Ricky Gervais: Alright, it's that time again, everyone's favorite bit of the show, it's Monkey News! Take it away, Karl Pilkington!
Karl Pilkington: Right, so, this week in Monkey News, there's this, uh, chimpanzee, right, in America. And, uh, he's got this new job at a TV station.
Ricky: (laughing) A chimp working at a TV station? Oh, go on then.
Karl: No, really, it's true. So, this chimp, they named him, uh, "Telly," right? And he's been working behind the scenes at this TV station, like, helping out and stuff.
Ricky: (laughs) Helping out? What do you mean, helping out? What's he doing?
Karl: Well, they started by having him, like, fetch coffee and stuff for the crew. But then, he got really good at it, and they noticed he had a knack for, like, handling the camera equipment and all that.
Stephen Merchant: (chuckles) I love how you think these things are true, Karl. A chimpanzee working a camera?
Karl: No, I'm serious. They even got him a little uniform and that, right? And now he's like a full-time member of the team. They say he's really good at getting the right shots and everything.
Ricky: (laughs) Oh, this is amazing. So what's the upshot of this, Karl? Have they given him a contract? Is he in the union?
Karl: Well, yeah, sort of. They've made him an honorary member of the team. And now, he's even got his own little segment on the news, right, where he goes out and films stuff happening in the local area. They call it "Telly's Take."
Ricky: (laughs) "Telly's Take"? That's brilliant. So, what, they send him out with a camera, and he just films whatever's going on?
Karl: Yeah, that's right. And they say the viewers love it. It's like, it's all the talk of the town. Everyone's tuning in just to see what Telly's gonna film next.
Stephen: (laughs) So, let me get this straight. There's a chimpanzee working as a camera operator for a TV station, and he's got his own news segment? Is that what you're telling us, Karl?
Karl: Yeah, that's right. It's just another example of, you know, how monkeys and that are more like us than we think.
Ricky: (laughs) Oh, Karl, you never cease to amaze me. That was a brilliant bit of Monkey News. Well done, mate. And on that note, I think it's time to wrap up the show.
[Closing music fades in]
Ricky: Thanks for listening, everyone. This has been the Ricky Gervais Show with me, Ricky Gervais, Stephen Merchant, and the one and only Karl Pilkington. Goodbye!

My apologies. This is very long.
Update #1 ( original post here https://www.reddit.com/EntitledPeople/comments/11cmv5l/some_people/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button )
The meeting. ( reposted update as requested )
As I parked, there were a couple that stopped to say hi, but the majority of the board did not acknowledge me. My accuser though.. she had a great laugh at my expense, and literally taunted me in front of the others on the way in. 'ooh here for more, are you? Guess you didn't get enough of me yet' and blows me a kiss.
She showed up with the Pres. I feel that's relevant. Especially seeming as she ran home.
The meeting started at 6 pm. I was not allowed to sit at the table until the issue was brought up... I sat, alone, for over 45 minutes. Finally someone peeked outside at 6:53 ( to see if I was still there? ) and called me in.
My accuser wasn't there. I say down and the first thing said to me was ' well. We may have made a mistake' followed by this big flowery apology that stank of bullshit and was gaslit better than a propane stove.
'You know that when a complaint comes in, we have to investigate it'
At that point I just exploded. Like... I didn't even talk to my kids like that when they were babies. It was the kind of tone you have when talking to the very simplest of minds.
I told them there's a massive difference between investigating and outright accusing, and that I didn't appreciate how their ineptitude at leading a board nearly derailed the whole organization and just put a really bad light on what we were doing. She says ' by unanimous decision, we've decided not to accept your resignation. Welcome back'
I've likely been this confused before, but I don't remember when. I was expecting this to be much harder. I had a factual speech ready and everything. Walked in and it was just 'we oopsied, oh well teehee'
'Well that's unfortunate that you refuse to accept it, because it's given and I'm not rescinding it. I'm out. And it seems you all know exactly why. For those who have reached out to me- I'll consider your offer of leading this board, but at this time, I'm not comfortable with the lack of trust and transparency I'm seeing. ' and left.
My phone has been blowing up all night. I meant to update immediately but it just kept ringing and tinging. I don't even know how so many found out ( good old gossip is my guess ) but I had over 30 calls and just as many texts/social media messages.
So. What hspprned while i was waiting outside.
My accuser decided to get on something pre-meeting. Literally acted like a wild animal at one point. I'm told it was so bad that the police and Child Protection Services were called by 4 of 5 ladies present, and when told they were called, my accuser took off running home. That's a whole 'nother story. The kids are now safe, I'm told. There's that.
The versions I'm hearing are surprisingly similar, for once. So I'm going to tell you the events as I was told.
Pres' husband is apparently an addict. Who gets his stash from the sis in law/accuser. I'm not clear on the details but I'm told blackmail was involved. Common word says she threatened to spill the beans on hubby. You know how it goes. Get hurt, get prescription, get hooked, get cheaper street drugs because they're cheaper and no doctor regulates them/questions your dose. There's a rumor he is also sleeping with sustained in law but this is not confirmed... but has been going around for the better part of a year now. Maybe I should start listening to more rumors because I had no idea.
Accuser started off normal, if ' twitchy'. She went to the washroom and shit allegedly went sideways not long after she came out. At one point she was laying on the floor, ' slithering and grunting' like an animal'. I wish I could have seen it, but kinda glad I didn't.
When Accuser left, it swayed the remaining 2 votes my way. There was a discussion on how to ' handle' me where the Pres just said she'll follow the board on the vote after they shot down her suggestion that the complaint still be addressed. The way she glared at me when I came in ( yes, wearing my coat! ) tells me she was not happy about it either.
The vote was unanimous to keep me. I did not wish to stay after all that.
Tomorrow they have an open board meeting to tell people what happened, as transparency is ironically a promise we made to the community so they know exactly who and what they're supporting. I won't be there. But a lot of angry and confused people will be. I'm glad I'll be missing it, but I have a feeling I'll hear all about it. I'm told there will be some calling for Pres' resignation. We shall see, I guess.
I started this feeling lower than low. Tonight I'm surrounded by positivity and I feel GOOD about this decision. Is this Karma? It feels like Karma.
Steps are already being taken to form what we will call The Fringe Farm. We will collect fresh farm goods donated by local farmers and deliver to homes that need a little extra, focusing on those that live between communities and people new to rural life. Eventually I hope to offer clothing and household goods, but I need to find a source outside the community so I'm not taking from the original group.
I also have a preliminary board. Comprised of 3 of 5 members of the original board haha
I've told then they have to finish their term at the group (because they do damn good work, and it's not fair to those that need them to just walk away-hypocritical? Msybe. But i refuse to torpedo the group ). 2 still submitted resignations because they're just floored by that last meeting. Theirs was depending upon mine, so their exit meetings are being scheduled for next week. Because they no longer have a secretary to record minutes I'm being asked to. I'm also being asked to submit my name for Pres should the current one agree to resign.
I haven't decided if I will. I feel that will come across as petty, and tbh it's no longer my business.
Thank you for the encouragement. I'm not sure if I would have had the courage to attend if not for the overwhelming kindness and support shown here. By strangers. * shakes head*. You have no idea how much this meant to me when I needed it.
Thank you.

I am, almost entirely, a lurker on this subreddit and the OSR community as a whole. My interaction with the OSR as a GM and a player is mostly looking for interesting/artsy content for me to steal for my players so they think I am smart. Sometimes I’ll steal a dungeon, or appropriate an old school adventure into my setting, since I find those easier to adapt. I’ve got nothing to sell you, but when I feel in my bones that something I’ve read that made me go ????, I’m the type that tends to respond.
Earlier this week, u/koan_mandala made a blogpost called “Rejecting Modern Gamemastering,” which was relatively popular. I read through it, and while I thought there were some good lessons in that post. Additionally I thought there were some parts I thought we were worth touching upon, since I had some small disagreements. Also, I've had some thoughts on the OSR brewing for a while. I’ve also been DMing for 10+ years at this point, and am a professionally-trained composer and music historian, so I have lots of opinions on the purpose of art, and how it should engage its audience.
Read that article before you read this one.
To be perfectly clear before this post continues: I don’t have any bones to pick with u/koan_mandala, nor do I seek to stir up BS drama. Looking through some of their posts, I actually saw we had a lot in common. We’ve both run Cypher, they’re a fan of Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (one of my favorite books), and they play a lot of Traveler: the game with the 2nd-most-fascinating character creation system I have ever read (first place goes to Burning Wheel). Never had a chance to play the system yet, but I intend to eventually.
I also don’t run a strictly OSR-style game. I run a mix of Cypher System, D&D 5e, and occasionally fail to get a Burning Wheel campaign past session four. I use XP-to-level-up because I’ve found it works best for me. I run story-heavy, puzzle-light, morals-heavy games. Sure, the world is gray sometimes, but the player characters in my world are all unquestionably good. I like it that way. It’s more fun, it focuses the game, and it unites the players. It makes running the game easy (more on this later).
Some parts u/koan_mandala talks about, point to a large trend I’ve seen in browsing the OSR (I’ve been a lurker since around 2015): the rejection of “modernity.” Of course “modernity” can mean a lot of different things, as it does in the world of OSR. Some of the following points may be familiar to people who frequent these parts of reddit (RIP Google+):

• Rejection of “on-rails” story-first gaming. (Critical Role is oft-mentioned)
• Rejection of WoTC/D&D5e/4e/3e/Pathfinder
• Rejection of modern adventure modules
• Rejection of modern high fantasy
• Rejection of significant DM prep
• Rejection of DM’s role as a wrangler

Many GM’s and players in these parts hold that rejecting Modernity (see list above) solves the many problems a contemporary DM faces: player burnout, DM burnout, campaign fizzling, table boredom, lack of player engagement. The problem to solve, in the world of OSR, isn’t the players or the GM, but it’s the systems and styles of play that govern their interaction. Just do all of the steps above, return to running D&D how it was played back in the 70’s and 80’s, and your problems go away. I’ll come back to the point of Modernity, but first I want to address the advice that I actually quite liked, and think would be best suited towards every DM.

Pacing the Game

Regardless of what system and style of play you choose to use, u/koan_mandala’s advice that you shouldn’t interfere to fuck with the pace the game is sound advice. DM’s who interfere too much, and prodding their players along, will inevitably run into a problem with prep. The faster you burn through your prepared content, the more likely you are to come to a point where it’s 45 minutes til session, you have 45 kobold stat blocks to prep, 3 battle maps, and a letter from the local princess, and now you have to rush. There’s a notable drop in quality. You enjoy that session less. Your players enjoy that session less.

On Being Responsible for Player Well-Being

In addition to providing excellent advice into pacing the game for a GM, u/koan_mandala also provides very sensible advice on player and GM safety.

It is important to note here that I do believe that GM/Referee is responsible for player wellbeing and that player wellbeing is more important than the game - just common sense as we have it in sports for example - the referee will stop the game if a player is signalling an injury.
The second important thing is if someone is playing as a means of therapy, I will not run for them. I’m sorry, but I am not licensed, and I already hurt many people while learning to do this.

Some of my most important lessons regarding responsibilities of being a GM, I learned the hard way. There are some good friends I don’t play with anymore, because I fucked up, or another GM fucked up, and there was a falling-out. The game affected real life because we didn’t have systems in-place that made people talk about their problems like adults. If you do not have a version of the “X-Card” or “Reality Check” or some other way of aborting a game to protect the well-being of others, then you should have one as of yesterday. There is no reason not to.
Also, yes, you are not a licensed therapist. I learned this the hard way too. Again, any good DM, regardless of style, needs to accept some limitation on how much they can be a therapist to a player. In my earlier days I had players using my games as a means to access therapy when they could otherwise not have it. It made running very very hard, and it made the rest of the table uncomfortable. I lost friends because I allowed this to happen.
But now, if I feel like a player’s character concept might run up against this boundary, I talk to them like an adult and make it clear that I don’t want to delve into their psyche and solve their problems. I haven’t had a problem since, and I almost always play long games with the people I take aside and talk to.
Before I dive into the meat, I want to emphasize something that will be important later on: Setting explicit content boundaries, and explicit player-safety tools are modern innovations to the roleplaying hobby. If there is a modernity that OSR enthusiasts are rejecting, it’s one that is independent of these tools.

Rejecting Modernity, Embracing the Old

The quote from u/koan_mandala that sparked this reddit post is from a section of their blog post called I Reject Theme Park Rides. If you remember the list above, many of the talking points here will be familiar:

“A lot of the mainstream published material is crafted in such a way to challenge player characters (rarely players!) just enough so they experience the story ride from start to the finish. They are in essence an emulation of itself, an emulation of the “DnD experience”. GMs job in those boils down to guiding them along the road, one ride after another, making sure everyone is having a fun “DnD experience”, god forbid you to screw up the encounter math and get some characters killed. You would be a failure, or so claim experts on Youtube.”

The “Theme Park Ride experience” (modern D&D) is somehow less substantial than the OSR experience. It doesn’t build memories, it’s fleeting because it lacks player choice. One of the failures of Modernity, in the OSR world, is the lack of choice. Products created for corporate profit, D&D livestreams, plot-heavy action fail to deliver as “real” D&D because they only emulate the D&D experience. This makes sense in conjunction with what the author believe what their responsibility for the fun of the players and the PC’s is: “I Reject Being Responsible for the Fun and Entertainment of Players” and “I Reject Creating Stories and Plots”
And to be clear, I am not singling them out in this belief. Core to OSR is the following belief: if the players are not having fun it is because the system they are running has failed them. The system is responsible for their fun and entertainment. The DM is just there to run the system. Don’t get in the way of the system. Just like in the old days. Because, ultimately what many people who embrace OSR are aiming at is capturing the “pure” D&D experience that u/koan_mandala holds in such high regard. If you choose the right system (Whitehack, Blackhack, Knave, Catching Smoke, Interior People), the problems of performance (prep, improv, content, player engagement) go away. Because you’re playing D&D how it was meant to be played: you’re playing it authentically, and that’s why you’re having fun.
Or is it?
In the 1970’s/80’s/90’s there was significant hub-bub in the world of Music History about Historically-Informed Performance (HIP), or playing music how it would have been heard by the composers that wrote it. People began taking up the harpsichord (precursor to the piano) and viola da gamba (precursor to a cello, sort of) in great numbers. Performers who played Bach switched from metal-core strings to gut strings, tuned their instruments lower, and made ornamental modifications to the music. Musicologists debated on the proper size of Bach’s choruses in the St.Matthew Passion (was it a double chorus, or a single chorus? What did the continuo consist of? etc. etc. etc.)
Other people reconstructed older versions of their instruments, and undid many of the modifications added over the years in pursuit of historical authenticity. Baroque music (such as Bach) became associated with a certain metronomic rigor. Play the tempo as marked. This was all in the name of authenticity; the idea being that we should play the music as the composer intended it. And because authenticity of the performance probably indicated quality (or so many people believed). They had more fun because it was authentic. It wasn’t just a simulation of what Bach wrote, but actually what the composer intended.
Famed Musicologist (fancy title for Music Historian) Richard Taruskin, who was also a renowned Historically-Informed Performer, brought up a very well-argued point: HIP was, and still is, very much a modern construction. It conforms to modern tastes in how music should be performed and prepared. In many ways it is ahistorical. Nothing wrong with it, per se, but to pretend it is purely historical construction is living in a dream. HIP, ironically, was just a way of emulating old music on modern hardware.
Which brings me back to OSR. While yes, we might have better historical sources of how D&D was run back in the 70’s and 80’s than we do on how Bach was played in the 1720’s, OSR is not the 70’s game. OSR’s rejection of modernity is HIP all over again. We’re emulating old games on modern hardware. And with modern hardware, comes modern aesthetic expectations. And modern aesthetic responsibilities.
Oftentimes, unfairly I think, the OSR can get a reputation for being a bit…grognardy (and frankly, reactionary). We recoil at many things we see as Modern, but will embrace anything we see as extending from the system that (supposedly) fixes all of our GM woes. In reality, the OSR’s commitment to player choice through a fixation on system is an articulation of the same emphasis on player agency that we see in livestreams, and in hyper-corporate poorly-written overpriced D&D modules: players ends at the point they trust the GM to create fun for them. It’s up to the GM to figure out how.
Me, Myself, I, The GM, have been entrusted by the players to facilitate their fun. Just like a musician is expected to facilitate the enjoyment of beautiful music for the audience, regardless if they are HIP or not. And I am not sure that what u/koan_mandala says actually is much different than what I said here, regarding their preference for more “random” and “non-plotted” stories.
​

“For us who reject plot, who reject the theme park rides dice are not just a necessity but they are also a force that brings chaos, story, and fun to the table.”

Heavy reliance on the results of dice is one of those HIP arbitration tools of the OSR, used to simulate the feel of those sorts of games. It is a principle that arbitrates the limits of player agency in the same way that, when I plot out my plans for a player’s character, I am arbitrating the limits of their agency in the same way dice would. And I really love doing that. I like the roller coasters I can put my players on when there are five reveals in a session. I want my players to make moral decisions that reflect the larger themes of the game I’m running. It is my way of bringing chaos, story, and fun to the table. Yes! Chaos! But the chaos is no longer on my side, but the side of the players and the pc’s! HAH! TAKE THAT BONEBREAKER DOROKOR! GET OUT OF THIS HOBGOBLIN AMBUSH I’VE BEEN PLANNING FOR 10 SESSIONS NOW! ALSO YOUR SISTER FROM YOUR BACKSTORY IS HERE!
OSR style-play, vs my style of story-prepping, are both methods used to make chaos easy to manage. And that’s okay. You should feel okay doing both at times. There’s no problem with either one. But do remember, as a modern GM, that you have a responsibility to your players for them to have fun. Why the hell would they show up after 1 session if they didn't have fun? How you fulfill that responsibility is up to you: after all, the core tenet of modern D&D is emphasizing player agency.
It would do us best to remember that what we (OSR community) really want is tools that make the game easy to run and easy to prep. We should encourage every tool available for making games easy to run. We should even encourage tools that have not worked for us, because they might work for someone else. Even shitty hyper-corporate adventure modules.
Traveller sure sounds fun right about now.

Boris woke to pain. A recurring occurence, one he had grown accustomed to, as much as one can. From his first day as a renegade to waking up inside the Oasis, beaten so close to the edge of dying that most men would've died twice already, pain was as constant a companion to him as the obsession with Redemption. He turned his head to the side, feeling the cold concrete on his cheek, and spat. Opening his eye only a few millimetres, he saw a red streak on the dirty ground. Blood, from his mouth. Explained the taste of iron on his lips. Boris tried to rise into a sitting position, only for his legs and arms to refuse. It was like a 100 kilogram weight had been placed on him. As he opened his eyes properly, he understood why.
First of all, the Absolver he was wearing was completely dead. The display on his wrist was black, indicating that not even auxiliary power was available. Furthermore, his hands had been tied and some kind of weight had been placed on top of his legs. The MASKA helmet, accompanied by a very big dent where forehead of the wearer would be, was sitting not far from Boris. Pondering how he had ended up into this situation, Boris tested the ropes tying his hands. Too strong, blyat, Boris thought to himself, as he found no slack. The sound of footsteps closing surprised him, and suddenly a man in black SSP-99M suit appeared in his vision. A mercenary, the very same who had bashed Boris' head earlier, followed suit soon.
"Ah, good, you're awake. Boris... Unforgiven, was it? Quite dramatic, I must admit. Far more than your unassuming real name, Karnitsky, was it? I am Professor Serbin, and this here is Vulture. You met him earlier.", the SSP man introduced himself, and Boris shuddered at the mention of his real name.
"How the hell do you know my name?", Boris shouted, or tried to, only a whisper escaping his lips.
"Simple. Your friend Felka was captured alongside you. You have been out for roughly 18 hours, we have had plenty of time to interrogate him. He won't walk for a few months, as I prefer the old "knee of truth" method with a drill, but at least he was honest this once.", Vulture commented, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"Yes... Poor man, what a rotten fate. We are keeping him alive with a couple artifacts, it does wonders for interrogation progress. He will most likely not walk again, a true tragedy.", Serbin said, not a hint of actual remorse or empathy in his voice.
"You sick fucks. What do you want of us? Who the hell are you even?", Boris asked in utter rage, his voice hoarse.
"Tsk tsk. This isn't some shit film, where I reveal our entire organization dramatically. All we want is Degtyarev's and Strelok's heads on a plate. Our organization does not matter to you. You could not uncover it in a thousand years, and you most certainly do not have so much time. Now, tell us, where are the two men I mentioned? And do not play like you're out of the loop, we know who you are, Karnitsky.", Serbin said.
"In a thousand years, you would not get that out of me either. You can bring me to the brink of death, but that is nothing new to me. So fuck off, sukas.", Boris growled.
"Figured as much. Alright, we have means to make you talk, more sophisticated ones than what Vulture here uses. But first, think about this for a little moment. Felka mentioned that you have bad blood with a certain crime lord, Harkusha, was it? And you still have people you care about in Minsk? How about you tell us what we want, and we never reach out to your old enemy?", Serbin offered, and Boris could feel his heart sink a little, pondering what to answer.
"You would simply contact him anyway. Just kill me, this interrogation is pointless. You think some little shit like that one can get anything out of me? Pfft, right.", Boris said defiantly, but inside his head, he was frantically looking for a way out.
"Vulture? No, he already did his part. It is my turn. As you clearly are too stubborn to understand your own good, allow me to introduce my little friend. This tiny artefact is Current. It only forms in very specific circumstances inside a laboratory, and has a simple application. Unlike other artefacts, which have useful properties, this cutie loads up the victim's nervous system with electricity. The Current has a very similar feel to an eletric chair, but it never goes beyond human endurance. It will always adjust the current going through you to just keep you alive but in agony.", Serbin explained, holding a tiny, swirling cloud of electricity in his hand.
Boris could not reply, he simply braced himself for what was to come and sneered smugly at Serbin. For a briefest of moment, he saw some anger on the professor's face, who quickly washed it away to his usual blank expression. Without further comments, Serbin simply shrugged and tosses Current on top of Boris. For a minute, nothing happened, and Vulture even glanced at his companion questioningly. Boris was about to make a snarky remark, when every nerve end in his body cried out in anguish. The Current sent waves of pure energy running through him, frying his body with sheer pain. It was unlike anything Boris had ever felt, far from the sharp pain of gunshot wounds or the blunt, dull pain he had felt in his near-death state. He could barely see, so hard did the electric blasts hit him. Tears swelled in his eyes, and he struggled not to scream out, to not give into the pain.
The leader of Redemption could feel his strength wane, the constant stream of agony overcoming his iron will. Despite his rage and determination, he could feel some part of his body wish for the sweet release of death. He forced his eyes open, looked defiantly at Serbin and gritted his teeth. No rogue scientist would claim him this day. But the situation did not seem great, the ropes keeping his hands tied down and the weights doing the same for his legs. The dead exoskeleton wrapped around him did not help. With some power to it, he could easily break the ropes and try to escape, but there was no juice in the battery. Out of some forlorn hope, he glanced at the display on his wrist, more out of desperation than anything else. To his surprise, the screen was showing a small bit of battery power, and it was charging up even further.
The Current seemed to have the side-effect of charging his suit's batteries, something the professor clearly had not thought of. Realizing that through his pain he could get just enough juice to fight back, Boris tried to relax and take the torture head on. Serbin frowned as he saw Boris' expression turn from utter agony to concentrated, yet pained, look. He turned to Vulture, saying in an annoyed tone:
"Keep watch on him. He will break eventually, but I have more important matters to attend to. That damn Mongol Khan will come to visit us in an hour, he seemed annoyed that we let those Ecologists escape. If he breaks, call me in, I want to see how long it takes to extract a result with the Current.", Serbin ordered, turned on his heels and opened the door to leave.
"I bet my method would be faster.", Vulture scoffed.
"Yes, yes, of course it is. Just like Jackal's blockade was supposed to keep stalkers out of Pripyat. That hypothesis worked well for him.", Serbin said with venom in his voice and stepped out.
"Little suka...", Vulture cursed and clenched his fists, glancing towards the door.
Boris saw his chance, reaching for the auxiliary battery located not far from his tied hands. He found the emergency power distributor, and flicked it on, the suit whirring to life. Absolver was back in action, yet through the crackling and whirring of the Current, Vulture had not noticed it yet. Boris loaded all his strength into his hands, and with a decisive pull, ripped apart the ropes. Only now did Vulture turn towards him, but it was too late. With desperate rage, Boris tore the pulsing Current off his chest, the waves of pain becoming stronger. The mercenary was reaching for his gun, when Boris smacked the artifact into his stomach. Like an otherwordly taser, the strong torrent of sheer eletricity shot through Vulture, and he flinched. Before he could yell, Boris took him by the throat and pushed. The two exoskeleton-clad men struggled for two minutes, but Boris was no longer weakened by the artifact while Vulture very much was.
The mercenary punched, clawed and headbutted Boris as much as he could, but Vulture's strength grew weaker as the torture artifact sapped him of it. The strangle grip Boris held him in claimed the man eventually, the life leaving his eyes as no oxygen reached his lungs. While Boris would never know it, he had killed the last mercenary leader of Jackal's group left in the Zone. Seeing his chance, Boris took Jackal's SIG 552 and three magazines. On his belt, Boris found his trusty kukri, clearly taken as war trophy by Vulture, and on the holster, the extremely rare Automag pistol. Feeling far more confident now, Boris walked over to his MASKA helmet and placed it on his head. As the visor lowered down on his face, and he once more saw the world through a narrow slit, Boris grinned slightly. It was time for a little payback.
Boris opened the door slightly and took a look at the corridor. It was empty, they were clearly inside one of the large building blocks of Outskirts. He stepped out, holding the SIG rifle at eye level, and slowly moved onwards. The battery on his suit had power for roughly half an hour, after which he would have to swap the powerpack for the one he had looted off Vulture. However, his priority number one would be finding Felka, and number two was to escape. He creeped up the hallway, checking rooms by the sides. One had a dead man in SSU uniform, signs of torture on his body. Boris could not dwell on it, even if it raised questions of Degtyarev's activity, he had to keep going. Next door led to a storage room, right by the end of the corridor. Felka was there, tossed by the side of the room next to a safe. His legs were truly fucked beyond recognition, Vulture had really used something horrible on him. Boris froze for a moment, seeing his companion in such a shape.
This was his doing, his crusade had led to the disfiguring of Felka. He would have to fix this somehow. He took one more glance at the room, and realized that his artifacts were on the cabinet nearby. Felka was clearly unconcious, and he couldn't have gotten to them anyway as the cabinet was locked, but it was nothing the exoskeleton could not handle. Boris broke the lock and took out his Goldfish, placing it on the belt. Then he took his Heart of Oasis, sending a quick prayer to Anton for being such a generous soul, and placed it on Felka's belt. The ex-renegade did not wake up, which was probably a blessing in his state, but some more colour returned to his cheeks. Holstering his SIG and tossing the body of his friend over his shoulder, Boris saw that it was high time to leave. The Automag in his free hand, Boris began a painful and tense march towards the staircase.
As he was tiptoeing forward, as quietly as one can in an exoskeleton, carrying another man, he heard arguments from one room. Serbin was shouting, but Boris could quite make out the words. Another voice, with a clear Eastern accent, made calm but mocking remarks to the professor. Boris could only understand Strelok's and Degtyarev's names from the conversation, and for a moment he thought that barging in and shooting the two men talking could end this fight once and for all. Raising his Automag, he prepared to do just this, when a man in black Sunrise suit stepped into the hallway.
"Blyaaat, who the-", the newcomer commented, just before Boris shot his liberated pistol at him.
The .44 AMP round struck him like a truck, killing the man instantly. The conversation next door ended, and Boris, knowing his luck had just ran out, fired three rounds through the door before breaking into sprint. Three more rounds in the magazine, he thought, as he rounded the corner and ran into the staircase. A burst struck the concrete wall behind him, one of Serbin's men clearly alerted by the shots. Another tried to block the escape, but Boris was a second faster on the draw, the Automag thundering in the cramped space and smashing the guard's head in. Felka was whimpering quietly as Boris ran, almost tumbling down in the stairs worn by time. Two more floors, he thought, knowing these types of buildings by heart. More rounds struck the staircase, one of the guards shooting down from the fourth floor. Ricochets bounced around Boris and Felka, but thankfully they only struck the walls and not the men.
On the ground floor, Boris could see daylight. They would get out! He lunged out, avoiding another shot fired by a guard standing by the door he had missed earlier. The guard raised a SIG rifle, taking aim as Boris struggled to turn his pistol towards the man. Shot rang out, struck the Absolver's plate and dented it. Boris felt the dull blow of an unpenetrating hit, and fired back. Or would have, if the Automag had not jammed. Nothing happened as he pressed the trigger, and the guard in midnight-black SEVA grinned triumphantly. His grin was still there when a bullet hit him in the head, fired by a suppressed rifle.
"Goddammit, we're too late! Boris got out by himself!", Dima shouted, holding a smoking Val.
"Never get to be heroes, do we.", Sanyok cursed as Boris was running towards them.
"Move, you clowns! There's more of them coming!", Boris screamed as more footsteps rang in the staircase.
"Blyat, follow us Boris! To the Valkyrie!", Dima replied as a squad of heavily armed guards and UNISG troops burst out of the building.
They set off running, and only then did Boris try to gather his bearings. They were somewhere near the grocery store, albeit where exactly, Boris did not get to consider, as more bullets rained on the streets from behind. Sanyok tossed a smoke grenade behind him, trying to slow down the incoming enemies. Boris could feel his body slowly drain out, the torture and combat weighing on him, but hearing the pained yelps of Felka, he pushed on. He owed it to his friend to get him out alive. If they survived now, they could return for payback.

Hi! I would like to get my first black powder shotgun and I need some advice. I'm looking at the Pedersoli cap. side by side classic 12 gauge shotgun. It's around 1000 $/€. The deluxe version is nicer but almost three times as much and too expensive for me. The barrels should be chrome lined and without a choke. I think it's better without a choke for BP, you can give your input if you think otherwise. I would use it for occasional shooting, clay pigeons, maybe ball. I like to have the versatility should I need it. You can shoot ball, everything from small shot to big lead balls. Is the running cost much higher than for the 20 gauge? I'm calculating the cost per shot. If I shoot bird shot, I need cork wads for the powder and then paper wads on top of lead, right? So 4 pcs. per loading for both barrels. (I know everyone has a different approach).
I also didn't find a difference between RWS regular and Plus caps (# 1075)

PART FIFTY-FIVE
[Previous Part] [Beginning]
I FUCKING HATE THE FUCKING COLD!!!
After five days of travelling in this manner, a tiny part of my brain was almost willing to throw up its hands and say, ‘Fuck it – let ’em have the stupid copper mines,’ but I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter if I never thawed out again. The Consitors weren’t getting their grubby little mitts on the empire. They messed up their own land, and they weren’t coming here to mess up ours.
No. Fuck, no. Hell to the fuck no. But fuuuuuuuck, I hate the cold!
It didn’t get much warmer when we reached the coast, either. Sheets of ice clung to every ridge, and the snow might’ve only gone halfway up the shins of our horses as opposed to the knee, but overall, it wasn’t much of a concession.
At least our horses had figured out that by the end of the day, they’d be inside our dome with us. And on top of the warm space, we had plenty of food for them, courtesy of the imperial palace, which meant they were probably eating better than they ever had.
The first two days had been a matter of following Milo’s lead toward the coast. After that, I dropped back, and Thalien took my place beside Milo as Polly reached out with constant course corrections based on where the Consitor ship seemed to be heading. Only once did we have to double back half a day when apparently something made the boat do a tight U-shape manoeuvre in open water. At the time, I had grumpily vocalised if it was too much to ask for a dozen sea dragons to eat them and be done with this for good, but Polly informed us on the subsequent correction that they were still inbound, which made us keep going.
Harmony, of course, had reminded me over dinner that night that if the sea dragons had managed to devour the ship (and not perished under their hideous nine-gun barrage), our entire journey from the gateway would be for nothing, and that would’ve made me even crankier.
She was right. I would’ve raged for days if we went through all of this only for a dragon or ten to beat me to our target, though if I was speaking honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time in our careers as adventurers.
By the morning of day five, we were in position on a coastal precipice overlooking what would have been a pretty bay in summer, but right now, it reminded me of a partially frozen drink I’d once had in the far northern provinces. The deep blue in the middle was a nice touch.
As soon as we arrived, we reached out to Polly and discovered that due to the shallows and the Consitors’ unfamiliarity with the underwater terrain, we were more than a full day ahead of them.
This close to the shore, Polly strongly recommended against setting up Thalien’s dome for warmth. She had explained that even though the Consitors didn’t have access to her scrying (she called it a work-net or something, but I was sticking to the term I understood best), they still had powerful spyglasses that could see far beyond what our captain’s spyglasses could see; by a ridiculous multiplier.
For the same reason, we couldn’t make a fire either, so last night, we ate whatever dry foods I had that were ready to eat (smothering dates in honey was one of the ways I made it barely tolerable) while huddling inside a canopy that Tarq and Milo had spent the day pulling together for us. A wind break at best, and one that didn’t fit our horses.
Hence, my really, really delightful mood this morning.
By the time dawn broke, despite the extra blankets and comforters, I was ready to kill everything that breathed my air. My muscles had seized up countless times through the night, and my bones constantly ached, all of which reminded me that I hadn’t died … yet.
“Emeron, you know I love you to bits,” Milo hedged after I tied my hood to the point I couldn’t see anything through the fur. He hooked both pointer fingers into the fur and worked the gap until it opened wide enough that I could see … some of his face. “But I swear if you don’t stop belly-aching about the cold, I will wring your neck and take my chances with your son’s wrath.”
Tarq snorted long and slow, making him look like an irked bull. I read a lot into that snort. It was his way of silently saying that while he didn’t necessarily agree with Milo’s threat and certainly wouldn’t permit it to reach fruition, he too was fed up with my vocal displeasure.
Frustrated at all of them, I dusted the snow from my jacket and stomped over to the horses, and together we stamped our feet and bumped our gums in noisy commiseration of ourselves.
“I’ve just figured you out, Uncle Em,” Harmony said a short time later. I shot her a dirty look that she probably didn’t see through the tiny gap after I’d retightened my hood string. Either way, she kept going. “I always thought you cooked because you loved to cook.”
“I do.”
“But you also love the warmth that the fire gives off more. You get to spend hours staying toasty warm. Even in the desert, it still gets cold at night.”
I hunched my shoulders and rubbed my fur-covered hands. “I’m beginning to think I’ll never get warm again.”
“You can thaw out once we go underground, Uncle Em.”
When we faced off with Augustin Morales and the rest of his Consitor insurgents. That had my blood heating for an entirely different reason.
My friends took turns coming over to keep me company, probably to make sure I hadn’t turned into an ice block when they weren’t looking. They did their best to keep me distracted, reminding me of some of the ridiculous close calls we’d found ourselves in that thankfully NEVER made it into Lanna’s songs.
Like the time we went after a black dragon that had supposedly been terrorising a community in the swamps of the mid-east. We found it. It was on its side with its back to us, and while Thalien neutralised its magic, we had positioned ourselves to attack from all sides. Tarq and Milo had gone frontal, and I was up on a ridge behind its back with my sword pointing downwards. The girls were ready to keep it distracted.
It was a perfect plan, with one minor exception: the damn thing had died of old age at least two weeks earlier. And when we ruptured its bloated body, it exploded like a volcano, covering us in rotting guts and an avalanche of rats that were not happy we’d disturbed their feast.
We laughed later. A lot later. Fifty million baths and just as many drinks later.
There were a lot of stories like that, many of which I’d deliberately chosen not to remember.
Four long hours later, Thalien rushed over to me, followed by everyone else. “Polly says they’re in range!”
“FINALLY!” I groused, making my way to the lookout that gave us a clear view of the bay below.
Sure enough, about half a mile past the mouth of the bay, the ship that had been about two feet long in Polly’s rendition was terrifyingly bigger in real life. Tarq handed me a spyglass, and by magnifying things, I could see what Polly was talking about in terms of age. The thing was massive and made of metal, but how it had made it across an ocean had me scratching my head. There weren’t holes per se in the hull, but the metal (something we didn’t use on ships) had rust lines over six feet wide and several yards long. Iron that badly rusted meant the pressure of a finger in the central mass would have it caving in. I could only assume some level of magic was holding it together.
As far as I was concerned, they were close enough.
I handed Tarq back the spyglass, raised my hand as high as it would reach, and then dropped it forward to point at the ship I wanted destroyed, just as Polly had instructed.
And a grand total of nothing happened.
I waited, glancing back now and then at the mountain behind me, thinking that perhaps Polly and I had misunderstood each other, and she thought my gesture was to unveil that spinning turtle shell weapon.
“Something was supposed to happen, right?” Shay-Lee asked, moving up on my right.
“Supposedly,” I said, fighting the fear and rage that had my heart climbing into my throat as the ship cruised through the mouth of the bay. We were too far away, and it was too big. I could now see the people on the top deck scurrying like ants. I’d sent the elven troops north in preparation of digging out Morales, assuming whatever Polly had planned here would work.
That assumption would get all those soldiers killed, as these Consitors would move up from the south and catch them in a pincer movement with their guns. If we were down on the ground, we might be able to take them out in a similar manoeuvre to what they’d done to my great-grandfather’s travelcade, but up here, we were woefully out of position.
I whirled on Thalien, but he was already gesturing to reach Polly in a scry. I knew the gestures. I’d seen them often enough. Not enough that I’d be willing to try them myself, but enough to recognise them when he did it. And it was just as clear he wasn’t getting through.
“Could Polly be compromised?” Harmony asked.
Lanna, Tarq and I all shook our heads. “No chance,” I decreed, not knowing how I knew that but knowing it was true nonetheless.
“I don’t understand what could be blocking a scry,” Milo frowned.
I didn’t, either. What was the point of making it to this exact spot if all I could do was stand there and watch the Consitors land?
It gutted me to see the ship clear the mouth and release the massive anchor attached to the ship’s nose, having it splash into the water. The whirring of the equally impressive-sized chain as it raced through the hole behind where the anchor had been was just as crushing.
“Damn you, Polly,” I whispered, earning similar sentiments from my friends. After everything we’ve been through…
“Emeron, I’ve got her,” Thalien said, but quite frankly, it was too little, too late.
Which was why my response was distinctly un-emperor-ish. “What the fuck, Polly?!” I snarled, not roaring at the top of my lungs just in case, like their super spyglasses, they had some means to hear me from where they were anchored.
“With all due respect, sir, there is no need to be so vulgar.”
I gestured towards the bay behind the empty room in the scry … the bay in front of me, knowing Acropolis wouldn’t see what I was looking at. At least, not through this particular scry. “Are you kidding me?!” I growled, about half a second from losing my absolute mind at the ancient structure at the heart of our people.
“I’m waiting for your order, sir.”
My brain exploded in an instant headache. “I gave that order fifteen minutes ago!” I raged, no longer caring that I was shouting. “You should have already been doing your rod of god thing!”
“Oh, that was you?” she asked, and I swear I heard a condescension in her tone I hadn’t heard in a long time where my old tutors were concerned. “I couldn’t be sure.”
And it suddenly dawned on me what she was pushing for. “You don’t … seriously … expect me to strip from the waist up so that you can see the brand on my shoulder when I make the gesture?!” My tone was so low and lethal even Tarq gave me a cautious side-eye. And he had every reason to be fearful, for I was absolutely going to kill someone over this. I really, really was. How many were still up for debate, but my starting point was triple figures. Or maybe I’d settle for just one cold-hearted bitch from ancient times. “I hate the fucking cold!”
“Sir, you’re running out of time,” Acropolis argued, and leaning to one side, I saw around Thalien’s scry to see that smaller boats were indeed being lowered into the water.
I guess I was about to find out if blind fury was a good substitute for warm clothing. And if I died, I vowed to make it my mission to haunt Polly until the end of fucking time!
“Everybody, please step away from the Shadow President,” Polly said. “At least ten paces.”
I had no idea why, nor did I care. It was taking everything I had to force myself through the unwilling step of disrobing in this god-forsaken climate! My fingers shook as I picked at the ties until I had the ones that held my hood in place undone. Then I loosened the ties that held the fur jacket against my shirt and grabbed a fistful of fur and fabric at the base of my neck. From there, I took several deep, steadying breaths, silently counting on each exhale until I reached the magical ‘three’. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I hauled it all forward, making sure my shirt and the slatted eyewear came with it.
The cold slammed into my torso on all sides, and as much as I wanted to press the fur against my chest, I wasn’t willing to risk needing to do this a second time. If Polly required to see this damned brand, she would see ALL of it once and once only! I tossed the jacket to the ground and fisted my hands, willing the breath frozen in my lungs to move, if only to stop my teeth from chattering.
“Be Emperor Ronan, once last time, sir!” Polly shouted. “And lose the gloves!”
I was too far into hypothermia to ask why the gloves had to come off. I was already dying, so what difference would it make if my fingers snap-froze too? I gritted my teeth to keep them still and snatched the gloves off, letting them fall to the pile at my feet.
Be Emperor Ronan…be Emperor Ronan… I mentally chanted, knowing exactly what she wanted me to do—what I had to do, even though that and what I wanted to do were at opposite ends of the spectrum.
I straightened, digging into reserves I hadn’t needed in a long time. My shoulders went up and back, and my chin lifted into the stance that had been minted on coins. I glared at the invaders with everything I had left in me, and then my hand went over my head, my fingers straight like I was about to give the order to advance. I stayed like that for a second or two longer than I should have until I vaguely remembered there was a second part to this move.
Ahhh….y-y-y-yes….
I locked my elbow in place and rolled my shoulder to drop my hand forward. This time, my fingers pointed hatefully at the invaders, wishing I had the means to shoot them all dead instead of merely pointing at them.
High above, a glow appeared behind the clouds, growing brighter and brighter until fire burst through the bottom layer, hurtling towards the ship. I couldn’t lift my eyes, for they were too cold to look up. They merely glared at the invaders, burning with the depths of my hatred.
People screamed. I heard them scream from where I stood, probably because they knew what was happening better than I did. In the following seconds, the long fire streak pierced through the clouds and slammed into the vessel's centre, bending it in half with an explosion that rivalled any volcano eruption. As the air and water coiled, I saw the ship was already gone, driven beneath the waves and into the ocean floor by the force of the impact.
My hand fell to my side, and I was too cold to do anything but stare at the rolling cloud that was fast approaching me. I couldn’t change my focus or expression as much as I wanted to. I wanted to watch my imminent death coming at me, but my gaze was locked on the strike point and the subsequent white explosions surging from beneath the waves. Those weren’t light weapons being triggered. They were more … boom-ish.
The water over the wreck reached higher and higher with each new explosion, but the rolling wave of air coming at me was levelling everything in its path. Trees were flattened. Sand was collected. I’d been caught in sandstorms before, and I knew this would be so much worse than that. I almost laughed at myself when I realised I wouldn’t be cold for much longer since the dead didn’t feel the cold.
It broke the edge of the precipice before me, but something happened to the air before my eyes as it reached me. I watched as tiny, almost invisible pinhead-sized dust particles interlocked across my skin, holding me in place and somehow warming me simultaneously. My sigh of sheer delight as the rolling wave slammed into me and passed by without moving so much as a hair on my arm had me relaxing where I stood, even going as far as to smile.
Then, I lowered my head marginally and turned slightly to look at my friends over my shoulder.
“It is done,” I declared in vindication, not knowing how … not caring how Polly had pulled off the protective suit I never wanted to lose. I’d thought the elven fur was warm, but these near-invisible dots were heated somehow, and I always wanted to keep it with me. If I could, I’d never be cold again!
My friends had all been flattened and driven over thirty yards away, but we’d been doing these things like this a long time, and they were already scrambling to their feet; their expressions unified in their shock at what had happened. At me!
Then, of course, my protective shield disappeared as fast as it came, and the cold that crushed against me was strangely mitigated by what felt like fire licking from my left shoulder into my head. The combination of the two left me unable to cope, and I fell to my knees and then to my side in a bone-jarring shudder that I couldn’t control.
“EMERON!” they shouted, racing towards me as my vision warped and went black.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
For more of my work including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF WE PLAN, GODS LAUGH TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART FIFTY-FIVE
[Previous Part] [Beginning]
I FUCKING HATE THE FUCKING COLD!!!
After five days of travelling in this manner, a tiny part of my brain was almost willing to throw up its hands and say, ‘Fuck it – let ’em have the stupid copper mines,’ but I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. It didn’t matter if I never thawed out again. The Consitors weren’t getting their grubby little mitts on the empire. They messed up their own land, and they weren’t coming here to mess up ours.
No. Fuck, no. Hell to the fuck no. But fuuuuuuuck, I hate the cold!
It didn’t get much warmer when we reached the coast, either. Sheets of ice clung to every ridge, and the snow might’ve only gone halfway up the shins of our horses as opposed to the knee, but overall, it wasn’t much of a concession.
At least our horses had figured out that by the end of the day, they’d be inside our dome with us. And on top of the warm space, we had plenty of food for them, courtesy of the imperial palace, which meant they were probably eating better than they ever had.
The first two days had been a matter of following Milo’s lead toward the coast. After that, I dropped back, and Thalien took my place beside Milo as Polly reached out with constant course corrections based on where the Consitor ship seemed to be heading. Only once did we have to double back half a day when apparently something made the boat do a tight U-shape manoeuvre in open water. At the time, I had grumpily vocalised if it was too much to ask for a dozen sea dragons to eat them and be done with this for good, but Polly informed us on the subsequent correction that they were still inbound, which made us keep going.
Harmony, of course, had reminded me over dinner that night that if the sea dragons had managed to devour the ship (and not perished under their hideous nine-gun barrage), our entire journey from the gateway would be for nothing, and that would’ve made me even crankier.
She was right. I would’ve raged for days if we went through all of this only for a dragon or ten to beat me to our target, though if I was speaking honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time in our careers as adventurers.
By the morning of day five, we were in position on a coastal precipice overlooking what would have been a pretty bay in summer, but right now, it reminded me of a partially frozen drink I’d once had in the far northern provinces. The deep blue in the middle was a nice touch.
As soon as we arrived, we reached out to Polly and discovered that due to the shallows and the Consitors’ unfamiliarity with the underwater terrain, we were more than a full day ahead of them.
This close to the shore, Polly strongly recommended against setting up Thalien’s dome for warmth. She had explained that even though the Consitors didn’t have access to her scrying (she called it a work-net or something, but I was sticking to the term I understood best), they still had powerful spyglasses that could see far beyond what our captain’s spyglasses could see; by a ridiculous multiplier.
For the same reason, we couldn’t make a fire either, so last night, we ate whatever dry foods I had that were ready to eat (smothering dates in honey was one of the ways I made it barely tolerable) while huddling inside a canopy that Tarq and Milo had spent the day pulling together for us. A wind break at best, and one that didn’t fit our horses.
Hence, my really, really delightful mood this morning.
By the time dawn broke, despite the extra blankets and comforters, I was ready to kill everything that breathed my air. My muscles had seized up countless times through the night, and my bones constantly ached, all of which reminded me that I hadn’t died … yet.
“Emeron, you know I love you to bits,” Milo hedged after I tied my hood to the point I couldn’t see anything through the fur. He hooked both pointer fingers into the fur and worked the gap until it opened wide enough that I could see … some of his face. “But I swear if you don’t stop belly-aching about the cold, I will wring your neck and take my chances with your son’s wrath.”
Tarq snorted long and slow, making him look like an irked bull. I read a lot into that snort. It was his way of silently saying that while he didn’t necessarily agree with Milo’s threat and certainly wouldn’t permit it to reach fruition, he too was fed up with my vocal displeasure.
Frustrated at all of them, I dusted the snow from my jacket and stomped over to the horses, and together we stamped our feet and bumped our gums in noisy commiseration of ourselves.
“I’ve just figured you out, Uncle Em,” Harmony said a short time later. I shot her a dirty look that she probably didn’t see through the tiny gap after I’d retightened my hood string. Either way, she kept going. “I always thought you cooked because you loved to cook.”
“I do.”
“But you also love the warmth that the fire gives off more. You get to spend hours staying toasty warm. Even in the desert, it still gets cold at night.”
I hunched my shoulders and rubbed my fur-covered hands. “I’m beginning to think I’ll never get warm again.”
“You can thaw out once we go underground, Uncle Em.”
When we faced off with Augustin Morales and the rest of his Consitor insurgents. That had my blood heating for an entirely different reason.
My friends took turns coming over to keep me company, probably to make sure I hadn’t turned into an ice block when they weren’t looking. They did their best to keep me distracted, reminding me of some of the ridiculous close calls we’d found ourselves in that thankfully NEVER made it into Lanna’s songs.
Like the time we went after a black dragon that had supposedly been terrorising a community in the swamps of the mid-east. We found it. It was on its side with its back to us, and while Thalien neutralised its magic, we had positioned ourselves to attack from all sides. Tarq and Milo had gone frontal, and I was up on a ridge behind its back with my sword pointing downwards. The girls were ready to keep it distracted.
It was a perfect plan, with one minor exception: the damn thing had died of old age at least two weeks earlier. And when we ruptured its bloated body, it exploded like a volcano, covering us in rotting guts and an avalanche of rats that were not happy we’d disturbed their feast.
We laughed later. A lot later. Fifty million baths and just as many drinks later.
There were a lot of stories like that, many of which I’d deliberately chosen not to remember.
Four long hours later, Thalien rushed over to me, followed by everyone else. “Polly says they’re in range!”
“FINALLY!” I groused, making my way to the lookout that gave us a clear view of the bay below.
Sure enough, about half a mile past the mouth of the bay, the ship that had been about two feet long in Polly’s rendition was terrifyingly bigger in real life. Tarq handed me a spyglass, and by magnifying things, I could see what Polly was talking about in terms of age. The thing was massive and made of metal, but how it had made it across an ocean had me scratching my head. There weren’t holes per se in the hull, but the metal (something we didn’t use on ships) had rust lines over six feet wide and several yards long. Iron that badly rusted meant the pressure of a finger in the central mass would have it caving in. I could only assume some level of magic was holding it together.
As far as I was concerned, they were close enough.
I handed Tarq back the spyglass, raised my hand as high as it would reach, and then dropped it forward to point at the ship I wanted destroyed, just as Polly had instructed.
And a grand total of nothing happened.
I waited, glancing back now and then at the mountain behind me, thinking that perhaps Polly and I had misunderstood each other, and she thought my gesture was to unveil that spinning turtle shell weapon.
“Something was supposed to happen, right?” Shay-Lee asked, moving up on my right.
“Supposedly,” I said, fighting the fear and rage that had my heart climbing into my throat as the ship cruised through the mouth of the bay. We were too far away, and it was too big. I could now see the people on the top deck scurrying like ants. I’d sent the elven troops north in preparation of digging out Morales, assuming whatever Polly had planned here would work.
That assumption would get all those soldiers killed, as these Consitors would move up from the south and catch them in a pincer movement with their guns. If we were down on the ground, we might be able to take them out in a similar manoeuvre to what they’d done to my great-grandfather’s travelcade, but up here, we were woefully out of position.
I whirled on Thalien, but he was already gesturing to reach Polly in a scry. I knew the gestures. I’d seen them often enough. Not enough that I’d be willing to try them myself, but enough to recognise them when he did it. And it was just as clear he wasn’t getting through.
“Could Polly be compromised?” Harmony asked.
Lanna, Tarq and I all shook our heads. “No chance,” I decreed, not knowing how I knew that but knowing it was true nonetheless.
“I don’t understand what could be blocking a scry,” Milo frowned.
I didn’t, either. What was the point of making it to this exact spot if all I could do was stand there and watch the Consitors land?
It gutted me to see the ship clear the mouth and release the massive anchor attached to the ship’s nose, having it splash into the water. The whirring of the equally impressive-sized chain as it raced through the hole behind where the anchor had been was just as crushing.
“Damn you, Polly,” I whispered, earning similar sentiments from my friends. After everything we’ve been through…
“Emeron, I’ve got her,” Thalien said, but quite frankly, it was too little, too late.
Which was why my response was distinctly un-emperor-ish. “What the fuck, Polly?!” I snarled, not roaring at the top of my lungs just in case, like their super spyglasses, they had some means to hear me from where they were anchored.
“With all due respect, sir, there is no need to be so vulgar.”
I gestured towards the bay behind the empty room in the scry … the bay in front of me, knowing Acropolis wouldn’t see what I was looking at. At least, not through this particular scry. “Are you kidding me?!” I growled, about half a second from losing my absolute mind at the ancient structure at the heart of our people.
“I’m waiting for your order, sir.”
My brain exploded in an instant headache. “I gave that order fifteen minutes ago!” I raged, no longer caring that I was shouting. “You should have already been doing your rod of god thing!”
“Oh, that was you?” she asked, and I swear I heard a condescension in her tone I hadn’t heard in a long time where my old tutors were concerned. “I couldn’t be sure.”
And it suddenly dawned on me what she was pushing for. “You don’t … seriously … expect me to strip from the waist up so that you can see the brand on my shoulder when I make the gesture?!” My tone was so low and lethal even Tarq gave me a cautious side-eye. And he had every reason to be fearful, for I was absolutely going to kill someone over this. I really, really was. How many were still up for debate, but my starting point was triple figures. Or maybe I’d settle for just one cold-hearted bitch from ancient times. “I hate the fucking cold!”
“Sir, you’re running out of time,” Acropolis argued, and leaning to one side, I saw around Thalien’s scry to see that smaller boats were indeed being lowered into the water.
I guess I was about to find out if blind fury was a good substitute for warm clothing. And if I died, I vowed to make it my mission to haunt Polly until the end of fucking time!
“Everybody, please step away from the Shadow President,” Polly said. “At least ten paces.”
I had no idea why, nor did I care. It was taking everything I had to force myself through the unwilling step of disrobing in this god-forsaken climate! My fingers shook as I picked at the ties until I had the ones that held my hood in place undone. Then I loosened the ties that held the fur jacket against my shirt and grabbed a fistful of fur and fabric at the base of my neck. From there, I took several deep, steadying breaths, silently counting on each exhale until I reached the magical ‘three’. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I hauled it all forward, making sure my shirt and the slatted eyewear came with it.
The cold slammed into my torso on all sides, and as much as I wanted to press the fur against my chest, I wasn’t willing to risk needing to do this a second time. If Polly required to see this damned brand, she would see ALL of it once and once only! I tossed the jacket to the ground and fisted my hands, willing the breath frozen in my lungs to move, if only to stop my teeth from chattering.
“Be Emperor Ronan, once last time, sir!” Polly shouted. “And lose the gloves!”
I was too far into hypothermia to ask why the gloves had to come off. I was already dying, so what difference would it make if my fingers snap-froze too? I gritted my teeth to keep them still and snatched the gloves off, letting them fall to the pile at my feet.
Be Emperor Ronan…be Emperor Ronan… I mentally chanted, knowing exactly what she wanted me to do—what I had to do, even though that and what I wanted to do were at opposite ends of the spectrum.
I straightened, digging into reserves I hadn’t needed in a long time. My shoulders went up and back, and my chin lifted into the stance that had been minted on coins. I glared at the invaders with everything I had left in me, and then my hand went over my head, my fingers straight like I was about to give the order to advance. I stayed like that for a second or two longer than I should have until I vaguely remembered there was a second part to this move.
Ahhh….y-y-y-yes….
I locked my elbow in place and rolled my shoulder to drop my hand forward. This time, my fingers pointed hatefully at the invaders, wishing I had the means to shoot them all dead instead of merely pointing at them.
High above, a glow appeared behind the clouds, growing brighter and brighter until fire burst through the bottom layer, hurtling towards the ship. I couldn’t lift my eyes, for they were too cold to look up. They merely glared at the invaders, burning with the depths of my hatred.
People screamed. I heard them scream from where I stood, probably because they knew what was happening better than I did. In the following seconds, the long fire streak pierced through the clouds and slammed into the vessel's centre, bending it in half with an explosion that rivalled any volcano eruption. As the air and water coiled, I saw the ship was already gone, driven beneath the waves and into the ocean floor by the force of the impact.
My hand fell to my side, and I was too cold to do anything but stare at the rolling cloud that was fast approaching me. I couldn’t change my focus or expression as much as I wanted to. I wanted to watch my imminent death coming at me, but my gaze was locked on the strike point and the subsequent white explosions surging from beneath the waves. Those weren’t light weapons being triggered. They were more … boom-ish.
The water over the wreck reached higher and higher with each new explosion, but the rolling wave of air coming at me was levelling everything in its path. Trees were flattened. Sand was collected. I’d been caught in sandstorms before, and I knew this would be so much worse than that. I almost laughed at myself when I realised I wouldn’t be cold for much longer since the dead didn’t feel the cold.
It broke the edge of the precipice before me, but something happened to the air before my eyes as it reached me. I watched as tiny, almost invisible pinhead-sized dust particles interlocked across my skin, holding me in place and somehow warming me simultaneously. My sigh of sheer delight as the rolling wave slammed into me and passed by without moving so much as a hair on my arm had me relaxing where I stood, even going as far as to smile.
Then, I lowered my head marginally and turned slightly to look at my friends over my shoulder.
“It is done,” I declared in vindication, not knowing how … not caring how Polly had pulled off the protective suit I never wanted to lose. I’d thought the elven fur was warm, but these near-invisible dots were heated somehow, and I always wanted to keep it with me. If I could, I’d never be cold again!
My friends had all been flattened and driven over thirty yards away, but we’d been doing these things like this a long time, and they were already scrambling to their feet; their expressions unified in their shock at what had happened. At me!
Then, of course, my protective shield disappeared as fast as it came, and the cold that crushed against me was strangely mitigated by what felt like fire licking from my left shoulder into my head. The combination of the two left me unable to cope, and I fell to my knees and then to my side in a bone-jarring shudder that I couldn’t control.
“EMERON!” they shouted, racing towards me as my vision warped and went black.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
For more of my work including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF WE PLAN, GODS LAUGH TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

I honestly can't tell, and I'm sure this is hotly debated on here a lot. I'm about 2/3 through Pt 2.
On one hand, obviously, Joel killed Abby's father in order to save his "daughter" from being killed. But, Abby then set out on her huge quest to find Joel, and eventually killed him after he and Tommy risked it all to save her life - for revenge. Purely in cold blood. Joel didn't even know who he was killing, he didn't need to know - he was doing it for someone else he loved. And it could be argued that Abby was doing that too, avenging her father, but she also dragged all her friends into it and went way out of her way just to kill Joel and move on.
Now for Ellie, obviously she has killed several odd Abby's friends (Nora, Owen, Mel, and Alice (rip Alice)), but that's all for revenge too - for someone that was deliberately taken from her, rather than Abby's loss of a father due to collateral/negligence. It makes sense that Ellie would want to kill Abby. It also makes sense that Abby would want to kill Joel. But for some reason I can't help but feel like I should side with Ellie.
I can't side with someone who took Joel away. He just wanted to be a good dad again. In this new world, that meant killing lots and lots of people to do it, to get away with Ellie and keep her safe. In my opinion, Abby is the antagonist of the story. I know it's kind of a deuteragonist situation between Abby and Ellie, but Abby just seems like the bad guy most of the time.
Plus, she shot Jesse, and Jesse was cool.
So yeah, let me hear what you guys think! Please note I'm not trying to argue my side, just stating my opinion. I'd like to hear where you guys stand and how you felt about Abby vs. Ellie.
I also haven't finished the game yet, so no spoilers please!

BOYFRIEND CV

Location: London, UK/originally Lithuanian
Height: 6'5/195cm
Pictures of me: This is what I look like!

Personal Statement

Lithuanian born and raised, definitely on the introverted side but I still love chatting to people and going out and exploring new places! People have said that I am a very good listener, and I would like to think that I am very empathetic, I always try to support the people I care about and I love learning about people and what makes people them! I guess I am here to possibly find my soulmate, my significant other, the love of my life.

Key Skills

• Good with IT - Studied IT in university as well so you wouldn't need to call an IT technician.
• Tall - Don't need the use of a chair to get stuff from up high, most of the time...
• Tidy - I'd like to think that I have some sort of OCD as I can't have a messy bedroom. I always try to be clean.

Work Experience

So I actually don't have a lot of experience when it comes to relationships. I've been in only one relationship and it only lasted 2 months.

Interests

• Gaming
• Music - I love a lot of different genres but I maily listen to Electronic and Rap
• Sports - more specifically basketball and F1
• Gym
• Bit of a nerd - love IT, enjoy playing games that make my brain think and recently got into the NYT crosswords.

Conclusion

If this CV has peaked your interest or you have any questions please do not hesitate to email me at: CHAT. I will try to reply as quick as possible!
Now all jokes aside, I don't really know what else to add to this post but if I actually did peak your interest, feel free to message me! I just want to say that if you were going to message me, please write something about yourself, your interests and such as I won't respond if the first message is only a Hi, how are you? or something similar. So yeah, I guess that is it from me and I hope to talk to some of you soon!

BOYFRIEND CV

Location: London, UK/originally Lithuanian
Height: 6'5/195cm
Pictures of me: This is what I look like!

Personal Statement

Lithuanian born and raised, definitely on the introverted side but I still love chatting to people and going out and exploring new places! People have said that I am a very good listener, and I would like to think that I am very empathetic, I always try to support the people I care about and I love learning about people and what makes people them! I guess I am here to possibly find my soulmate, my significant other, the love of my life.

Key Skills

• Good with IT - Studied IT in university as well so you wouldn't need to call an IT technician.
• Tall - Don't need the use of a chair to get stuff from up high, most of the time...
• Tidy - I'd like to think that I have some sort of OCD as I can't have a messy bedroom. I always try to be clean.

Work Experience

So I actually don't have a lot of experience when it comes to relationships. I've been in only one relationship and it only lasted 2 months.

Interests

• Gaming
• Music - I love a lot of different genres but I maily listen to Electronic and Rap
• Sports - more specifically basketball and F1
• Gym
• Bit of a nerd - love IT, enjoy playing games that make my brain think and recently got into the NYT crosswords.

Conclusion

If this CV has peaked your interest or you have any questions please do not hesitate to email me at: CHAT. I will try to reply as quick as possible!
Now all jokes aside, I don't really know what else to add to this post but if I actually did peak your interest, feel free to message me! I just want to say that if you were going to message me, please write something about yourself, your interests and such as I won't respond if the first message is only a Hi, how are you? or something similar. So yeah, I guess that is it from me and I hope to talk to some of you soon!

This is by far the worst decision Supercell has ever made. The dev team has lost all sense of sense and I am absolutely appalled.
The X update quite literally takes X mechanic and changes it completely. I don’t know why they changed it the way they did, but they completely flipped the concept around and makes me hate it. I’m not gonna play some stupid game when everything is always changing every two years and I have to relearn how to tie my shoes!!
Additionally, X card added in X update is completely running the Meta with no end in sight unless it is completely reverted. The thought process behind X card had to have been “how can we completely screw up the gameplay and make this experience as terrible as possible?” I just can’t believe it. I’m not gonna play some stupid game I can’t win by using Pekka Double Prince like I have been for the last five years!!
That’s not all though, today they added a new special offer that sells 2 fire spirits for $12, which is $1 more than it usually is!! I’m gonna completely lose it, this is just criminal!! I’m not gonna play some stupid game when I’m getting scammed for something I wouldn’t even buy otherwise!!
And don’t even get me STARTED on the new X Clan Feature, I hate having to do new things with my friends it just sucks. I’m not gonna play some stupid game when I have to play with my friends.
The X Update is the final nail in the coffin for Clash Royale. This is by far the worst thing that has ever happened to the game. I don't even know why supercell thought this was a good idea. For some reason they all love him and it seems like I'm the only one who hates him. I absolutely loathe the sight of him, much more the mention of his name, and coincidentally they placed him at a desk in perfect view from mine.
I stare at the back of his head from across the office, sweat beading on my forehead from holding my breath for so long. I squeeze my fists with rage and can barely hold it all in. It's been weeks since he began the training process and now he's been working here full-time for the past few days. Unbelievable. All my coworkers and bosses are head over heels in love with him. They used to all talk to me. I used to be the one they wanted to hang out with after work, the one they wanted to spend their lunch break with, the one they name their infant children after. Now, it's all about X Update. What do they even see in him? Everything terrible about him is clearly written all over that smug looking face of his. He isn't a victory for player progress, he doesn't improve QOL, he doesn't shake up the gameplay in a positive way; he's a cowardly snake who rose to the top of the corporate ladder using nothing other than cheap lies.
My coworkers surround his desk now all having a huge group conversation. Look at them all, a bunch of useless piles of trash taking up space in this cruel world we share. X Update turns to many of them, trying to make sure he talks to everyone. For a split second, he turns to someone, and our eyes lock. Just for a moment. In that moment, I see a flash of something behind his eyes. But it ends as soon as it happens.
Finally, the work day comes to a close. The sun has already begun to go down outside. I pack up my belongings, shut off my computer, and head off. Outside, a crisp breeze blows past me, my surroundings beginning to become darker with every passing minute. I get to a bus stop and sit down, waiting for around 20 minutes, before one finally shows up. The doors open, and before I can get on, the driver turns the bus off and walks out.
"Out of service" she gloomily says as she walks past me.
Beta Minions think, slang we use around the office. Now I have to walk.
It's peaceful out here. The night is just getting started.
But then, I hear it. The loud roaring of a sports car approaching from behind. The closer it gets, however, the more the car slows down, until eventually it comes to a complete stop behind me. I stop and turn around, only to be greeted with a horrifying sight. In the drivers seat of the ford Mustang, sits none other than X Update. He steps out of the car and begins to walk towards me.
"I heard what you said about me," he growls, "Drew told me. How I'm some 'terrible' idiot who doesn't deserve his job. Just who the hell do you think you are?"
I don't know what to say. All this time, I wanted to confront X Update, to tell him everything I think about him. I didn't expect he already knew I hated him, nor that he knew exactly why. I especially wasn't ready for it right now. Damnit, Drew!!
"I-I'm not wrong, you are terrible for-"
"You're sticking to that word," X Update cuts me off, "'terrible', huh? You really think I'm that kinda guy? Haha. If only you knew. That doesn't even begin to describe me. For my entire life, the demons that have haunted my very soul have laid restless awaiting their chance to finally emerge. They have been passengers viewing God's gift of life from inside my body, all for the chance to be unleashed upon anyone who dares to cross me. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, I experience the agonizing pain it takes to seal these monsters, but now, their time has come. You want me to be terrible? Fine, I'll show you terrible."
He walks back to his car, gets in, and drives off into the sunset, which has burnt the sky with a deep red-orange. I'm barely able to process what just happened. I continue on my way home.
I arrive by the time the sky has turned a pitch black save for the light pollution blanketing the sky. As I walk up to the house, however, things immediately seem off. The front door had been left wide open and all the lights are off. I run inside to find the entire place had been completely trashed. Furniture ripped and smashed, holes in the walls, and anything valuable far beyond repair. I shout out to my wife and son, yet hear no response. I stumble into the living room only to find a piece of paper neatly placed on the still intact coffee table. I pick up the paper and discover it is a note which reads: ”If you want them, come get them. No cops. -X"
I reach X Update's skyrise deluxe apartment in the city. Of course a pretentious piece of trash lives in a place like this. I bust down the door, ready to fight for mine and my family's lives, only to see X Update watching TV on the couch, his arm around my wife and my son in his lap. I get no reaction from them. I look at my wife.
"L-Louise?" I manage to stutter.
She turns her head to look at me briefly before turning back. "Oh, hey."
"Come on, let's go-"
"No, we're okay. X Update is being so loving that I think I want a divorce."
What? Wait, what did she just say? 28 years together just for her to suddenly now want a divorce out of nowhere? We've been together since high school! We went to college together, moved to Finland together, and this is how it all ends?
"What are you talking about? We're leaving now-" I try to say.
"Daddy be quiet! X Update is watching Back at the Barnyard with me and you're being loud. You never do. I don't wanna go home anymore."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. Sure, I'm not always there for my child, but we do spend a lot of time together! Why on earth does he hate me now? I stand there for a moment, in complete shock. What is going on?
X Update then turns his head to look on me, a horrifying, disgusting grin on his horrible face. He doesn't look away. He stares into my eyes and I stare back. I'm reminded of that afternoon, we locked eyes then too, just for a moment. But now, neither of us look away. We stare coldly into each others souls. What could Supercell have possibly seen in him that made them want him so bad? Why does everyone suddenly love him so much? How could a company that cared so much about its properties allow X Update to come from no where and completely ruin one of them?
Then it hit me. The reason it seems like Supercell is allowing X Update to get away with everything is because they actually want him to ruin the game. Of course. The property was never meant to last, its based purely on a concept with very little room for variety and little room to add onto and expand. After so long, the people who work with this property have been getting bored by the stale, repetitive systems at play. Of course they have, It's been nearly seven years since the property opened up. But what I've failed to realize is that this can't be something exclusive to the customers, but is experienced by the developers too! Working on the same things year after year has to be exhausting. They feel like they're at a dead end with no where left to go. They so desperately want to work on something else, especially the other properties which by design are significantly more interesting and engaging than this one. But they can't! The past success of this property has set the bar so high that they practically have no other choice but to continue strangling their customers for every last penny against their will! They want nothing more than to quit, but they're stuck. So their solution was to bring on this obviously destructive and unpredictable recruit, shoot him to the top so he could hire others like him, until they inevitably burn the entire thing to the ground.
It's not like they have any other option either. Despite this property receiving such little traffic compared to what it used to, there are still large numbers of people supporting the property. They want it to succeed and genuinely enjoy what it has to offer. If Supercell shut it down right now, they'd be met with outrage so severe that it could possibly reignite its former customer base to rally against Supercell and practically force them to keep the property open! And then, the employees would continue suffering for long after. But if they were to slowly but surely ensure that people begin to exit out of the property faster out of hatred for what the game has become, it limits the remaining days of the property's existence to become smaller and smaller, all the while managing to maximize its profit while they still can by practically convincing people to spend more money. It's genius.
I remember coming across the property for the first time. I was much younger and had no developer experience. I loved what I saw and thought the absolute world of it. I had so many good times with it. I cherish those fond memories and hold them close to my heart. It doesn't matter how much X Update takes away from me on Supercell's behalf. I will always have those memories of the good days. Even if the property gets shut down now, at least I can remember the feelings from those days and smile. It was a good run, but now it's time for me to move on. I still have so much life left to live on this planet, I should be looking at new things, having new experiences, meeting new people! Not holding on to a sinking ship.
I smile at X Update. A genuine, heartfelt smile. He can take my family, my friends, my work; but he'll never take my memories.
"Goodbye," I say.
And the Pass Royale features are absolutely horrible. I hate how they took out the free X reward that requires a lot of playtime to earn and put it in the paid pass. What absurdity. I'm not gonna play some stupid game when the developers are almost begging me to give them their money!!
Dead game, I hate Supercell, I'm never playing this game again. I had fun while it lasted.
Edit: I've been bored at work, I'll probably go back on just to see what's new, maybe play a few matches. But I'm definitely not coming back-full time.

Dragonkin are people that live primarily in the Northern reaches of the continent, high up in the mountain ranges that surround The Boneyard Plain, a vulgar name given by the human to the most sacred place to all Dragonkin, The tomb of the Dragon Emperor. They are a people of honor, order and tradition. They are diplomatic people at heart, often trade and interact with other races, especially the humans. Dragonkin's younglings often go adventuring with human adventurers to prepare for their most important event in their life: The Dragon Lord Ceremony.
A Dragonkin's life cycle begins as an egg. When the love of two Dragonkins bears fruit, the mother lays an egg that she and the father will watch over and feed magic into it until it hatches in a hatchling. The hatching is small, around the size of a human newborn. They have yet to develop the signature scales and need constant attention from their mother. They rely on the sustenance of their parents for around 8 to 10 years until they are ready for their first metamorphosis.
When the hatchling is ready, it form a cocoon around itself and begin the process of metamorphosis. When it is complete, the hatchling is now the size of a 10 years old human child, they now have scale on their arms and legs, their face is more defined and looks more like a typical Dragonkin. They have a hunchback posture and have trouble walking on 2 feets for a while before adapting to it completely. They can fend for themselves and hunt on their own, but will continue living with their parents until the second metamorphosis.
After 40 to 45 years, the hatching is ready for its second metamorphosis. When it is done, the hatchling is now considered a fully grown adult by their kind. They walk upright and their posture is straighten. An adult Dragonkin stand at 2m talls, scales covered most of their body except their abdomen, their muscle structure is enhanced and they gain the ability to control their latent magical power. Now they will bid their parents farewell and depart to build their own family, go on adventures,... and most importantly, training and preparing for their 3rd transformation.
The 3rd metamorphosis doesn't come to all Dragonkin. One can achieve this by "experiencing the world" as the elderkins would say. When a Dragonkin finish their 3rd metamorphosis, their control of magic is further enhanced, they now sport a pair of wings on their back that enable flight without magic and they can assume their dragon form at will, though it does put a hefty mental toll on them. After the 3rd metamorphosis, a Dragonkin has reached the peak of one own transformation, and now one often focus on studying the art of combat for the time of the Dragon Lord Ascension.
The time has come. When the previous Dragon Lord died, or has given up his position and travel to the tomb of the Dragon Emperor to spend their last dying breaths their, All Dragonkin are called to the sacred land to participate in the Trial by combat to select the next Dragon Lord. This event is popular to many races, especially the Human, who would pays top money to get a good sit to watch the fights. All combatants are split into pairs and engaged in combat until death or one of them yield, and a Dragonkin rarely yield. The winner will then proceed to enter the Dragon Emperor Shrine and complete the ceremony to become the next Dragon Lord. When the ceremony is completed, the spirit of the Dragon Emperor blesses the winner with the final metamorphosis.
The final form of this final metamorphosis varies wildly based on who or what was the most influential things to the new Dragon Lord. Some become towering giants because he's slain a lot of large foes, some become almost human, with human looking face and form because the love of his life is a humans, some barely change at all,... Either ways, the new Dragon Lord has been selected. This new Lord will now guide the people of Dragonkin for the rest of his life, protecting them and bring prosperity to his people for years to come.

I just had to share this somewhere because I actually can't believe how much time and effort this saved me and how good the result turned out.
First prompt: (wasn't really expecting much at this point)

Write a shader for godot that blacks out pixels in a checkerboard pattern 

To my surprise it worked first shot (godot and shader writing was somewhat on the obscure side I thought). But I wasn't totally happy with the result because there was a ton of resolution-dependent aliasing, so I asked it to fix the problem:
Second prompt:

How can I avoid aliasing when using this shader? 

It gave me back code that worked first try again, the only thing I had to do manually was tune one of the variables to get the smoothing right.
Here's the resulting shader effect in action: https://bashify.io/img/28e2e9d539fd4983e9139739a3db225b
I'm totally blown away... The future is gonna be crazy.

P365L upgraded; started with p365x model with red dot and suppressor sights
True precision threaded barrel
Herrington Arms 3 port comp
DPMS recoil system
Mcarbo trigger, striker and spring kit
Wilson combat p365 grip and tungsten weights
Manual safety
Stock Sig Romeo zero red dot for now
Stock suppressor sights
Armory craft Wilson combat 10 round pinky extension
Sand and polished internals, grip modified as well
Ultimate Phlster Enigma
Face plate not modified, no drilling, only covered with tesa automotive tape
Reduced belt buckle
Sport belt
Skeleton p365xl holster modified open ended, to let comp through
Custom wedge, Velcro
Tesa tape
Phlster mag pouch
Henry Holsters PHLster Enigma Adapters MK3 and MK5
Ebay/Amazon generic metal belt clip
This requires to modify the holes to fit the barrel nuts, bought pack of 10, saw somone selling a modified one that comes with barrel nuts and screws
This is to eliminate the leg leash when I'm wearing pants with a belt, the metal belt clip goes under belt on the pants only, retention is great with the tesa tape on the clip extra grip
EnigMod Rego Concepts (custom) leg leash with quick disconnect buckle
Works really good, for gym clothes still need the leg leash for retention, the metal belt clip can be used or not
Metal belt clip does a great job at preventing the pants from riding up over the enigma where you might lose the proper optimal grip. With this your grip stays accessible the same at all times, the metal buckle
Tesa automotive harness tape is amazing leaves no residue, and is very durable.
Tesa tape is on the back of the Wilson combat grip, the side that touches my skin or undershirt, grip is not reduced as that is the open palm side

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: $1867

★ Butterfly Knife Bright Water MW, B/O: $1098

★ Butterfly Knife Blue Steel BS, B/O: $907

★ Butterfly Knife Ultraviolet FT, B/O: $789

★ Butterfly Knife Stained FT, B/O: $695

⎯

★ Bayonet Tiger Tooth MW #1, B/O: $888

★ Bayonet Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $727

★ Bayonet Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $608

★ Bayonet Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $521

★ Bayonet Rust Coat BS, B/O: $253

★ Bayonet Night FT, B/O: $251

★ StatTrak™ Bayonet Lore MW, B/O: $751

⎯

★ Karambit Gamma Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $1343

★ Karambit Damascus Steel FT, B/O: $774

★ Karambit Rust Coat BS, B/O: $537

★ Karambit Boreal Forest FT, B/O: $488

⎯

★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1523

★ M9 Bayonet Fade FN, B/O: $1523

★ M9 Bayonet Doppler (Phase 4) FN, B/O: $1008

★ M9 Bayonet Blue Steel FT, B/O: $534

★ M9 Bayonet Rust Coat BS, B/O: $449

⎯

★ Flip Knife Fade FN, B/O: $703

★ Flip Knife Gamma Doppler (Phase 1) MW, B/O: $509

★ Flip Knife Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $406

★ Flip Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $228

★ StatTrak™ Flip Knife Bright Water FN, B/O: $332

⎯

★ Falchion Knife Doppler (Phase 2) FN, B/O: $292

★ Falchion Knife Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $264

★ Falchion Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $258

★ Falchion Knife Bright Water MW, B/O: $133

⎯

★ Stiletto Knife Fade FN, B/O: $822

★ Stiletto Knife Slaughter FN, B/O: $569

★ Stiletto Knife Doppler (Phase 1) FN, B/O: $530

★ Stiletto Knife Crimson Web FT, B/O: $396

★ StatTrak™ Stiletto Knife Scorched FT, B/O: $172

⎯

★ Gut Knife Doppler (Sapphire) MW #1, B/O: $830

★ Gut Knife Fade FN, B/O: $204

★ Gut Knife Tiger Tooth FN, B/O: $138

★ Gut Knife Bright Water MW, B/O: $104

★ Gut Knife Freehand FT, B/O: $92

★ Gut Knife Urban Masked FT, B/O: $82

★ StatTrak™ Gut Knife Rust Coat BS, B/O: $93

⎯

★ Shadow Daggers Fade FN, B/O: $258

★ Shadow Daggers Doppler (Phase 3) FN, B/O: $165

★ Shadow Daggers Blue Steel FT, B/O: $82

★ Shadow Daggers Bright Water FT, B/O: $82

★ Shadow Daggers Blue Steel WW, B/O: $80

★ Shadow Daggers Rust Coat BS, B/O: $74

★ StatTrak™ Shadow Daggers Marble Fade FN, B/O: $186

⎯

★ Classic Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $311

★ StatTrak™ Classic Knife Stained BS, B/O: $163

⎯

★ Talon Knife Slaughter MW, B/O: $605

★ Talon Knife Scorched MW, B/O: $290

⎯

★ Ursus Knife Marble Fade FN, B/O: $405

★ Ursus Knife Night Stripe MW, B/O: $162

⎯

★ Paracord Knife Stained WW, B/O: $125

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

★ Paracord Knife Safari Mesh FT, B/O: $96

⎯

★ Navaja Knife Safari Mesh FT, B/O: $71

★ Navaja Knife Scorched WW, B/O: $71

⎯

★ Nomad Knife Fade FN, B/O: $1015

★ Skeleton Knife, B/O: $909

★ Bowie Knife Boreal Forest MW, B/O: $106

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

GLOVES

★ Driver Gloves Crimson Weave FT, B/O: $335

★ Driver Gloves King Snake BS, B/O: $270

★ Driver Gloves Lunar Weave WW, B/O: $113

★ Driver Gloves Overtake WW, B/O: $88

★ Driver Gloves Overtake BS, B/O: $67

⎯

★ Moto Gloves Transport MW, B/O: $171

★ Moto Gloves Polygon BS, B/O: $137

★ Moto Gloves Transport WW, B/O: $71

★ Moto Gloves 3rd Commando Company BS, B/O: $62

⎯

★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Kimono WW, B/O: $1027

★ Specialist Gloves Tiger Strike FT, B/O: $654

★ Specialist Gloves Mogul FT, B/O: $295

★ Specialist Gloves Lt. Commander FT, B/O: $277

★ Specialist Gloves Crimson Web FT, B/O: $275

⎯

★ Sport Gloves Slingshot FT, B/O: $796

★ Sport Gloves Amphibious BS #2, B/O: $699

★ Sport Gloves Omega FT, B/O: $656

⎯

★ Broken Fang Gloves Unhinged BS, B/O: $60

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

⎯

AWP Fade FN, B/O: $864

AWP BOOM MW, B/O: $84

AWP Containment Breach FT, B/O: $69

AWP Containment Breach FT, B/O: $69

AWP Wildfire FT, B/O: $59

AWP Chromatic Aberration FN, B/O: $59

StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $65

StatTrak™ AWP Hyper Beast FT, B/O: $65

⎯

Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $565

Desert Eagle Blaze FN, B/O: $565

Desert Eagle Printstream FN, B/O: $155

Desert Eagle Cobalt Disruption FN, B/O: $58

⎯

M4A1-S Icarus Fell FN, B/O: $414

M4A1-S Printstream MW, B/O: $204

M4A1-S Printstream MW, B/O: $204

⎯

M4A4 Poseidon FN, B/O: $1402

M4A4 The Emperor FN, B/O: $152

M4A4 Asiimov WW, B/O: $97

⎯

USP-S Kill Confirmed MW, B/O: $65

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

StatTrak™ USP-S Kill Confirmed FT, B/O: $123

StatTrak™ USP-S Neo-Noir FN, B/O: $106

⎯

AUG Flame Jörmungandr FN, B/O: $218

P2000 Ocean Foam FN, B/O: $139

Souvenir SSG 08 Death Strike MW, B/O: $81

CZ75-Auto Emerald Quartz MW, 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. Commander, Crimson Web, Mogul, Forest DDPAT, Buckshot), Sport Gloves (Pandora's Box, Superconductor, Hedge Maze, Vice, Amphibious, Slingshot, Omega, Arid, Big Game, Nocts, Scarlet Shamagh, Bronze Morph), Hydra Gloves (Case Hardened, Emerald, Rattler, Mangrove), Broken Fang Gloves (Jade, Yellow-banded, Unhinged, Needle Point), Pistols - P2000 (Wicked Sick, Ocean Foam, Fire Element, Amber Fade, Corticera, Chainmail, Imperial Dragon, Obsidian, Scorpion, Handgun, Acid Etched), USP-S (Printstream, Kill Confirmed, Whiteout, Road Rash, Owergrowth, The Traitor, Neo-Noir, Dark Water, Orion, Blueprint, Stainless, Caiman, Serum, Monster Mashup, Royal Blue, Ancient Visions, Cortex, Orange Anolis, Ticket To Hell, Black Lotus, Cyrex, Check Engine, Guardian, Purple DDPAT, Torque, Blood Tiger, Flashback, Business Class, Pathfinder, Para Green), Lead Conduit, Glock-18 (Umbral Rabbit, Fade, Candy Apple, Bullet Queen, Synth Leaf, Neo-Noir, Nuclear Garden, Dragon Tatto, Reactor, Pink DDPAT, Twilight Galaxy, Sand Dune, Groundwater, Blue Fissure, Snack Attack, Water Elemental, Brass, Wasteland Rebel, Vogue, Franklin, Royal Legion, Gamma Doppler, Weasel, Steel Disruption, Ironwork, Grinder, High Beam, Moonrise, Oxide Blaze, Bunsen Burner, Clear Polymer, Bunsen Burner, Night), P250 (Re.built, Nuclear Threat, Modern Hunter, Splash, Whiteout, Vino Primo, Mehndi, Asiimov, Visions, Undertow, Cartel, See Ya Later, Gunsmoke, Splash, Digital Architect, Muertos, Red Rock, Bengal Tiger, Crimson Kimono, Wingshot, Metallic DDPAT, Hive, Dark Filigree, Mint Kimono), Five-Seven (Neon Kimono, Berries And Cherries, Fall Hazard, Crimson Blossom, Hyper Beast, Nitro, Fairy Tale, Case Hardened, Copper Galaxy, Angry Mob, Monkey Business, Fowl Play, Anodized Gunmetal, Hot Shot, Retrobution, Boost Protocol), CZ75-Auto (Chalice, Crimson Web, Emerald Quartz, The Fuschia is Now, Nitro, Xiangliu, Yellow Jacket, Victoria, Poison Dart, Syndicate, Eco, Hexane, Pole, Tigris), Tec-9 (Rebel, Terrace, Nuclear Threat, Hades, Rust Leaf, Decimator, Blast From, Orange Murano, Toxic, Fuel Injector, Remote Control, Bamboo Forest, Isaac, Avalanche, Brother, Re-Entry, Blue Titanium, Bamboozle), R8 Revolver (Banana Cannon, Fade, Blaze, Crimson Web, Liama Cannon, Crazy 8, Reboot, Canal Spray, Night, Amber Fade), Desert Eagle (Blaze, Hand Cannon, Fennec Fox, Sunset Storm, Emerald Jörmungandr, Pilot, Hypnotic, Golden Koi, Printstream, Cobalt Disruption, Code Red, Ocean Drive, Midnight Storm, Kumicho Dragon, Crimson Web, Heirloom, Night Heist, Mecha Industries, Night, Conspiracy, Trigger Discipline, Naga, Directive, Light Rail), Dual Berettas (Flora Carnivora, Duelist, Cobra Strike, Black Limba, Emerald, Hemoglobin, Twin Turbo, Marina, Melondrama, Pyre, Retribution, Briar, Dezastre, Royal Consorts, Urban Shock, Dualing Dragons, Panther, Balance), Rifles - Galil (Aqua Terrace, Winter Forest, Chatterbox, Sugar Rush, Pheonix Blacklight, CAUTION!, Orange DDPAT, Cerberus, Dusk Ruins, Eco, Chromatic Aberration, Stone Cold, Tuxedo, Sandstorm, Shattered, Urban Rubble, Rocket Pop, Kami, Crimson Tsunami, Connexion), SCAR-20 (Fragments, Brass, Cyrex, Palm, Splash Jam, Cardiac, Emerald, Crimson Web, Magna Carta, Stone Mosaico, Bloodsport, Enforcer), AWP (Duality, Gungnir, Dragon Lore, Prince, Medusa, Desert Hydra, Fade, Lightning Strike, Oni Taiji, Silk Tiger, Graphite, Chromatic Aberration, Asiimov, Snake Camo, Boom, Containment Breach, Wildfire, Redline, Electric Hive, Hyper Beast, Neo-Noir, Man-o'-war, Pink DDPAT, Corticera, Sun in Leo, Elite Build, Fever Dream, Atheris, Mortis, PAW, Exoskeleton, Worm God, POP AWP, Phobos, Acheron, Pit Viper, Capillary, Safari Mesh), AK-47 (Head Shot, Wild Lotus, Gold Arabesque, X-Ray, Fire Serpent, Hydroponic, Panthera Onca, Case Hardened, Vulcan, Jet Set, Fuel Injector, Bloodsport, Nightwish, First Class, Neon Rider, Asiimov, Red Laminate, Aquamarine Revenge, The Empress, Wasteland Rebel, Jaguar, Black Laminate, Leet Museo, Neon Revolution, Redline, Frontside Misty, Predator, Legion of Anubis, Point Disarray, Orbit Mk01, Blue Laminate, Green Laminate, Emerald Pinstripe, Cartel, Phantom Disruptor, Jungle Spray, Safety Net, Rat Rod, Baroque Purple, Slate, Elite Build, Uncharted, Safari Mesh), FAMAS (Sundown, Prime Conspiracy, Afterimage, Commemoration, Dark Water, Spitfire, Pulse, Eye of Athena, Meltdown, Rapid Eye Move, Roll Cage, Styx, Mecha Industrie, Djinn, ZX Spectron, Valence, Neural Net, Night Borre, Hexne), M4A4 (Temukau, Howl, Poseidon, Asiimov, Daybreak, Hellfire, Zirka, Red DDPAT, Radiation Hazard, Modern Hunter, The Emperor, The Coalition, Bullet Rain, Cyber Security, X-Ray, Dark Blossom, Buzz Kill, In Living Color, Neo-Noir, Desolate Space, 龍王 (Dragon King), Royal Paladin, The Battlestar, Global Offensive, Tooth Fairy, Desert-Strike, Griffin, Evil Daimyo, Spider Lily, Converter), M4A1-S (Emphorosaur-S, Welcome to the Jungle, Imminent Danger, Knight, Hot Rod, Icarus Fell, Blue Phosphor, Printstream, Master Piece, Dark Water, Golden Coil, Bright Water, Player Two, Atomic Alloy, Guardian, Chantico's Fire, Hyper Beast, Mecha Industries, Cyrex, Control Panel, Moss Quartz, Nightmare, Decimator, Leaded Glass, Basilisk, Blood Tiger, Briefing, Night Terror, Nitro, VariCamo, Flashback), SG 553 (Cyberforce, Hazard Pay, Bulldozer, Integrale, Dragon Tech, Ultraviolet, Colony IV, Hypnotic, Cyrex, Candy Apple, Barricade, Pulse), SSG 08 (Death Strike, Sea Calico, Blood in the Water, Orange Filigree, Dragonfire, Big Iron, Bloodshot, Detour, Turbo Peek, Red Stone), AUG (Akihabara Accept, Flame Jörmungandr, Hot Rod, Midnight Lily, Sand Storm, Carved Jade, Wings, Anodized Navy, Death by Puppy, Torque, Bengal Tiger, Chameleon, Fleet Flock, Random Access, Momentum, Syd Mead, Stymphalian, Arctic Wolf, Aristocrat, Navy Murano), G3SG1 (Chronos, Violet Murano, Flux, Demeter, Orange Kimono, The Executioner, Green Apple, Arctic Polar Camo, Contractor), SMGs - P90 (Neoqueen, Astral Jörmungandr, Run and Hide, Emerald Dragon, Cold Blooded, Death by Kitty, Baroque Red, Vent Rush, Blind Spot, Asiimov, Trigon, Sunset Lily, Death Grip, Leather, Nostalgia, Fallout Warning, Tiger Pit, Schermatic, Virus, Shapewood, Glacier Mesh, Shallow Grave, Chopper, Desert Warfare), MAC-10 (Sakkaku, Hot Snakes, Copper Borre, Red Filigree, Gold Brick, Graven, Case Hardened, Stalker, Amber Fade, Neon Rider, Tatter, Curse, Propaganda, Nuclear Garden, Disco Tech, Toybox, Heat, Indigo), UMP-45 (Wild Child, Fade, Blaze, Day Lily, Minotaur's Labyrinth, Crime Scene, Caramel, Bone Pile, Momentum, Primal Saber), MP7 (Teal Blossom, Fade, Nemesis, Whiteout, Asterion, Bloosport, Abyssal Apparition, Full Stop, Special Delivery, Neon Ply, Asterion, Ocean Foam, Powercore, Scorched, Impire), PP-Bizon (Modern Hunter, Rust Coat, Forest Leaves, Antique, High Roller, Blue Streak, Seabird, Judgement of Anubis, Bamboo Print, Embargo, Chemical Green, Coblat Halftone, Fuel Rod, Photic Zone, Irradiated Alert, Carbon Fiber), MP9 (Featherweight, Wild Lily, Pandora's Box, Stained Glass, Bulldozer, Dark Age, Hot Rod, Hypnotic, Hydra, Rose Iron, Music Box, Setting Sun, Food Chain, Airlock, Mount Fuji, Starlight Protector, Ruby Poison Dart, Deadly Poison), MP5-SD (Liquidation, Oxide Oasis, Phosphor, Nitro, Agent, Autumn Twilly), Shotguns, Machineguns - Sawed-Off (Kiss♥Love, First Class, Orange DDPAT, Rust Coat, The Kraken, Devourer, Mosaico, Wasteland Princess, Bamboo Shadow, Copper, Serenity, Limelight, Apocalypto), XM1014 (Frost Borre, Ancient Lore, Red Leather, Elegant Vines, Banana Leaf, Jungle, Urban Perforated, Grassland, Blaze Orange, Heaven Guard, VariCamo Blue, Entombed, XOXO, Seasons, Tranquility, Bone Machine, Incinegator, Teclu Burner, Black Tie, Zombie Offensive, Watchdog), Nova (Baroque Orange, Hyper Beast, Green Apple, Antique, Modern Hunter, Walnut, Forest Leaves, Graphite, Blaze Orange, Rising Skull, Tempest, Bloomstick, Interlock, Quick Sand, Moon in Libra, Clean Polymer, Red Quartz, Toy Soldier), MAG-7 (Insomnia, Cinqueda, Counter Terrace, Prism Terrace, Memento, Chainmail, Hazard, Justice, Bulldozer, Silver, Core Breach, Firestarter, Praetorian, Heat, Hard Water, Monster Call, BI83 Spectrum, SWAG-7), M249 (Humidor, Shipping Forecast, Blizzard Marbleized, Downtown, Jungle DDPAT, Nebula Crusader, Impact Drill, Emerald Poison Dart), Negev (Mjölnir, Anodized Navy, Palm, Power Loader, Bratatat, CaliCamo, Phoenix Stencil, Infrastructure, Boroque Sand), Wear - Factory New (FN), Minimal Wear (MW), Field-Tested (FT), Well-Worn (WW), Battle-Scarred (BS), Stickers Holo/Foil/Gold - Katowice 2014, Krakow 2017, Howling Dawn, Katowice 2015, Crown, London 2018, Cologne 2014, Boston 2018, Atlanta 2017, Cluj-Napoca 2015, DreamHack 2014, King on the Field, Harp of War, Winged Difuser, Cologne 2016, Cologne 2015, MLG Columbus 2016, Katowice 2019, Berlin 2019, RMR 2020, Stockholm 2021, Antwerp 2022, Swag Foil, Flammable foil, Others - Souvenirs, Agents, Pins, Passes, Gifts, Music Kits, Cases, Keys, Capsules, Packages, Patches

Some items on the list may no longer be available or are still locked, visit My Inventory for more details.

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I'm based in Australia and excited to be receiving my new '23 Ford Ranger Sport in the next month or so.
I am getting an ARB Ascent canopy fitted and I'm considering a bedside to make it easier to access things in the tub.
Here in Auastralia Ford supplied the Mountain Top bed slide ( MT Slide • Mountain Top ) but I'm aware that there are many options available. I can;t seem to find a good source or comparison/review sites online.
There seems to be many options available with differing weight capacity, and extension amounts (50% to 75%)
Just looking for any advice or recommendations for those that have installed and used one before please!

Hi everyone, I'm writing a book, and just curious as to any feedback that people may have for my first chapter, I uploaded a previous draft before, a very early draft I might add, and now I'm looking for some good old fashioned feedback.
For more information about my book, check out my youtube channel at Crimson Clover - YouTube
Thanks, also the channel is very rough, it was my first time making videos and thus fairly poorly made, however I am attempting to improve it by making less book relevant content, which will allow me to improve my basic skills.
Chapter One :
Divinity. That is what connected the walls surrounding Dundis castle, not stone or metal, this was not a mere wall but a divine gift from ones above. Divinity sealed the wall, made it whole, the walls sealed together without mark or blemish, something no man could ever replicate. The wall had stood for a century, and would likely last ten more, there was no weakness, no flaw in design. 50 metres tall the wall was unscalable, unbreakable. No man could break the wall, it was the Vaunghe empire’s crowning gift, their wonder of the world. Those that were hired to clean the wall’s dirt and grime were heralded as the truly faithful, and all longed to help the gift of the gods. And yet despite this the Alizian’s watched, standing with armies around the great wall, waiting to breach its crust and destroy the core.
The Vaunghe had watched their foes throw everything they had, hundreds of men attacking the steel doors of the wall to no avail, an attempted archer attack quickly squashed by the wall's height. The Alizian military was strong, a blend of the Alizian warriors and Strolim blacksmiths made for a truly terrifying army. The army was so terrifying that the Vaunghe inside the castle doubted there were any more Vaunghe troops left, this was the end to a long battle between man and man. Even the soldiers left weren’t particularly important, just those lucky enough to guard the king and a few trainees. But the Vaunghe felt their luck running out.
The food supplies had run low, even if the nobles weren’t in the castle there was no chance of resupply. The few men who had eaten in the past few days stood alert, gazing down from the ramparts at the enemy. The soldiers knew they had to either surrender or fight, but the Vaunghe were passionate people, they could never leave behind their identity in favour of life. So the men waited, bows and arrows at the ready, for the next attack. Heavy items such as ingots and chairs lined the rampart, ready to be thrown off at a moments notice.
They had waited in this position for many cycles, and as day turned to night, and night turned to day the Vaunghe were exhausted, finished with whatever feeble attacks these barbarians had planned. They could throw whatever armies and arrows they wanted at the wall but it would remain unphased, forevermore. When the Alizian’s next attacked they would be met with the last strength of the Vaunghe, and it would be a story remembered for milenia by man and the gods.
As the morning sun rose over the wall, the enemy was revealed in all their glory. Even from so high above the Vaunghe could see the glint of silver from the Alizian military. The bright greens of the Alizian armour created a dazzling sensation that they were one with the grass, which blended in so perfectly with their clothes. They stood in their thousands, armed with whatever they could find, and even on the wall the men could see him.
The slaughterer, the murderer, the man, the myth and the legend Osmund stood alone on an overlooking hill. The fiend was well known by the Vaunghe, he was likely the greatest foe that had come from the opposing sides. Vaunghe generals often fled at his coming, or surrendered first, but rumour had it that Osmund gave no mercy. Overseeing his army to destroy everything that was left, the Vaunghe soldiers knew today really was the end. The figure on the hill moved closer to his army and screamed. The battle-cry of the Alizian’s shook fear into each of the Vaunghe atop the rampart, being so loud that it even reached so high.
The hundreds of troops began to move in sync, forming three individual groups of soldiers, with 10 metre spaces between each. Each contingent comprised six hundred men, easily dwarfing the 82 Vaunghe soldiers that were left. But the Vaunghe were not afraid, at least not afraid of a breach anytime soon. These walls were built to withstand any damage, no man could breakthrough one.
Between the troops was movement, indeed there seemed to be movement down all three rows of men in blue. The Strolime empire had finally revealed themselves, with their short stature and mental prowess the Strolime were gifted inventors not expected to appear on the battlefield. And yet here they were, almost one hundred of them hauling forth three large metallic objects. The sun bounced off of these objects into the Vaunghe’s eyes.
None of the men had ever seen objects like these, seemingly composed of pure metals and on wheels. Some thought they were a testament to the gods, some holy objects, others believed it to be some new invention from the Strolime, however none of them could say anything for certain as they were pushed closer and closer to the wall. The Strolomites stopped in their advance, approximately 20 metres away from the wall. The purpose of these objects had yet to dawn on the men, although one of the younger men on the rampart claimed he could see small objects poking through the metal, which was now aimed at a forty-five degree angle towards the wall.
As the Strolimites halted their advance many began to move away into the safety of the Alizian wall, likely afraid of any precautionary Vaunghe archers. One of them, a rather short and plump soldier, stayed with the object, placing a hand on it and turning to the wall. It was a fleeting moment, but for a second it seemed the man was gazing at the Vaunghe soldiers in shame. One last condemnation to the ones that began this war, before it would all come crashing down. But then the moment passed, and the short man moved as the rest did, doing a slight zig zag to avoid arrows.
And now, just as quickly they had come, the Strolomite’s were gone in the ranks of the Alizians, still waiting in their groups for something, and then they came. Three figures, two women and a man, moved between the lines just as the Strolimites before them. These three wore no armour, only the greens of Alizia upon their tunics. They stood beside the objects and began to reach their arms into the underside of it. Before the Vaunghe’s eyes the objects began to turn slightly, aiming even more directly at the wall.
One of the Vaunghe had enough of this display, and raised his bow. There were low winds on this day, and he was a good enough shot to reach at least one of the Alizian soldiers. He aimed his bow, finger on the drawstring, and released. It is likely that this arrow would’ve drawn first blood in this battle, however the arrow never reached its target.
In the split second before the release of the bow, the Vaunghe noticed the smoke billowing out of the bottom of the devices, the flames that shot out, and finally they noticed for not even a fraction of a second the object that shot out of the metallic thing, something white and red that hit the wall in an instant.
The wall shook, and the following barrage of these objects shattered any notion of divinity. Crashing and crumbling the rampart was launched, sending soldiers flying everywhere. The Vaunghe beside the wall were subject to the falling rubble, both the crumbling stone of the walls and the miscellaneous objects they had left upon the wall. All of the objects crushed the few Vaunghe left, save for the few sickly starving soldiers left inside the castle’s inner walls.
Down went the walls, such a harsh strike against the wall that nothing stood in the path of this monster. The roaring splattered through the castle, the screams of the falling wall waking the King himself from his slumber. Such a vast creation had fallen in seconds before the might of the Alizian’s, and now there was nothing left but to watch the battle unfold.
Smoke flooded the inner walls of the castle, casting the few remaining into fits of coughing and blindness. The walls finished their crumbling, and yet the roars didn’t stop. These were not the roars of the wall but the war cries of the soldiers outside, and they began to get louder, echoing through the walls of Dundis and into the ears of the weak nobles and soldiers.
Through the smoke they came, weapons raised and charging the weak. The few that tried to fight were slaughtered, cut down by a sea of green soldiers. Those that were choking, sputtering or raising their hands in defeat were spared, hauled through the hordes and into one of the stables facing the inner wall. They were to be tried and jailed, for no human regardless of their crime should be killed. It is simply not the Alizian way.
Out of the one hundred and fifty two people who were in Dundis, forty two had died in the wall’s destruction, and a further eleven were detained by the Alizian military. There was nothing that the Vaunghe could do, save for locking their doors, shield themselves and hold out for as long as possible. The Vaunghe forces built barricades in their castle, locking away the Alizian combatants for as long as possible. And during all of this Osmund waited. Waiting for his time to end this war, this travesty of battle that had gone on for too long, and that time finally came.
* * * *
Osmund stood alone atop the hill, and watched the madness unfold. The walls crumbled at the face of these weapons with no more effort than a straw house, and the plumes of smoke assaulted his men, although not to the extent of the inner wall. After a few moments of sputtering and choking the men cheered, for this was the moment that they had been waiting for, the end of such a long war now in the Alizian’s favour.
The Vaunghe capital was in shambles, their military long crushed underneath Osmund’s almighty power, and all that was left was the King. Hiding behind his walls as if he didn’t deserve this loss, this final failure in his life. Osmund was willing to spare as many people as he could, it was the Alizian code, but there would be no mercy for the King. This wasn’t one final battle between two great armies, that conflict happened weeks ago, this was the last breaths of a psychotic monarch being silenced amongst the last of his troops.
Osmund gazed longingly at Dundis, the ruined walls and advancing soldiers and doubted. He felt something was off, something was very wrong with all of this. His heart began to thump, as Osmund’s eyes turned every way to understand what was wrong, what abnormality was here. It grew and grew, Osmund began to shake at what was about to happen, nothing was right here Osmund should be somewhere else helping someone, there’s something wrong here something very-
Peace. Osmund’s heart stopped thumping, body stopping its perpetual shaking. He looked again to the marching troops, now almost entirely inside the walls, and looked back to his back, and the reserve Strolomites that now stood. They were cheering, marvelling at the success of the assault, and how the god’s gift had saved so much effort on their part.
Such strange creations composed of metal and flame, Osmund marvelled at the power the gods possessed. These devices were so unique in design Osmund doubted if any army could defeat them. The large red tubes they released could easily destroy an entire village by itself, but with one hundred of them an entire valley could be bathed in flames. Something truly abnormal in this world, something so parallel to the code of battle that no army would ever think of it.
The Vaunghe were once considered to be the greatest fighters, with the tournaments they created bringing forth the greatest warriors from throughout the land. Their dedication and power were unmatched in ferocity and violence, some called the Vaunghe the standing due to their unmatched will to always get back up. Osmund recalled his days in the tournaments, those peaceful days when he was not yet a hero to people, but a simple military man. He was still only Osmu back then, and yet even those of the time knew he would be something special. As Christoff used to say, ‘Ozzie you’re going places, big ones’. Osmund missed Christoff, It had been so long since their last meeting, and all Osmund wanted was to meet again one last time.
Osmund’s assistant came to him, a younger Strolomite by the name of Gizmu. Gizmu was rather muscular for a Strolomite, a strong figure contrasting his associates' plumper bodies, and stature was fairly tall for one of his people at 6’5 ft tall. Hazel hair protruded through a blue helmet, and for the first time Osmund considered what his assistant could look like. Gizmu was one of the many Strolomite’s who refused to show their face until military success, a tradition that Osmund respected. He had no doubt that Gizmu's true face would one day be revealed to him, as the man possessed genuine prowess in the fields of agriculture, something sorely missed in the modern military.
“Osmund, your team is preparing now, they’ll come soon. I advise you to prepare your armour sir, as it won’t be long before you’re sent in.” Osmund sensed mild concern in Gizmu’s voice, but didn’t pursue it.
“Thank you Gizmu, my friend. I’ll begin my preparations, tell the guests to meet me here when they are fully prepared. And do ensure they understand that there is still risk of injury on this mission, ensure each of them wears their armour.” Osmund’s voice was deep and echoed his long life, commanding a sense of authority amongst all Alizian forces.
Osmund left the hill, passing the cheering Strolomite’s and the peasant farmers who supported the army, and entered the rows of tents. They stretched out on either side, one for every four soldiers, until he reached his own tent. Entering Osmund was surprised to discover a fellow commander still asleep in his bed, snoring away peacefully.
Osmund removes his upper clothing, the clean tunic falling to the ground. While removing these clothes Osmund kicks the sleeping man in the leg, which doesn’t actually amount to anything rather than halting his snoring. Osmund kicks the sleeping soldier again, this time in the buttocks, which does a far better job of riling him. The man looks around wide-eyed, before settling onto the sight of the giant Osmund.
“Hey, why'd you kick me? I almost had a bleedin’ heart attack don’t you know not to meddle with a sleepin man?”
“Don’t you know that you were meant to be on the battlefield at the crack of dawn? I don’t know what kind of promotion you’re expecting when you aren’t even going on the battlefield. Do you really want to be Balmun forever?” Osmund spoke coldly, now reaching for his chestplate.
“Well no sir. But the thing is I actually have a very cunning plan, I thought of it all myself.” A smile falls upon the man’s face, whose head bears an uncanny resemblance to a potato.
“And what is that?” Osmund halted his preparations briefly.
“Well if I say I was there but didn't actually go, who’d think I wasn’t? I can just sleep through it all until the battle is won and no one would be the wiser.” Osmund puts a hand onto Balmun’s fleshy shoulder.
“A fine plan, if I wasn’t your commanding officer you buffoon. By the gods I believe some divine creator mistakenly put a turnip in your head instead of a brain because no noble’s son has ever been as frankly idiotic as you have. You’re coming with me to the battlefield, and I suggest you get dressed or you’ll be facing the last of the Vaunghe army with your flopping cock dancing for all to see.” Balmun stood and began to slip some clothes on, as Osmund completed his own set of armour.
Osmund’s armour bore the mark of a noble family, some rich fools who wanted their family crest to be associated with a bloody conflict and a dangerous murderer. Osmund wore it because of the armour’s quality, customfit to encompass Osmund’s 9’5 ft tall body, something no other armour was able to achieve. Osmund’s height was always an oddity, reaching far above the average 8ft heights of most Alizian’s, and making him one of the tallest figures in the lands. It was this height and his skin’s colour that earned him the name of the black death, which he wasn’t particularly fond of due to the mention of his skin. And even then Osmund certainly didn’t feel like a black death, whatever that was meant to be, rather he felt like death itself. Osmund was to be fifty years old by the end of the week, and it showed on his body. The hair that was left on his head was grey, and while still possessing an impressive form Osmund’s body was not in its prime, he was old.
Osmund looked at himself in the full body mirror, grabbing his longsword and leaving the tent, dragging a half dressed Balmun with him. Back through the tents they travelled, back past the now eager Strolomite’s and atop the hill where Osmund’s infiltration team stood. In any other battle Osmund would’ve despised the one that left this group with him, a collection of subpar and mediocre soldiers with all the military future of an Otter in a stew. But then again Osmund’s battle history did feature a lot of important people dying under his watch, so perhaps this was for the better.
The force began with Edmun, a cross between a prostitute and a noble who unfortunately takes more from the noble. An egotistical brat, as well as a greedy goblin of anything that isn’t bolted down, Osmund had borne the unfortunate duty of his company for months, since the initial assault on the capitol. The man could barely hold a weapon, save for slight skill with a flail of all things which he wore by his side. It was a gold plated flail as well, specifically made for beating in the heads of the poor Vaunghe soldiers stupid enough to get close. Blonde hair obscured blue eyes that spoke to his red-light mother, in fact for a noble’s son Edmun had all the appearance of an incestuous dullard. The man had survived by pure luck, and was the only casualty that Osmund wanted his side to suffer.
The Enick twins Humun and Eumun were up next, named after their family crest of the god of alcohol Enick. In contrast to Edmun these were a pair of real soldiers, Osmund had seen the fruits of their labour many times. They were great at the art of flanking, Humon’s greataxe paired alongside Eumun’s spears proved to be an unbeatable combination. The only issue that Osmund had with the pair was their… peculiar relationship. While the two were great fighters, whenever they were together anything else became impossible to comprehend. Osmund had once caught the pair attempting to seduce a goat wearing a knight’s helm, and while they were drunk there is still clear evidence of idiocy amongst them. The pair were identical in appearance, burly figures of 8’5ft, short cut black hair and overgrown beards stretching down their faces, however the distinguishing feature between the two was Eumon’s cleft lip, which gave his speech a lisp.
Josmu was far more a scholar than a soldier, although Osmund enjoyed his presence greatly. Since they first met the pair had hit it off, often discussing each other’s lives in Alizian taverns across the kingdom. A gifted archer, Josmu was the son of two aspiring poets and enlisted into the military voluntarily to assist in the war efforts. Osmund had a great deal of respect for the man, and hoped that the two would one day have a drink together, and ruminate on the past once more.
And then there was Jumun, a gifted soldier and one of the few Osmund thought could take him in his prime. Long strands of red hair ran down her rough face, a pointed nose and peculiar eyebrow shape giving her a perpetual look of disappointment. At a height of 9’2 ft she stood almost toe to toe with Osmund, in fact there were many aspects about her that reminded Osmund of himself. The first was her attitude, she treated every war as a tragedy of its own, and yet she would never fail to perform against her enemies. Skilled in most weapons Jumun’s life had been long and arduous, her worn out armour covered in patches and dents. Osmund had offered her a new set of armour once, to which she vehemently refused, telling Osmund that she wished to end the war in the armour she started it in. Currently she held a single large sword nearly identical to his own, and Osmund predicted that she couldn’t wait for the battle to be over.
The group stood facing the smoking walls, watching the now descending Strolomite’s retrieve the three gifts from the gods. Pushing them back up the hill would take tremendous strength and a long time, which is why nearly double the number of Strolomite’s assisted in the endeavour. Osmund cleared his throat, prompting the looks of the team. All of their eyes were of Balmun, who was somehow already panting after a 2 minute drag through the ground. Osmund released the man and pushed him towards his new comrades, to which he sulked.
Osmund could see through the smoke of the ruins now, noting the strangely high number of bodies present from Osmund’s view. It appeared that there were more forces than originally estimated, as it was initially guessed there were around one hundred and fifty soldiers inside. Judging by the number of corpses inside those numbers clearly forgot to account for the possibility of trainees inside of the castle. This may be a slightly larger fight than initially predicted, although even supposing there were another hundred or so trainees locked inside rooms there were things Osmund could do against that.
“Alright then, good to see that some of you actually bothered to wake up today, Balmun, and I think we all know that this mission is going to end the war.” Balmun raised his hand.
“Yes Balmun?”
“Sir I have a very cunning pl-”
“Shove your plans up your slacker buttocks, you idiot. Now then, I’m gonna say this once, because quite frankly the more chances I give Balmun to interrupt the more likely I’ll butcher myself with this sword. Now then we are the backbone to the forces, our mission is to help take individual points of conflict from alternative points. We will accomplish this with the leaked maps of the castle gained from Vaunghe intelligence. Now then, originally it was believed that we were dealing with only around one hundred and fifty troops, but it looks like someone didn’t remember the number of rookie troops that are trained here, so we could be looking at a few more troops than expected.” Osmund saw the hand raised but tried to ignore it. The man with the potato for a head seemed adamant however, and raised his hand higher. When that didn’t work he raised both arms.
“By the gods what is it?”
“Well sir, what kind of weapons do you think they have?” Osmund stopped in his tracks, not expecting anything even related to an actual important question. A smile formed on his face, it seems that even fools can think every now and again.
“Decent question my friend, we can probably expect the basic mix of swords and axes, likely shields also, but we may have one or two archers running around however it’s unlikely any survived the wall’s collapse.”
“That is good Osmund, once we take a few down I need a weapon, I like the swords myself.”
“What’s wrong with your sword?”
“I left it in the tent sir.” Osmund cupped his hands into his face, cringing against the stupidity of this man.
“Listen…. just everyone follow me please, I mean by the gods man. Come on. Listen I don’t think we will need any armour with us today, we have the single thickest piece of meat just over there as we speak.” Osmund points towards Balmun, who turns to see what everyone is looking at. Without another word Osmund begins to walk down the hill towards the castle, muttering things that even the gods consider a little racy.
* * * *
The ruins of Dundis stood firm in their strength, with the ruined walls blemishing what was once a grand fortress that none had penetrated. Tall spires protrude from the shapeless stone complex. Along the gateway was a path leading directly into the Dundis entrance, which stood slightly ajar. Fragments of the wall had crushed many parts of the outside, with simple wooden stables and trees crushed by the weight of the plummet of the debris. The architecture that remained spoke to the complexities of the Vaunghe, as spiralling patterns adorned the walls of the castle, interlaced with rare jewels that coated the walls. The Vaunghe were so fortunate with minerals that one could find them coating their walls, despite the fact that no one other than a fellow Vaunghe was ever meant to see such a thing.
A veil of embarrassment and determination clashed as the group descended the hill, weapons at the ready. The group had reached the ruins of the wall now, debris coating the grass and the bodies that were surely there. Even destroyed Osmund still felt some of that divine power the Vaunghe always babbled about, he felt the strength in the walls and not for the first time wondered why the gods would bestow such a gift upon such a vile group.
The group began clambering through the ruins, over the cracked pieces of stone and through the divine walls final remains. There was a smell here, the remnants of smoke colliding with the smell of blood, but there was a third smell, one that Osmund knew well. It was the smell of inevitability, heavy in the hair. That which is unlikely to happen always will happen, and when it does the smell adds to it all, the smell of fate and destiny runs through this place.
Inevitability hides everywhere, in the trees and the skies, carried by the wind through it all. From nature it was born, but in man it thrives, the building’s will one day fall, the kingdoms will fade away, and everything will one day lead to something else. From every beginning comes an end, and each end becomes a beginning, this is how it has always been. This place thought itself against such things, and inevitability infected its walls, creeping along slowly rotting the once great walls into a hellish nightmare. Now the bubble has burst, and the smell of inevitability crowds the world, taking over everything.
Moaning. A low whimper. A cry for something. Calls for assistance. A terrified yell. Osmund approaches the source of these noises, his team close behind. At the source of these screams is a Vaunghe soldier, somehow alive after the rampart’s collapse, covered in piles of stone and smoke. His outstretched hand reaches towards Osmund, who in turn takes it.
The man mutters something, sputters blood, and begins to fade. As he does, Osmund moves towards the rocks, feeling against it. Somehow the rocks aren’t as heavy as they should be, and Osmund slowly moves the rocks. The first and second rocks move, and after some struggling Osmund moves the third rock, revealing a bloody leg, spurting forward. Osmund realises how the man survived, the remains of a metal box squashed around him. As the rampart fell the man landed inside, narrowly missing an immediate demise. Now he sat, bleeding in and out of consciousness, and moaning for help. Osmund put his hands around the man, slowly lifting him, and moving forwards into the inner walls.
There are running medics here, and as they see Osmund’s approach they run to him, taking the injured man and placing him onto a table. The man may survive, they told Osmund, however his bleeding may take too much from him. As Osmund turns to leave he hears the voice, the message of the man.
“T-t-th-than-” It was shaky, interrupted by coughs and convulsions, but bore strength, and Osmund felt the ghost of a smile play upon him.
“It wasn’t an issue.” And with that Osmund left the tent, admiring the surroundings in focus for the first time. Eyes bore into him from his party, and yet no one said anything, they couldn’t. Many had called Osmund a monster in his time, they had seen him do bad things to bad people, and yet none would call him a monster, for there is no such thing. Osmund is not some black death, he’s another beast entirely.
For the first time Osmund admired his surroundings, the inner walls were now filled with wreckage, and looked back to the tent. It was amazing how quickly the medics could establish tents, the battle had occurred for less than an hour and already there were three tents established side by side. Besides the wounded Vaunghe soldier were three other injured soldiers, each seeming to be hit by a minor injury likely from the smoke inhalation.
The captured and surrendered were lined up against the castle's wall, being carefully monitored by over sixty members of the contingent. There were only around twelve or thirteen of the captured, smoke-covered and sputtering. On the ground were bodies, those rookies that tried so valiantly to protect what they cared for. They now lay, looking up to the sky blindly.
Osmund saw the bodies and felt his stomach turn. The desire came back. The shaking returned, alongside it the painful sharp stabbing thoughts. Everything changed, he forgot who he was. What kind of person would approve of this, what even was Osmund was he real or fake, how is he even conceiving things like this. What is reality and why is it real, why can’t he understand-
Silence. Peace. Osmund returned to himself, the shaking never happening at all. He looked down at the bodies and continued to walk. There was nothing he could do for them, not anymore. The eyes of his group bore into him, shattering something that had broken a long time ago. He raised his hand and motioned for his team to follow, leaving this travesty of death and life behind.
Footsteps. Osmund turned to their echoing sound, the way they bounced through the place was unbelievable, the way it echoed between the walls and the castle structure itself. Through open castle gates he ran, a messenger in green, sword in its scabbard and now approaching Osmund. The man tripped on something, a large rock of some sort, before standing, dusting himself off and reaching the group.
“Osmund, we have hit the enemy’s points of defence.” The man was young, maybe twenty, and no more than twenty five.
“And? Where are they?”
“There are three fronts, the first is in the scout’s tower where a group of Vaunghe are amassing weapons and barricades fast. We can no longer enter the tower, as the amount thrown down makes common entrance impossible. The second location is the garden, where we believe the last of the nobles and the King himself are. We’ve faced harsh opposition from the enemies, who have formed a wall of shields to protect the door. Finally we have the guard’s quarters, where a few amount of Vaunghe are in active combat as we speak, although that will likely be taken without need for intervention.”
“Good job soldier.”
“Thank you sir.”
Osmund removes a slip of paper from his garb, and admires it in the sunlight. It was a complex map of Dundis, including the secret passages and escape routes of the entire place. It cost the annulment of many Vaunghe men and women, but was worth all the effort. Consulting the map Osmund noted the existence of an escape passageway inside of the tower. It was obscured behind a wall, thus explaining the lack of windows on that side.
“Report back to your commander that we’ll begin with the tower, there are several clear passages into an alternative staircase. Launching a pincer attack we’ll defeat the enemy and allow for the redistribution of forces. By that time I expect the guard’s quarters to be taken, allowing us to completely overflow any opposition protecting the garden.”
“Yes Osmund, I will inform her now.” And with that the young warrior ran back through the castle’s long iron gates.
The group followed suit, pushing the gates open fully and revealing the site of further bodies. They were inside the building’s inner wall now, the sun still bearing down upon them. This was the location home to many of the more important stables and areas for battle preparation. The ruins of a barricade lay around the door, alongside the copious number of trainee bodies who failed to protect themselves. While there was no evidence of the wall’s debris assaulting this place, there was still a large amount of destruction here.
The remains of statues greeted the group, once magnum opus now a disfigured remnant of what was. They were made of marble, and once depicted the Vaunghe gods, although who each one was could not be discerned, due to the broken faces and pieces they had been split into. The statues lined the walls of this castle, with a new statue lining the wall every five metres. If they weren’t destroyed they would likely be the most impressive feat Osmund had ever seen, standing at almost double his nine and a half foot frame.
Moving forward, Osmund looked to the north, where the entrance of the tunnel system began. According to the map the entrance was hidden below the royal stable, and gave passageway into the complex’s vast tunnel system that could lead to several strategic positions. Motioning for his group to follow, they moved slowly around the curved walls of the inner wall. The bodies gradually stopped appearing, prompting the drawing of Osmund and the other’s weapons, save for Balmun who still lacked anything to protect himself with.
The royal stable was just as grand as Osmund expected, long silver poles supporting a twenty metre stable. Beside each pillar was another statue of a god, albeit these gods were untouched and in their full glory. First was the god of thought, Merculd, a figure of 19 ft who sat upon a throne of gold. Adorned with jewels and royal fabrics, the bearded man watched down upon those that approached, beckoning them inside. The man himself was crafted out of intricate copper and glass, an architectural marvel that Osmund couldn’t comprehend its creation.
Beside the father of thought was the mother of art Freya, whose statue was in opposition to the metals of Merculd. Freya was a wood carving, an intricate and detailed depiction of the woman who was 15 ft tall, standing up with beckoning hands towards any visitors. Her face was carved to the smallest detail, with each individual tooth lovingly crafted on her mouth. In contrast to the first statue Freya’s was carved alongside her body, a tight fitting tunic layered over hard to know pants, due to the lack of colour or texture upon them.
The last of the three statues was Zid, the proposed god of the wall, a 19 ft tall mass of flesh and muscle. There was nothing to this god but his muscles, they were the only trait he has, a blank, general male face looming over the entryway. It was made out of stone, likely being the oldest statue here and thus the simplest. That is not to say the statue wasn’t a work of its own, every detail to Zid’s veins had been lovingly placed, it’s just compared to the other two Zid felt… irrelevant to Osmund, past its time.
The stable was enclosed in intricately carved stone, helixes intersecting each other granting slimmers of light into the stable. There was no damage here, no bodies, no other people, this was Vaunghe architecture at its finest, and all of this hard work was spent on a singular, slightly inconveniently placed barn. The oddities of the Vaunghe never failed to surprise Osmund, and he braced to enter the barn.
Straw floors and hay bales greeted him, alongside a single lone steed. A fine horse, certainly of nobility, awaited patiently for its master to return. It had been alone for time unknown, and yet Osmund noticed it was still being fed quite well, a decent number of carrots awaiting on a plate. Osmund opened the gate to the horse and approached the fine steed. He slapped it on the behind, sending it out of the stable and into the inner wall.
“Sir, I’ve stepped into horse dung. May I have another pair of shoes?” Balmun’s voice rang through the room, echoing slightly. Osmund responded by throwing a carrot at his head. Balmun dodged with less than a second to spare, and the armed man behind him was hit dead on.
Reeling back from shock and surprise, the armed soldier moved his sword to his front, trying to shield any further blows. The man was tall, 8’5 ft to be exact, and dirty. His armour was coated in dirt and remnants of the smoke from the wall. Osmund could see the desperation in his eyes, and now charged the man.
Osmund met the man’s blade with his own, parrying immediately. A foot swept the enemy to the ground and Osmund stood above him sword raised. The man went for the blade only to find his hand was removed, spouting blood everywhere. Osmund grabbed the man and pushed him to his feet.
“There is a base for any injured troops at the entrance to Dundis, go now before you bleed to death.” The man’s face flashed in surprise, and he quickly scrambled out of the room, hand stump spouting blood.
“Hey sir?”
“What is it Balmun?”

Firstly i believe that looks are the most important thing and i believe the blackpill is true, but i believe "if you arent HTN or more its over" theory is bullshit. I also believe "charisma is cope" theory is bullshit and i will prove that in my story.
I want to tell you the story of a friend of mine, i will describe him pretty accurate so u get what i am trying to say.
Lets call him Brian, Brian is a 5'5 5/10 (he has a average face so that this is clear, he isnt ugly but also not attractive) Latino friend off mine. He has a average Job/salary (he works as a bar keeper), he doesnt do sports (he isnt fat but his body isnt "developed"), he also doesnt have any kind of status (he has 400 insta followers), i have to add he gives a "badboyish vibe" (not character wise just looks wise) he is thugmaxxed lookswise (handtattoos, wearing chains etc) he looks like a thug to some extent, but he doesnt behave like one so dont consider thugg theory.
​
Many People would assume that this guy is a incel, and he doesnt pull, and that would also be what the Blackpill would project. But u couldnt be more wrong. Out of all Guys which i know, this is legit the biggest slayer that i have seen, that dude had around 4 ex Girlfriends and all of them were 6+, he is also good in hooking up, we were many times at the club and dude showed me that he is legit in pulling women, and this arent subhuman women that he pulls, all are solid or better.
But here comes the key point he is VERY charismatic, and this is not a lie. You can talk to that dude for 15 minutes and think "this is such a cool guy" i would also say that he has good feeling for game, he knows what to say and to use psychological moves on women. He is all in all very friendly, and just gives you a good vibe its hard to explain. He is just your "soft" friendly latino guy.
​
My Point is the blackpill will say that this is not possible, but this is a legit story and why would i lie? I just want to understand why are there some "outliers" who just get over theyre looks and still perform?
​
In fact i am a 6'5, dude who goes to the gym with a 6/10 Face and he pulls more then me, and no i am not some dork who is creepy, i go out often and have many friends and a solid social circle, so "ure a autist" theory is wrong. I would rate my social skills as 5/10, nothing special, but not some cringe dork, just normal.
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My question is are we underrating the skill off having 10/10 Social skills? (i would rate his social skills easily a 8-9+/10 i dont know anybody with better social skills, he also worked long in sales so theres that.)
I am in switzerland, maybe its a location thing.
​
What do you think?

Hey everyone! Well about me! I’m a baby witch so I like crystals, tarot, psychics, and Star signs
I’m not a big sports fan but like RSL games a lot!
I love music!
I watch a ton of documentaries!
I’m Panromantic but demisexual
I’m polyamorous and have a husband with a baby boy who is two and a boyfriend! My husband has two girlfriends and a crush who he finally has a date with which is exciting!
I like to draw on my iPad and paint but not very good haha
I am huge Harry Potter nerd.
I’m from Utah so hopefully your near if not oh well.
My favorite color is hot pink! What’s yours?

I'm a 6-foot, 160-pound redhead from New England. I'm a computer wiz who founded and sold a start-up company in my 20s, but I don't inhabit the tech world. I'm a devoted divorced parent of two kids, and I care about living a good and happy life, having a nice home, making memories, and building authentic and aligned connections with others. I read, think, and write about personal growth, healing from trauma, poly relationships, consent, magic, and all sorts of topics on a daily basis. I create music, and puzzles, and various silly, beautiful, and/or clever things. I enjoy nature, hiking, swimming, sitting in a hot tub, and cuddling. I love musicals and just saw the Matilda movie.
I am politically progressive. My favorite quote that I read today, in No Bad Parts by Richard Schwartz, is: "Too many of our institutions are based on the dark view [of humanity]. Take, for example, neoliberalism..." (I laughed out loud at this, because I wasn't expecting this book about the inner parts of our minds to be incisively political!) I am a hetero cis male with one non-binary (non-nesting) partner.
This doesn't have to be a romantic connection, but I want to talk about our lives, and life in general, and have there be some attraction and bonding. It could be online. You know how in a rom-com, like You've Got Mail, the characters end up reflecting on their lives (and loves) with some good humor and a little sentimentality, for the listening pleasure of someone who cares? I want that kind of conversation. It could even be that we write emails.
Turn-ons: Down-to-earth, sweet, authentic, active, have goals and activities but also free time, nerdy, soulful, smart, healthy, somewhat confident and self-loving, functional, good writer, curious, passionate. Honesty, vulnerability, and transparency. Maybe someone who has a concept of God, Source, or a higher power, and is seeking something that fits with that. Available enough to make me feel like our connection matters.
Turn-offs: Depressed, very lonely, overweight, major health issues, spend all day on video games and TV. I am not a stranger to physical and mental health issues, and I have some I am working on, but they are pretty manageable these days compared to the heavy burdens some people are dealing with, and I've held a lot of space for past partners around these issues. I would like someone who, while they may feel down at times, also brings their own personal movement and joy and light. On the other hand, some people are too fast and light for me, it seems, going from one social event, friend, partner, sport, festival, dance, trip, etc to the next. It's hard for me to relate to that, as an introvert, and understand where I fit into the whirlwind; this is just what I've noticed. I'm looking for someone who has found—or is very actively seeking—balance in their life. Also a turn-off: lots of typos and low effort put into communication. People who are hyper-confident or present that way. Or judgmental. Finding that we're both just making skillful but trite smalltalk. My ideal conversation partner is not neurotypical or neurodivergent to the max, but somewhere in the middle.
I strongly feel that, because I have written so much about myself, and I don't know anything about you except what you tell me (and what's in your history), it should feel natural for you to share a little about yourself, as well as refer to things I have written, as we start our conversation! I like when people want to share about themselves, and want to know more about me, and don't just say "hey" or "how is your day."

I broke up with my boyfriend last night.
I had known him for three years and I finally gave it a shot late last year as we had always not been ready at the right time.
I fell head over heels for him and lost my v card to him. I don’t regret this at all. The past month his behaviour towards me began to shift with messaging less, skipping good night messages and he refused that I come to him, but he comes to me instead.
He’s began living an unsustainable live style by working out twice a day, before and after work at his CrossFit gym. He’s gone out of touch with our friends in common and had become close with a bunch of guys from the gym. The past month they’d go out clubbing and do drugs. I was super concerned with this new life style but took a backseat cause I didn’t want to put any pressure on him. He even talked about wanting to do steroids and I told him I couldn’t be with him if that was a possibility.
Anyway, I found out he had been liking thirst traps of the new girl coach at the gym he goes to the past month. I discussed with him how uncomfortable it made me feel and he apologised and we moved on. Then I find out he’s been flirting with her in their gym pages comments two days after we discussed it. I broke up with him then. I feel disrespected, used and like I wasn’t worth it.
I know if I was a secure person, breaking up was the right thing to do. But I miss him so much already and am so scared I’m gonna regret my decision