttered laugh, I had hold of the squirming boy, one arm wrapped around his neck, my other forcing the can of soda into his mouth. I had definitely miscalculated his strength. During camp Redwood activities, he was always the last one to come back from the trail, holding his knees and panting. I figured he was unfit. However, I was wrong. Underneath his shirt, the guy had some serious muscles.
It was like attacking a brick wall. However, Rowan was mentally a kid. So, I had my intelligence and logic on my side. When it became obvious I wasn’t going to get anywhere with brute strength, I resorted to tickling him, which made him squirming, squeaking out a laugh. When he opened his mouth to yell at me to stop, I took my chance, thrusting the can into his lips and holding his nose so he swallowed it down.
“No!” His laughter turned into muffled yelling, as he batted his fists at my chest. “No, no, no! Get off, get off!”
His body convulsed as the salt did its job, causing the boy to lurch to his knees and choke up forbidden animal crackers in a gooish sludge which turned my stomach. By the time Rowan seemed half himself and half not, still kneeling, his head pressed against the floor, Harry was poking his head through the door with a goonish grin. “Found you!” He giggled, before forcing the door open, allowing Carmel and Callen, freshly caught mentally turned into littles, to advance down the stairs with equally terrifying grins. There was something wrong with Harry’s face, and I only realized it when the guy himself was hauling me from the bunker, Carmel dragging a barely responsive Rowan. There was nothing in Harry’s expression, only blind childish excitement at winning the game. When he dragged me out of Allison’s cabin and threw me to the ground, I realized he too had insane strength I had not been expecting. But that thought quickly retracted when I was seeing his face in the light of a crescent moon lighting up the sky an eerie glow. Harry’s cheeks were puffy and swollen, his right eye way bigger than it should have been.
When he spoke, his voice was more of a lisp. This was something far more realistic than magical animal crackers fucking with his brain.
“He needs help!” I managed to choke out when Carmel wrapped jump-rope around my wrists. Next to me, Rowan was refusing to get up, still choking up salty soda, groaning into his hands. Every time Callen tried to restrain him, he hissed out like an animal.
“Do you hear me?!” I struggled violently. “Harry needs—”
BANG.
Is what it felt like. The feeling of something—what felt and sounded like a toy car—colliding with my temples, sent me onto the ground, my head spinning itself off of its axis. I remember lying on my back and frowning at the moon which almost looked like it was getting closer to me, blurring into a white ball of light—before reality sunk in, and it was in fact Carmel’s converse coming down to finish me off. I didn’t stay knocked out for long. But I did dream.
I think you can call it a dream? I was lying in bed at home; my room drowned in the dark. I was cosy, curled up in my blankets, when a clammy hand slammed over my mouth, rousing me from slumber. There were two figures in my room. They didn’t have faces. They just existed as shadows, silhouettes. Before one of them raised something above their head, and… impact.
It was the same impact as the toy car hitting me, snapping me back to that night. It wasn’t a dream. Because I remembered his clammy fingers over my mouth, and his hisses for me to shut up as he dragged me from my room.
My parents stood in front of me with expressions of sympathy. Basked in warm light, my mom and dad looked almost otherworldly. “For the best.” Was what they mouthed when my own phantom screams slammed into me, I asked them why, and they didn’t reply, allowing him to pull me further and further from what I knew, from my life as I knew it. But.. that couldn’t be real. I had memories of getting on the bus to camp Redwood. I could recall the whole journey. So, why… why was my tangled mind saying otherwise?
When I gathered myself, the first thing I realized was I was sitting down. I was outside, cool night air grazing my bare arms. There was something attached to me, jerking violently, And it took me several disorientating blinks to understand that I was tied back to back with Rowan. My head pounded, and something wet and warm dripped down my temple. Great. I could add head injury to the long list of things to worry about.
“Let me go you little fucking witch.”
Rowan was back to himself, though from the muffled hissing and the sound of choking—I had to guess he was being force-fed animal crackers.
“Let me—mpphmmm. little…. fucking… mphmmphhmhppmm!”
“Rowan.” I managed to get out in a croak. Through flickering eyes, I caught glimpse of a familiar figure dancing around us. Shivers rocketed down my spine, and I wrenched at the jump-rope restraints, but they did a surprisingly job of restraining my arms behind my back.
Eleanor was with Rowan, while Eli was knelt in front of me. Looking at him, the boy had definitely aged in the face—and I couldn’t help wondering what exactly he had done as a forty something year old to be sent to this place.
“Josie!” Rowan responded in a wail. “Josie. Wake the FUCK up.”
“Stop swearing.”
Eleanor spoke with the cold tone of her actual age.
“Oh, yeah?” Rowan spluttered. “Fuck you.” The boy’s laugh was still rough from almost vomiting his insides out from too much salt intake. “I’m sorry, you were a fucking boomer all along?!” He wriggled in the restraints, lunging forwards, which sent me backwards.
“Stop swearing, Rowan.” Was all the girl responded with calmly.
“Like I’m going to listen to you!” He sneered. “Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking fuck!” What are you going to do, huh? Bite me with your false teeth?” The sound of saliva hitting skin made me wince. He was pissed. I had no doubt his completely rational anger was going to get us killed. Rowan was also somehow getting mixed up between forty and eighty. Though he was unwillingly snacking on mind bending sugary goodness.
“Fudge, Rowan.” Eleanor spoke in a giggle.
“What?!”
“Say fudge. Not fuck.”
“No.”
His hiss of pain caught me off guard. I don’t know what she was doing to him, but it was hurting him.
“You fudging fudge! I’m going to fudging kill you when I get out of these fudging ropes—“ his manic cursing became a muffled yell.
“Say fudge,” Eleanor hummed, followed by his hiss when the palm of her hand skinned his cheek. “Fuck is a bad word. You even said so yourself and you’re my favourite counselor.”
He heaved out a breath.
“You fudge,” Rowan spat. “When I get out of this, I am going to fudging kill you, you fudging—” His manic ranting morphed, once again, into muffled yelling, after another fistful of animal crackers were forced into his mouth. When I risked twisting around, I could see his rebellion slowly starting to simmer out as he relaxed slightly. I wanted to yell at him to keep a clear head before cold fingers were dipping under my chin and forcing my head around where I found myself face to face with Eli.
“I like you, Josie,” he said, before untying me and pulling me to my feet. Now at the age of nine or ten, he was a lot stronger. When I tried to pull away, the cruel blade of a knife grazed my gut. I caught his grin. “But we don’t need you.” Eli pointed to Rowan.
“We just want them.”
I followed his pointer finger which went from Rowan to Harry and Carmel, who were just standing there like fucking idiots, probably awaiting the next game. Harry’s face was getting redder. It looked like he was suffocating, and yet his grin was growing wider and wider, splitting his lips apart. “Rowan Atlas.” Eleanor said, dragging him to his feet. Something was stapled to his forehead head, which caused him to howl in pain, hissing another strangled line of “Fudge”. but I couldn’t read what it was.
“Camp leader. Intelligent, and problem solving skills.”
“Harry Carlisle.” Eli nodded his head with a smile. “Quick thinker. Strong minded.”
“Carmel Locke.” Cassie spoke behind me. She had her arms folded, a wry smile on her lips. “Smarter than she makes out—- an independent learner, and can work well under pressure.”
Looking at these kids, I felt sick to my stomach. They were planning something—and had the intelligence of renowned scientists, which was what I gathered from the footage on the MacBook. “What?” was all I could hiss out, as Eli prodded the blade of the knife into my back, ushering me to walk. “What are you talking about?”
“Duh.” He spoke in a more tweeny giggle. “Like I said, Miss Josie. You’re my favorite counselor but we don’t need you, so I’m going to use you for parts.” He laughed when a shiver spiderwebbed down my spine. “See! I told you I was going to show you my collection!”
“But… what do you need them for?”
Eli pressed his index finger to his lips with a laugh before forcing me to face forwards. “That’s a secret!”
When I didn’t, or couldn’t move, he shoved me into a stumbling power-walk, and I managed to turn my head quickly, making feverish eye contact with Rowan.
“Rowan.” I said calmly through the gutter in my throat. “Get…. Get help.”
If I was going to die, I needed him to get a hold of himself and somehow alert the outside world what was going on.
“From whom, Josie?!” He wailed back—and as I was dragged away, I could once again sense the childish undertones in his voice.
I had no choice but to obey Eli’s orders. If I didn’t want a knife in my back. He took me to the main lunch cabin, which, when I set foot inside, almost sent me to my knees.
Something lurched inside me, and I was screaming with no voice, staggering backwards, only to be shoved onto my face. In front of me was what had been the lunch hall, fully converted into the beginning of a laboratory.
What had been cafeteria tables were fashioned into makeshift gurney’s and beds, and I was looking at all of the missing counselors. Yuri and Noah had been skinned completely, their faces laid out on a makeshift surgical table. Joey had been ripped open, his heart and brain removed, a glittering metallic substance creeping its way across his forehead. It was then when I remembered Eleanor Summers words.
She wanted to prevent death and preserve the human mind. Looking at what was in front of me, this was the start of it. There was equipment I had never seen before. Lily’s body was empty, carved out completely, tubes forced inside her. When I glimpsed her fingers move and begin to ball into a fist, I saw red. I saw fucking red. The exit was so close and yet Eli, fucking Eli, wielded his knife. I think that is when part of me gave up. My brain just stopped. It short circuited. Seeing my friends murdered and yet somehow being kept alive through playing god, my body slumped to the ground. I was numb. Completely numb.
I’m not sure what would have happened if those bloody saws and instruments which had been used on my friends were used on me too.
Luckily, that did not happen. Before Eli could get his slimy hands on me, he crumpled to the ground in an almost cartoon-like fashion, and standing over me was Harry. Who was looking better. When he grasped hold of me and helped me up, I only had one word. “Out.” And he was nodding, his eyes glistening as he drunk in our friends’ fate.
“How?” I managed to sputter out, when we made it out of the cabin, ducking behind a tree. Harry turned to me, motioning for me to shut up. There was a group of now ten to eleven year olds already running around, searching for what I guessed was him.
“I’m allergic to peanut butter,” Harry murmured, his grasp tightening on my wrist as he led me across the camp, the two of us stumbling.
“What, and you just magically healed?”
He didn’t respond to that, which bothered me.
“The bunker is our best shot,” I hissed out. “I think we can get in contact with someone down there.” I paused, unable to stop myself. “What makes you so important?”
“Dunno. Maybe I’m their favorite.”
When we found Allison’s cabin, which was more of a safehouse (an exposed safehouse) I found Rowan sitting on the wooden porch with his legs swinging over the side. “Rowan!” Harry groaned. I found it hard to believe their roles had been switched. Now he was the one yelling at the camp-leader. “I told you to stay inside!”
He ushered the boy inside, before barricading the door with some hefty looking equipment. I could tell from the grin on his face that our so-called leader was once again no longer himself.
I had to bite back a groan. “You’re kidding.” I said, pointing to Rowan, who buried his head in his knees and blew a raspberry. “Does he look and act like our leader right now?!”
“It’s Rowan, Josie.”
“He’s a liability.”
“He’s our friend! Wouldn’t Rowan do the same?”
Yes, he would. But. He would also realize we’re lost causes.
“Gag him with something.” I said. “If he makes any more noise, we’re dumping him.”
“He’s a kid!”
“Just the mind of one.”
I don’t know how animal crackers worked, but his age seemed to be progressively younger. This time he just sat with wide eyes watching us.
Harry almost tore apart the place looking for means of communication, before an old fashioned ringing sound made me jump.
“What was that?” Harry turned to me with his lip curled.
“How am I supposed to know?!” I hissed. “Keep looking!” But when I ducked under the table, my hands crawled under the desk, finding a wire—and attached to that, an ancient looking phone which looked straight out of a 1940’s movie, a bright green rotary phone.
Hesitantly, I answered it, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you awaken the subjects, Agent Salta?"
The voice on the other end was a woman, an oldish sounding woman with the tinge of a British accent.
“What?” I shot a look at Harry before shaking my head. “No. My name is Josie Greenfield. We’re at Camp Redwood, and we need help.”
The woman paused.
“Where is Agent Salta?” She cleared her throat. “This line is reserved for communication with agents only.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about!" I squeaked out. “My name is Josie, and whatever is happening here, we need help!”
“Josie. Did you awaken the subjects?”
I paused after a moment, shooting Harry a look when he tried to take the phone off of me. “Yes.”
“And… are our agents unavailable?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When a health and safety breach is activated, our agents are awakened to deal with the Project Spearhead subjects if they were to ever go rogue, or become conscious enough to think. Josie, can you tell me what is in front of you? Describe it to me.”
I held my breath. Next to the hidden phone under the desk was what looked like mismatched wires, all of which had been severed. I lowered myself slowly, poking at mess. “Wires. I see… cut up wires.” I whispered. “Does this mean they know about you?”
She hummed. “Ah…That makes sense. The only way to activate our sleeper handlers would be to send out the signal. You appear to have been sabotaged. Unless activated manually, our agents cannot help you. I am sorry. They are your problem now.” The woman paused.
“If I were you, I would hope and pray they have not sabotaged the self-destruct. If you find that, then you may be able to save yourselves and find peace.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your service, Josie Greenfield.”
“Wait.” I managed to get out. “Wait, no! You can’t just… you can’t leave us! We need help!”
I found myself yelling at nothing when the phone went dead. The dull tone of the dead ringtone was clanging in my ears before footsteps from up above. “Fuck this.” Harry picked up a lead pipe. “They’re still little kids, right? I mean, their head must still be partly kids—- so let’s fucking beat their heads in.”
He noticed something, then, starting forwards towards the mess of files I had left earlier. Harry knelt on the ground and picked up Eli’s file, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t staring at the dates confirming the little boy’s age.
Instead, Harry pointed at the bottom of the file. “I don’t want to freak you out, Josie,” he whispered. Initially, I didn’t know what he was trying to show before I glimpsed notes scrawled at the bottom of the file, followed by a signature. “But I’m pretty sure that is my fucking writing.”
Harry was right.
I pulled the paperwork off of him, flicking through each file before turning my eyes to him. “Who the fuck are you?”
A clanging sound from above broke the tension, and whatever Harry was about to reply with was strangled in his throat. He slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Guys?”
The voice twisted me up inside, threatening to release a shriek from my mouth I had managed to clamp shut.
Teddy.
“Are you down here?” His voice was strained, and had an odd tone to it. “I can’t… I can’t see you.”
…
Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?! It’s been a blur of a week. We’ve managed to stay down here, surviving off of Allison’s rations. Rowan isn’t getting any better. He seems to have stopped mentally de-ageing at the age of maybe six. Harry has spent the last few days trying to get in contact with anyone, but it’s like they are IGNORING US.
I’ve been looking through everything I can find on Project Spearhead, but nothing points to Harry being involved. So. How is his signature all over the files? How is it possible that two friends I thought I knew several days ago, are now complete strangers?
Teddy keeps coming back.
He’s crying out to us.
I think he’s… in pain.
My god, I can’t stand this anymore. Please. CAMP REDWOOD NEEDS HELP.

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--- Table of Contents ---
Autumn 4986, 15 Aoimoth
“Slow down, Squire!” Master Daunas walked around the sixteen Squires. They were all going through the basic motions of knife fighting together, but Shon knew the Weaponsmaster was talking to him specifically. He'd fallen into the rhythm of steel clanging off steel as the eight pairs of Squires went through the practiced strikes of a rehearsed fight. His partner was keeping up, but just barely. If Shon sped up, the boy would fumble, and Shon could disarm him. But that wasn’t the point of this exercise. It wasn’t a sparring match; it was a two man kata. Shon let out a long exhale and slowed down, matching his partner’s pace.
“Sorry,” Kefir, muttered to Shon, “You should try and get Zihler next time. He won’t slow you down.”
Shon arched an eyebrow at Kefir as the two pivoted in unison, spinning but staying together, so they switched places and continued without breaking rhythm. Or that was what was supposed to happen. Kefir stumbled just a little. He still wasn’t very good at quick pivots like that, and knife forms were full of them. Shon slowed down to wait for him to recover, matching his thrust with a counter as rehearsed.
“Don’t give me that look. I know you want to go faster. Zihler’s the most likely to keep... up...” Kefir had to space the last two words as they dodged each other again. More twists and turns he tended to overshoot.
He wasn’t wrong. Shon did want to go faster, wanted to push himself to his limits, and always just a little beyond, but “Speed isn’t the point of this exercise.” Shon said, and Kefir’s brow furrowed. Though if concentrating on Shon’s words or the continued form Shon didn’t know, “It's precision and practice. Keep partnering with Rerves, who's even worse, and you won't improve.”
They slammed together, the hilts of their daggers locking together as they sidestepped in tight circles. Shon could see at least ten different ways he could end a match right here. His left hand was free, as this was a single dagger exercise, and his opponents hardly ever paid attention to his feet. But that wasn’t the point, and Kefir would learn nothing from Shon downing him now, even if it was.
“Thanks,” Kefir spat sarcastically. Shon gave him a purposefully deadpan look in response, and he continued, “You’re the same, though. You won’t get better if you pick the weakest partners.” the two disengaged, jumping back and falling into a ready stance in one motion. Kefir took a heartbeat longer than some of the other boys but didn’t stumble at this speed as he had the last three times they went through the drill.
“I’m better than Zihler…” Shon said, not in pride or arrogance but in truth. When they had first started knife fighting weeks ago, he had partnered with those who seemed to be at the same level as himself or higher. Pushing himself to reach their level and surpass it. Add to that the fact that he often used his free time for more practice, and Shon had jumped to the top of the class as usual only a week into this new weapon.
Shon brought the topic back around to his point, “Practice is practice no matter how fast I go, as long as I have precision.” and, as if to prove his point, the form reached the culminating move, where Shon and Kefir needed to thrust at each other while turning just enough for the blade to pass by their chests. Shon slowed his thrust only at the end, just enough for Kefir to finish his dodge. Adjusting speed in the middle of a strike without pulling it completely wasn't easy, and they both knew it.
That was the end of the kata, and they both stepped back. Kefir looked down at his knife, sighing, “I suck at this, give me a shield or a hammer, and you wouldn’t have to hold yourself back.” he glanced up at Shon and forced a smile he obviously didn’t feel, “Then maybe I could teach you a thing or two…”
Shon nodded, perfectly serious, and when Kefir didn’t seem to understand, he added, “Exactly.”
The bell rang and the other Squires started heading for the weapons rack to return their knives, but Shon held Kefir in place with his eyes. He looked confused, his expression asking the question before his words could, so Shon explained, “You're better at armor and shields than me.”
That actually got a genuine smile from Kefir, “Everyone is better with armor and shields than you, Shon.” Shon humphed but couldn't argue, and Kefir laughed, “You know, if you spent your extra time actually practicing with the stuff you need practice in, instead of the things you're already the best at, you would get better.”
Shon ran his fingers through sweaty hair. It was only two finger widths long but still needed to be cut. He wanted to argue that practicing with the heavy weapons without armor in his free time was the only reason he was still the top in those as well. But instead, he nodded in acquiescence to Kefir’s observation.
“Hey,” Kefir stepped forward and poked Shon with the hilt of his dagger. Even with his thicker winter uniform on, they avoided touching him, “I get what you’re saying. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses. Thank you for trying to help me with mine.” The thanks was genuine this time, now that the frustration of the practice was over, and Shon nodded. Kefir continued, “Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll let you help me catch up to you in this if you let me help you with armor work. Master Daunas wants to get you in plate, but if you can’t even move in banded mail, you’ll never make it in the heavier stuff.”
Shon let his head fall back in frustration but nodded. Kefir laughed and the two returned their daggers without further words. Shon split from the rest of the stragglers in the courtyard, moving towards the bench beside the wall and the barrel for catching rainwater beside it. This deep into autumn, the water was sometimes frozen in the mornings, but Shon preferred it that way. Reaching in, he splashed handfuls of it on the back of his neck. The others would be heading for the hot showers, but with sixteen of them and only ten shower heads, Shon would wait until they were all done before washing properly.
“I’ll meet you after study time!” Kefir called as he walked by to try and reach the showers with the first group. Shon waved without turning around. He knew Kefir was right. He should focus his extra time on improving his weaknesses. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
***
The mess hall where they had their meals had one long table set in the middle with enough space for fifteen Squires on each side. Around it were set smaller circular tables for the Paladins stationed in Hamerfoss and one larger near the door for the officers. Against one wall was another long table with plates, bowls, and food where they would each gather their meal before finding their seats.
The seats weren’t assigned, but Shon always sat at the farthest end of the Squire’s table, with his left facing the walkway so he wouldn’t bump anyone with his elbow as he ate. No one ever took the spot. It was an unspoken consensus amongst the Squires that that was Shon’s seat. The rest tended to congregate in the middle, talking and poking friendly fun at each other, extending their break into the dinner meal.
Shon took his place and started eating without joining in. They didn’t try to include him most of the time, and he was content to just listen. “Hey, Shon,” Rerves called from down the table, and Shon looked up from his plate to show he was listening, “I hear Kefir’s going to help you with armor tonight. Can I come?” Shon shrugged, turning back to his meal. Rerves went back to his conversation, and dinner continued as usual. The Squires ignoring Shon.
They filtered out of the mess hall as they each finished their dinner at their own pace, some heading to the chapel for prayer and others to the library for study. Shon made his way to the library, pausing in the doorway and debating with himself. If he joined the others at the larger table, they would try and talk to him. They seemed to think it was their duty to include him if he was there. But if he sat alone at the two-man table by the window, they would leave him alone. It meant he wouldn’t be able to ask them questions if one came up, but it also meant they wouldn’t bother him with pointless asides…
Tonight, he joined the study group. The subject they'd started a few weeks ago wasn’t one he had taken to easily, an in-depth history of Gasha province, so he wanted to be able to talk when needed.
It started as soon as he finished the first page, “So Shon, when do you think Master Veon-Zih will be back?”
“Winter Solstice,” Shon answered shortly, rereading the sentence. The others whispered around him about Master Veon-Zih, something about if he would dance with the pretty baker again this year…
“Hey Shon, do you know if Monks train in dancing too?”
Shon placed his finger over the paragraph he'd reached, knowing he would have to reread it after the interruption. He shook his head. When they continued to look at him, he sighed, glaring up at them. This was supposed to be study time… “He learned how after he left the Monastery.”
He reread his paragraph and managed to finish the chapter before running his hand through his hair in frustration at the text. Looking up, he said, “We’ve read about the war between Gasha and Swailand, but this doesn’t say anything about why they went to war in the first place.”
“Fishing rights, I think?” Thom answered, flipping through his own book, “Knowing those Horsa Bast…” he cut off before finishing the curse, glancing at the Paladin acting as librarian, before continuing, “I bet they wanted to extend their fishing to the area around Gasha, and they are just as likely to fight each other as us.”
Rehlien slid a new book Shon’s way, “Here, read this one next. It gets into the justification a little more than that one.” Shon nodded his thanks, taking the book and placing it under the one he was still finishing.
But his question had opened the door to more derailing chatter, “You really like to know the why of things, don’t you, Shon?”
Shon nodded, hoping this talk would at least be relevant, but “You’re like that in etiquette too. That’s probably why you struggle so much.” Shon shrugged. Etiquette didn’t seem to have a point, but that wasn’t what they were supposed to be studying now, “I find some things ‘just are’ because of tradition…” the boy trailed off as Shon glared at him, his words freezing in his throat. When silence had returned, Shon went back to his book. He should've just sat alone.
***
Kefir and Rerves were already waiting in the sparring ring by the time Shon showed up dressed in his banded mail. The armor rubbed uncomfortably around his neck and the thick gambeson underneath bunched at his joints, limiting his range of motion by at least a few inches. It also weighed him down, which he'd managed to convince himself was good for strength training, but was incredibly frustrated by for sparring.
Kefir already had his sword and shield and held an extra bastard sword for him, so Shon went right for the ring, stifling a frustrated sigh as he took the proffered weapon.
Rerves grinned at the look on Shon’s face, saying, “We figured you'd be miserable enough in the armor alone, that we should channel some of Soleil's compassion and let you use your best weapon instead of the hammer.” to which Shon was grateful. Making him practice in the armor with a weapon he still hadn’t mastered would've been adding salt to the wound.
“Let’s do some stretches and warm-ups first.” Kefir started, “Your problem isn’t being afraid to take a hit with the armor,” Rerves laughed out loud, but Kefir continued with only a grin, “It’s in having to adjust your mobility. So let's re-imprint that before we try any sparring.”
They went through stretches, the two of them seeming to match Shon in flexibility only because he was hampered by the armor, then moved on to solo sword forms. Even though the armor was only about thirty-five pounds evenly distributed, Shon still felt sluggish. When they moved on to sparring, Rerves beat him soundly while Kefir watched, tilting his head back and forth like Master Daunas and trying to give advice that didn’t help. Shon could fight, he knew the proper blocks and parries better than they did, but too often he would either not make up for his lack of speed or would overcompensate and swing too hard.
Kefir took his turn, lifting his shield and watching Shon raise his sword to the ready, “Honestly, Shon, I don’t know what to do besides have you practice more and just get used to it.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can do,” Rerves said from the side as he slipped off his helmet. Shon knew they were right in some regards but couldn’t entirely dismiss his frustration at the thought that he was missing something that he needed to learn and not just have beaten into him. He was grateful for his companion’s help but annoyed at their inability to teach.
Rerves gave the order to "Lay on!" and Shon and Kefir engaged. Shon could predict Kefir's moves, could practically see them in his mind's eye, but barely reacted in time, his arm not bending as far or fast as he wanted it to. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the other Squire, trying to sidestep around but moving too slow compared to Kefir, who just needed to turn in place. Shon took a step back and planted his feet. If he could force Kefir to make the larger motions, then perhaps he could focus on redirecting the boy’s attacks.
Kefir hesitated. Shon was most dangerous when he stood his ground, and they both knew it. The hesitation just gave Shon more time to try and strategize. Not that it had helped at all before. Maybe if he could somehow slow Kefir down, or focus on trapping his weapon, then it wouldn’t matter that Shon wasn’t as fast as he would be without the damn armor. Kefir tested Shon’s guard with a few half-hearted attacks that Shon deflected, waiting. When the other Squire finally committed fully, Shon let go of his sword with his left hand, twisted to dodge, and grabbed Kefir’s sword arm.
Just stop. Stop long enough for me to hit you… Kefir tried to pull away but couldn’t. Despite the poor grip Shon had with the thick gloves that were part of the armor, the two Squires seemed lashed together. Kefir twisted his shoulders so he could lift his shield to deflect Shon’s oncoming attack, but his feet didn’t move. His eyes went wide, and his shield came up barely in time to hit Shon’s sword, the tip still reaching over to clang off Kefir’s helm with a glancing blow.
Kefir fell backward and Shon, still clinging to his arm, was pulled on top of him. The boy yelled, and Shon rolled, letting go of Kefir and hearing something like glass breaking over the clanging of armor and screaming of his fellow. Shon rolled to absorb the shock of the fall and twisted to find Kefir on his back, his knees still straight and his boots stuck to the ground. Encased in ice.
The ice climbed up his boots to his shins, but Kefir was gripping his arm, trying to pull more ice from where Shon had been holding him. It continued to grow, soon encasing his hand and sword hilt. Rerves rushed forward, trying to help pry the sword free while the ice on his legs grew past his boots and under his greaves. Kefir screamed again, in pain and fear.
The Paladins on the wall began yelling, their leader taking command, sending some to help the boys and others to run for the fortress. Shon watched in horror as Kefir’s legs and arm were slowly encased in ice, his lips trembling and turning blue. He would be covered soon, Shon knew it, could picture it happening, like a waking nightmare. It would trap his brother Squire and anyone else touching it…
The ice started clawing at Rerves fingers, trying to gain hold and freeze him too.
“What in all the hells?!” Master Daunas showed up with a gaggle of Paladins and the Cleric, who all fell around the boys. Some took out their belt knives and tried to break the ice apart; others began to chant spells to either melt the ice or keep Kefir warm.
Master Daunas searched above the throng for answers and, finding Shon, cursed. He ran around the larger group, grabbing Shon by the arm and wrenching him away, practically dragging him across the courtyard towards the fortress proper. Someone called out in triumph as Shon reached the fortress door and Daunas forced him through it.
What had happened? Had they freed Kefir? Would he be alright? What happened?!
Daunas was still cursing as he slammed the door and spun on Shon, who stared blankly through the Weaponmaster. Panic, he was trying so hard not to panic. Was trying to figure out what had happened, trying to play through the entire thing again, picturing it from outside his body. Was the ice what had allowed him to hold on to Kefir? Was it still climbing up Kefir's legs? Was that why the older Squire wasn’t able to pull back and block properly? Had Shon...
“Calm down, boy.” Daunas reached for Shon’s shoulders but pulled back a moment later, shaking his hands and cursing as they reddened from the cold, “Breathe, boy. Look at me, think warm thoughts.”
Think warm thoughts? What did that even mean? Shon found Daunas’s eyes and saw the Weaponmaster scared for the first time, “Breathe, slow and steady, like old man V taught you. You need to control your energy…” his lips were pale and trembling, his breath coming out in a cloud before him. had it been that cold outside? Shon couldn’t feel it...
Shon closed his eyes and breathed. Control his energy… He pulled himself in, finding his center and gathering around it, “That’s it, boy, like that.” Shon breathed in his energy, his ki, holding it in his gut, storing it for later when he could use it to focus a strike and give it more power, just like Master Veon-Zih had taught him. And just like Master had taught him, he tried to let go of his worries, to clear his mind, if only for now.
Kefir would be alright, almost every adult here could cast healing spells, and at least half of them were with him now. It was okay. Shon could relax, let go, calm down… Suddenly exhausted, Shon nearly collapsed right there in the hallway. Daunas caught him, slowly lowering him to the stones.
Shon could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, but not fast enough to miss Master Daunas’s last curse, “Damn it, boy, why did you have to be a Sorcerer?”
***
“He has to go to the Mages Guild.” Major General Davies Selibra, Paladin head of Hamerfoss, stated to those gathered in his office. It was a simple room containing two sets of closed cabinets on either side of a large desk facing the door with two seats positioned in front of it. Shon sat in one of those seats, his head hanging and fists clenched tightly in his lap.
Master Daunas slammed his palm down on the desk. He seemed too agitated to sit, or perhaps he just didn’t want to sit next to Shon, who was radiating cold like a fire radiated heat, “We can’t, Selibra! He’s the most promising fighter I’ve ever trained. He’ll lose too much time.” the Weaponmaster's words puffed out as white fog from his lips.
Major General Selibra sat behind his desk and rubbed his temples, “It’s the law Daunas, he either needs to get a clearance or be sealed.”
“Can’t be a Paladin with the tattoo…” Smith Nangran muttered from his position leaning on the door. Shon was too focused on his predicament to wonder why the Smith was even here. A thin layer of ice began to form at his feet.
“It’s the law…” Selibra said again, weary, “If he had awakened sooner, he might have been able to get his clearance before training, but…”
Daunas threw his hands into the air, bellowing, “It takes years to get a clearance. If they even let him. Those Mages would rather just mark the boy up and be done with it!”
A sealing tattoo. They would want to block the magic. Seal it away in his body where it couldn’t hurt anyone. Kefir had suffered severe frostbite as well as a broken ankle. Lucky for him, he was surrounded by divine conduits and was fine, but what if Shon lost control again? Who would the ice entomb? Master Veon-Zih? Innocent citizens he was supposed to protect? Shon’s nails dug furrows into his palms as he clenched his fists tighter. The ice crawled up the legs of his chair and crystalized on the backs of his hands.
The adults continued to talk around him, “The law is clear, Daunas. The magic either needs to be trained or sealed. There are no exceptions.” The law never made exceptions. It’s what kept everything running at top proficiency. Shon admired that… and understood it, as even now he couldn't control the sorcerous ice.
Shon tried to slow his breathing, relax his hands. The ice cracked over his fingers as he forced them out of their fists. It was responding to his emotions, his fear, and horror at what he'd done. What he was. If he could just pull it in, stifle the emotions feeding it, then the magic wouldn't be able to control him…
Ice continued to inch up the chair, and Selibra rubbed his hands together to warm them. They'd been pointedly and purposely ignoring the winter-like cold since bringing Shon to the office.
“Tattoos aren’t the only way to seal magic…” Nangran stated from the door. Daunas and Selibra stopped arguing, and Shon’s head shot up. He turned slowly to watch the Smith who combed absently at his beard, “Law says sorcerer magic needs to be trained or sealed, doesn’t say how.”
“I know the law Nangran,” Selibra still sounded defeated. “A council of Mages, including one of the rank Archmage, must determine if a Sorcerer is capable of controlling his or her power. If they determine the power is too great a risk to the kingdom, then said power will be made unable to manifest. Sealed.” the Major General recited, most likely for Shon’s benefit. Shon's heart pounded in his chest, and the fires that lit the room dimmed.
“What are you suggesting?” Daunas asked Nangran curiously. The smith only talked when necessary, using grunts and nods instead of words whenever possible. That was probably why Shon liked him so much. It also meant he wouldn’t have contradicted Selibra unless he had a reason.
“Know a guy. Used to make sealing items for the guild…” Nangran said with a shrug, as though Shon’s future didn’t hinge on his point, “Owes me a favor…”
“You’re not talking about that mad hermit who comes barging in here once or twice a year, are you?” Daunas asked, looking stunned.
Nangran nodded with a confirming hum. “Still Archmage in good standing…”
The Weaponmaster looked ecstatic, shouting, “Nangran, you’re a genius!” he slammed his hands down on the desk again, breath puffing out in thick clouds as his excitement grew. Nangran grunted.
Daunas turned back to the Major General, who actually looked intrigued. Shon’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. “This is it, Selibra! This Archmage can make the boy a sealing item. I’m sure the Temple will vouch for him. He’s our top Squire.” Shon was still too terrified to feel proud of the compliment and watched Major General Selibra with wide desperate eyes. Ice started forming on his hands again, looking like clawed talons.
“The Mages Guild hasn’t given out sealing stones for generations…” Selibra hummed, and Shon barely stopped the desperate whine before it could escape, his fingernails drawing blood on his palms as he balled them into fists again, breaking the ice claws. “but we can at least try.” Selibra finished, focusing on Shon, his brown eyes still looking sad, “Are you sure you want this, Shon? As a Paladin, you won’t be able to train with your elemental magic unti-”
“Yes, Sir!” Shon shouted, leaning forward in his seat and breaking the ice off its legs. He fell back a moment later, embarrassed by his outburst. More quietly, he said again, “Yes, Sir. I don’t want this magic. I want to be a Paladin.” more than anything in his entire life, he'd wanted to be a Paladin…
“Very well,” Major General Selibra stood, resting his fingertips on his desk. Speaking as if to himself, he muttered, “Perhaps this is a sign from Hengist.” looking up, he addressed Nangran, “Tomorrow you will take Squire Shon to this Archmage friend of yours. Gods willing, he will be able to seal the sorcerer magic without hindering his divine capabilities.” he failed to hide a shiver from the cold.
***
Her candles burned hot and bright, flickering wildly as She paced around Her little room. Something was happening in Her tower. There were far too many people with strangers' voices out Her window and beyond Her door.
Brom and Ran continued to visit, but they wouldn’t answer Her questions, wouldn’t take Her for samples, or to see Her treasures. The first made Her angry, the second gave Her energy, and the last scared Her enough to stop asking questions. What if they took Her books again? They hadn’t given Her a reason She couldn’t see Her treasures, so maybe they would soon… maybe tomorrow...
***
“Tomorrow,” Morndancer stated as Shaloon let herself into his room. The transfer preparations had taken months. MONTHS! They were Mages. No. Greater than Mages. They were Warlocks. And yet, everything still took far too long. They could instantly communicate with allies across the kingdom but still had to spend time making the proper arrangements. They could travel miles in a blink but still had to painstakingly pack every book and file, disassemble and disenchant the golems guarding the tower over days and even weeks. If it had been a true emergency -if they'd been found- they could've destroyed everything, vanishing all evidence of their presence and research. But the Master Archmages had forbidden it in this case.
“The western Talon is ready to receive us,” Shaloon confirmed, “What of the subjects? Archmage Yarna has no interest in animal husbandry..."
“The Firewyrm is all she is interested in. It is the only reason she agreed to take us.” Morndancer sat on his bed and stared at the pseudodragon perched on his desk, its leathery wings half furled and its tail twitching over the side of the desk, “I will handle the animal subjects tomorrow. Just make sure you are ready to open the portal out when I am done.” she could only open one portal a day, sometimes two but it would leave her incapacitated for at least a day after.
“Tomorrow then,” Shaloon confirmed, leaving him alone with his running mind and the little pretend dragon, that seemed to stare through his skin and into his soul.
***
Shon couldn’t sleep. Once again, his entire future hung on what would happen tomorrow. And just like the divine test and the road to Hamerfoss, there was nothing he could do to speed up the process. It was out of his hands. Out of his control. Just like the ice now clouding the window and the frost freezing the blankets to the mattress.
He tapped the blank page of his open journal with his pencil. The images running through his mind were the last he wanted to solidify on paper. He tried drawing something else… Kefir smiling warmly at him for the second thank you. Rerves leaning forward and shouting to him across the dinner table. The study group conversing in whispers instead of studying…
He wrote about it all between the drawings but everything that happened after pushed at his mind, the scenes forming in his vision. Shon drew Kefir again, lying on his back and tugging at the ice forming on his sword arm. Then a group scene with the Paladins falling around him, their faces focused, and hands glowing with spells to try and save him… Master Daunas’s scared eyes as he ordered Shon to ‘think warm thoughts...'
With two pages full of various sketches and commentary, Shon dropped his pencil and rested his head on his desk. Why? Was this why he was so cold to the touch? Sorcerers were rare; those with ice power were the rarest even amongst them. Should they have noticed something was wrong sooner? Would Hengist really accept someone like him? Chose a Sorcerer to be one of his extensions in Daanlin?
Shon closed his eyes, breathing slowly and trying not to cry. If they forced him to go to the Mages Guild, he would never be able to fight again. He was sure of it. All his hard work and dedication. All those years of disciplined practice, gone in one instance where he lost control. Where he almost killed a friend.
Everything he was, everything he would be, hinged on the following day. “Tomorrow…” Shon whispered into the dark, his candle finally flickering to die in the cold.
--- Table of Contents ---
Thanks for making it this far, you are the real MVP

My drone came with the smart controller bundle, but I’m kind of wanting to sell it and buy a cheap RC231 instead. I see used controllers for $37 on eBay.
Are there any problems I’d run into doing this?