Antibiotics for hand puncture wounds
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2008.11.14 15:12 piercing
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2024.06.01 12:14 bubbleology [DIY] How to heal mild facial wounds, skin lifting, burns and dry, peeling skin in 24-48 hours with no PIH (super easy)
Disclaimer: this is a DIY method for superficial wounds only.
The first time I did this was last summer, less than 48 hours before I was supposed to go on holiday where it was absolutely scorching, I was on Epiduo, forgot that waxing your face is a big no-no and lifted the skin on half of my face. I’d accidentally lifted my skin about six months prior and those wounds are still visible today, over 1.5 years later, so I was panicking. But I did some googling and hence, developed my method for recovery. Flash forward to about 48 hours later, I met my friend at the airport, asked her how the scarring was and she replied, “Where?” I checked the mirror and sure enough the wounds that had been pink and glistening two days ago, and scabbing up until just 12 hours prior were nowhere to be seen.
I’ve since used a modified version of that method to treat my skin when it’s particularly dry and flaky, so dry that no amount of moisturiser was enough, and just yesterday when I woke up with benzoyl peroxide burns on my face and all over the underside of my chin. Well, it is now 24 hours later and I can confirm that the burns have almost entirely faded!
All you need is some aloe vera gel and petroleum jelly.
If you’re using a cleanser during this time, make sure it’s very gentle with no AHA or BHA in it, like Cetaphil’s gentle skin cleanser. For the aloe vera gel, you want it as pure as you can find it. Make sure it doesn’t have anything extra added such as an oil, or any sort of fragrance or colouring, such as the Lifeplan Aloe Vera Gel. Similarly, if you’re using Vaseline for the petroleum jelly, use the original formula. I would recommend generic petroleum jelly though which is far cheaper too.
All you need to do is cleanse your face and then, with your face still wet, generously apply some aloe vera gel, mixing it in with the water on your face. Keeping the area moist is vital for optimal healing and to prevent PIH, think hydrocolloid blister plasters, and while aloe vera has soothing properties and is hydrating, it is not moisturising. You need to add moisture for the aloe vera to hydrate the skin with. Then, no need to wait for it to dry, just apply a bunch of petroleum jelly on top to lock it all in and that’s it! You’re good to go!
If I feel my face get a bit dry beneath the jelly, I’ll go in on top with some more water and aloe and mix it in, or repeat the process again. Mixing the aloe with water also has the added benefit of greatly reducing any irritation the aloe alone may cause, as I personally find it drying and irritating whenever I use it in its undiluted form.
I would recommend trying to stay at home for at least the entirety of the whole first day, preferably the first two days so that you don’t have to worry about how your face looks with all this on, you really want to be heavy-handed with this, but also to protect your skin from the sun, the wind, the heat, the cold, the pollution… the outside world is currently your enemy unfortunately.
If it’s just not possible though—I had to leave the house to do a 4 hour long exam yesterday after waking up with chemical burns myself!—then your next best option is to just go in with a load of oil blotting sheets before you leave, just until your face is sufficiently matte enough, along with an SPF on top (you’ll probably need to blot again after this). Another alternative is just going in with a hydrating moisturiser on damp skin, along with an SPF, followed by a layer of petroleum jelly for protection + oil blotting sheets but I would only recommend this as a very temporary solution if you really can’t get the previous method to work for you, and after you’ve let the aloe + water do its thing for a while already.
If you CAN stay at home and your wounds are mild-moderate, then there’s also the original, unmodified method I employed. The first time I did this when my skin lifted, the steps I detailed above were just what I did when going to bed. In the morning however, after putting on the aloe gel, rather than going in with a layer of petroleum jelly, I proceeded to fill a spray bottle with a 1:3 water to aloe ratio, shook it up and spent the next day and a half (until the night before the flight) at home, spraying my face with the water-aloe mixture whenever I felt my skin was the slightest bit not wet until bedtime. It was messy but I had nothing else to do and nothing left to lose and it did end up working.
Anyways, I hope this helps someone. Let me know how it goes!
submitted by bubbleology to SkincareAddiction [link] [comments]
The first time I did this was last summer, less than 48 hours before I was supposed to go on holiday where it was absolutely scorching, I was on Epiduo, forgot that waxing your face is a big no-no and lifted the skin on half of my face. I’d accidentally lifted my skin about six months prior and those wounds are still visible today, over 1.5 years later, so I was panicking. But I did some googling and hence, developed my method for recovery. Flash forward to about 48 hours later, I met my friend at the airport, asked her how the scarring was and she replied, “Where?” I checked the mirror and sure enough the wounds that had been pink and glistening two days ago, and scabbing up until just 12 hours prior were nowhere to be seen.
I’ve since used a modified version of that method to treat my skin when it’s particularly dry and flaky, so dry that no amount of moisturiser was enough, and just yesterday when I woke up with benzoyl peroxide burns on my face and all over the underside of my chin. Well, it is now 24 hours later and I can confirm that the burns have almost entirely faded!
All you need is some aloe vera gel and petroleum jelly.
If you’re using a cleanser during this time, make sure it’s very gentle with no AHA or BHA in it, like Cetaphil’s gentle skin cleanser. For the aloe vera gel, you want it as pure as you can find it. Make sure it doesn’t have anything extra added such as an oil, or any sort of fragrance or colouring, such as the Lifeplan Aloe Vera Gel. Similarly, if you’re using Vaseline for the petroleum jelly, use the original formula. I would recommend generic petroleum jelly though which is far cheaper too.
All you need to do is cleanse your face and then, with your face still wet, generously apply some aloe vera gel, mixing it in with the water on your face. Keeping the area moist is vital for optimal healing and to prevent PIH, think hydrocolloid blister plasters, and while aloe vera has soothing properties and is hydrating, it is not moisturising. You need to add moisture for the aloe vera to hydrate the skin with. Then, no need to wait for it to dry, just apply a bunch of petroleum jelly on top to lock it all in and that’s it! You’re good to go!
If I feel my face get a bit dry beneath the jelly, I’ll go in on top with some more water and aloe and mix it in, or repeat the process again. Mixing the aloe with water also has the added benefit of greatly reducing any irritation the aloe alone may cause, as I personally find it drying and irritating whenever I use it in its undiluted form.
I would recommend trying to stay at home for at least the entirety of the whole first day, preferably the first two days so that you don’t have to worry about how your face looks with all this on, you really want to be heavy-handed with this, but also to protect your skin from the sun, the wind, the heat, the cold, the pollution… the outside world is currently your enemy unfortunately.
If it’s just not possible though—I had to leave the house to do a 4 hour long exam yesterday after waking up with chemical burns myself!—then your next best option is to just go in with a load of oil blotting sheets before you leave, just until your face is sufficiently matte enough, along with an SPF on top (you’ll probably need to blot again after this). Another alternative is just going in with a hydrating moisturiser on damp skin, along with an SPF, followed by a layer of petroleum jelly for protection + oil blotting sheets but I would only recommend this as a very temporary solution if you really can’t get the previous method to work for you, and after you’ve let the aloe + water do its thing for a while already.
If you CAN stay at home and your wounds are mild-moderate, then there’s also the original, unmodified method I employed. The first time I did this when my skin lifted, the steps I detailed above were just what I did when going to bed. In the morning however, after putting on the aloe gel, rather than going in with a layer of petroleum jelly, I proceeded to fill a spray bottle with a 1:3 water to aloe ratio, shook it up and spent the next day and a half (until the night before the flight) at home, spraying my face with the water-aloe mixture whenever I felt my skin was the slightest bit not wet until bedtime. It was messy but I had nothing else to do and nothing left to lose and it did end up working.
Anyways, I hope this helps someone. Let me know how it goes!
2024.06.01 11:59 YukiteruAmano92 There Will Be Scritches Pt.180
Previous Interlewd XLI Next First
---Sample---
---Fnurfar’s perspective---
---2710 Terran Calenda3 years BF---
All six of my paws desperately scramble against the slick pavement of the Prosperity back alley as I flee for my life!
Pursuing me… is a monster!
His species aren’t meant to be sprinters!
They said if it came to a chase, I just needed to quickly get out of his line of sight and keep going and he’d not be able to keep up!
I skid around a corner and steal a glance behind me, seeing two furious eyes moving towards me so fast that they seem to leave streaks of emerald green behind them as afterimages!
The Fury is so close on my tail that he’s almost certain to catch me now!
It would be laughable how much my… ‘employers’ had underestimated him if it weren’t so terrifying!
‘You’ve got a Terran with you! There should be no issue!’
Yes, that idiot mercenary they hired almost had me going with his smug, arrogant proclamation that ‘Big=slow! Slow=dead!’ as he idly showed off his little knife tricks!
My confidence lasted up until the very moment I saw the one we were supposed to rob!
[20cm] taller than the skinny mercenary and looking like he could easily weigh twice as much, the man was a Hunt damned beast compared to the one who was meant to protect me from him!
I think Flynn reassessed his cocksure attitude as well because, rather than waiting for me to have an opening like we agreed in the [fucking] plan, he just drew a knife and tried to stab the monster to death!
An extremely poorly calculated risk!
There was no competition!
This juggernaut dealt with Flynn as easily as Flynn could have dealt with me!
It took him a matter of seconds to dispatch my accomplice but that was a matter of seconds where he was distracted enough that I was able to snag what we had been after… not that it makes any difference now!
Just as I hear thundering footfalls coming up on my left, powerful fingers impact the space between the bottom of my neck and the top of my top shoulderblades.
I’m slammed into the ground… but not killed…
I can feel the power contained in the iron grip around my neck…
I know that decapitating me would be as simple as deciding to close his fingers but, as I wait for death to come, it doesn’t…
Instead, the hand slides up my shoulders, gathering the loose skin and lifting me up like a kit in her parent’s mouth…
The first thing I’m able to see is the monster’s flat, booted feet, followed by a pair of long thick legs, then a chest and left arm covered in a loose fitting, buttoned shirt, patterned with vertical and horizontal lines.
The red fabric of his top disguises the bloodstain from the wound he got from Flynn, just below his shoulder. However, the nauseatingly metallic smell of it absolutely fills my nostrils!
The final thing to be revealed, as my feet hang more than [a metre] from the ground, is a face… the scarred skin a pale beige, the white, calcite teeth bared in a furious grimace, copper coloured eyebrows tilted downward in the middle over a nose, wrinkled with anger, and emerald eyes, burning with rage!
His shoulders rise and fall, in time with panted breaths he sucks in and out through his gritted teeth, putting me less in mind of a person (or even an animal) catching their breath after exertion and more in mind of some hulking piece of machinery from the Steam Age venting its pressure!
The Terran extends his pallid skinned, long fingered, furless, pentadactyl left hand to me, stained with the ferrous blood that’s run down his sleeve, and growls “Sample!”
“No…” I breathe, terrified.
“GIRL! I AIN’T fuckin’ PLAYIN’ with you!” he snarls, curling all but his index finger and jabbing it towards my snout “You’re gonna. GIVE. BACK. what you. FUCKIN’. STOLE!”
“You… can take it… from my corpse…” I defy, clutching my exhausted, trembling pawhands to the front of my jumpsuit.
Effortlessly, his free hand comes forward, batting my four aside, before pinching the top of the stasis vial and pulling it free, with there being absolutely nothing I can do to stop him!
He holds up the tube, in which is visible a small plant with a rosette of frilly black leaves and through which can be seen a frozen impression of the room it was in when it was stasised, demanding “You’re really willin’ to die for this!? For corporate espionage?!… Why the fuck’s this matter to you like that?!?!?!”
“I don’t care… about the plant… at all…” I answer, defeated.
His face twists in a sneer as he asks “Then why tell me I had to pry it from your cold. dead. hands!?”
“Because… if I come back… emptyhanded… they’re going to… torture my husband… and son… and make me watch!… If I don’t… come back… at all… maybe they’ll let them go!” I pant in answer.
His face falls blank… but I can tell that is not because he’s no longer angry!
Instead, his redoubled rage has gone from white hot to ice cold as he leans in and demands “Who’s ‘they’?”
---2715 Terran Calenda2 years AF---
“One!?” demands the sceptical, lutrine, Nvar man, one of six listening to my story for the first time (along with the two friends who’ve heard it before), holding up a webbed pawhand and extending a single finger “You’re trying to tell us that one Terran dismantled the entire Giluspri Sisters’ Syndicate, overnight!?… Simply because you told him a sob story about them holding your family hostage!?”
“I did say you wouldn’t believe me(!)” I smirk, lifting my drink to take a sip.
“You’re damn right I don’t believe you!!!” he sneers “It might have been a little more believable if you’d made it a team of a dozen or so Terrans that were guarding this thing but one!?… There’s no way it took a single individual a single night to root out and entirely destroy an enterprise that Prosperity’s government had been hunting for nearly [2 decades], even if that individual was a Terran!”
I place my drink down on the table and turn the palms of all four pawhands to the ceiling as I say “Believe me or don’t… that’s exactly how it happened!”
“Hmmm… Don’t know ’bout ‘exactly’…!” comes a familiar voice from behind my head, in the next booth over.
I freeze and straighten my back.
The friends and audience in my booth are looking past me, curiously, but, from their faces, it doesn’t look like they can see anything.
I stand and slide out through the gap between the table and Nafnarl’s footpaws.
I turn right and am immediately able to see that the booth next to us is occupied by a mixture of Terrans and some much smaller humanoids with green skin.
I keep going, rounding the partition to reveal…
“By the Hunt! Victor?!” I exclaim, seeing the man sat with his back almost exactly to where I was sitting, next to another tall, slim humanoid with blue skin and four arms.
His copper hair is much longer, his face isn’t as scarred and isn’t wearing the disgusted sneer that characterised so much of the time he and I spent together but… there’s no mistaking it!
The man turns his head, smiling, before standing up to nearly twice my height and extending a palm to ruffle the fur between my ears, saying “How’s it goin’, Foxy? You look a lot better ’an you did last time I saw you at least(!)” gesturing with his other hand up and down my less skinny and less visibly scarred body.
“Never mind that, Victor! What are you doing here?! You didn’t tell me you were coming back to Prosperity!”
He smirks “Yeah, sorry Foxy… It’s a loose lips sink ships kinda deal… Just thought I’d show my friends here the bar you brought me to celebrate after everythin’ was done that time… Didn’t think I’d actually run into you here!”
I stare up at the man, agog, for a few moments before reaching up with both my left hands and closing them around his wrist.
He allows me to drag him back to the head of my table.
“Nafnarl! Gfurnaf! This is him! This is the one I’ve been telling you about for the last [5 years]!” I say to my two Graufna friends before turning to the rest of the table to declare “He’s the man who took down the Giluspris! He’s Victor ‘Cuddles’ Taylor!”
With mirthful bemusement, the Terran raises his left palm to the table to smile “Y’alright guys!” before his eyes scan the faces and his expression goes concerned. He turns to me and asks “Your hubby alright, Foxy?”
I bare my teeth (I hope friendlily) and answer “Fnarnulf’s fine, Victor!… Fuffarn too! This is just a girl’s night…” gesturing at my two friends “…or… it was(!)” gesturing over the four men and two women, of four different species, who joined us to hear my story.
“What did you mean by it not being ‘exactly’ right?” queries Lunvo, the same sceptical Nvar who voiced disbelief before, still looking sceptical (not that I can blame him) but at least impressed by the fact that the ‘con’ has a (imposing looking) Terran stooge now(!)
“Weeeeell…” Victor frowns down at me, mirthfully “…the way she described me dodgin’ that knife attack, she made me sound almost psychic(!)… In reality, she and this guy weren’t as smooth as she seems to think(!) The fact that I even got nicked by someone I was payin’ as much attention to as that is a bad reflection on my reaction time!… Also, she kinda made it sound like I went into their headquarters with a gun in one hand and a lit plasmasword in the other(!) As I recall, I gave ’em all a chance to surrender and come quietly and it were only after they, shall we say, indicated a lack of interest in that option that my weapons first cleared leather!… Oh! And what was with all that comparin’ the way I pant to ventin’ steam engines, Foxy(?!)”
“But…” starts Muan, a nervous tolypeutine Wne woman beside her Wno husband, Kmuw “…you don’t deny it was you and you alone who brought down the Giluspris?… Without help?”
The pale skin of the Terran’s flat face performs a complicated scrunch as he considers the question before answering “Don’t know ’bout ‘without help’… I had Foxy here for showin’ me the way, after I’d done a lotta convincin’… and, once I’d taken care of ’em, local law enforcers came to take the survivors away… Aaaaand… I probably didn’t actually manage to kill or capture every last one of ’em… just gutted its power structure enough that the rats fled the sinkin’ ship(!)”
“Why are you calling her ‘Foxy’?” asks Lunvo, four eyes narrowed in suspicion “‘Fnurfar’ is the name she gave us!”
The large man shrugs his shoulders “I didn’t get her name until we came here to celebrate… she didn’t trust me to give it… Had to call her somethin’, so I called her Foxy.”
“Hmmm…” responds Lunvo “…I’m not buying it…”
Victor raises an eyebrow “You ain’t buyin’ me givin’ her a nickname(!?)”
“I don’t believe any of it! The whole story reeks of the fanciful!”
I bare my teeth and slam my paws on the table before snarling “I don’t care if you question my honesty, Lunvo, but this man saved my husband’s life, my son’s life, the lives of dozens of others, freed me from effective slavery and freed this planet from its largest criminal syndicate! I will not have you questioning his integrity!”
Lunvo cowers away from me, despite the table separating us.
I feel a large, strong hand on my shoulder.
I turn to see a smiling face.
“Eeeeasy there, Foxy… ’Preciate the defence but there ain’t no need to get heated over it!… ’Specially not when there’s a really easy way to sort this out…” he looks up at Lunvo and asks “Lunvo, was it? Could I ask you to look up the front page of the Prosperity Chronicle from the 3rd of September, 2710?… I think you’ll see a picture of me shakin’ hands with your governor at the time…”
---
Previous Interlewd XLI Next First
Discord
Dramatis Personae
submitted by YukiteruAmano92 to HFY [link] [comments]
---Sample---
---Fnurfar’s perspective---
---2710 Terran Calenda3 years BF---
All six of my paws desperately scramble against the slick pavement of the Prosperity back alley as I flee for my life!
Pursuing me… is a monster!
His species aren’t meant to be sprinters!
They said if it came to a chase, I just needed to quickly get out of his line of sight and keep going and he’d not be able to keep up!
I skid around a corner and steal a glance behind me, seeing two furious eyes moving towards me so fast that they seem to leave streaks of emerald green behind them as afterimages!
The Fury is so close on my tail that he’s almost certain to catch me now!
It would be laughable how much my… ‘employers’ had underestimated him if it weren’t so terrifying!
‘You’ve got a Terran with you! There should be no issue!’
Yes, that idiot mercenary they hired almost had me going with his smug, arrogant proclamation that ‘Big=slow! Slow=dead!’ as he idly showed off his little knife tricks!
My confidence lasted up until the very moment I saw the one we were supposed to rob!
[20cm] taller than the skinny mercenary and looking like he could easily weigh twice as much, the man was a Hunt damned beast compared to the one who was meant to protect me from him!
I think Flynn reassessed his cocksure attitude as well because, rather than waiting for me to have an opening like we agreed in the [fucking] plan, he just drew a knife and tried to stab the monster to death!
An extremely poorly calculated risk!
There was no competition!
This juggernaut dealt with Flynn as easily as Flynn could have dealt with me!
It took him a matter of seconds to dispatch my accomplice but that was a matter of seconds where he was distracted enough that I was able to snag what we had been after… not that it makes any difference now!
Just as I hear thundering footfalls coming up on my left, powerful fingers impact the space between the bottom of my neck and the top of my top shoulderblades.
I’m slammed into the ground… but not killed…
I can feel the power contained in the iron grip around my neck…
I know that decapitating me would be as simple as deciding to close his fingers but, as I wait for death to come, it doesn’t…
Instead, the hand slides up my shoulders, gathering the loose skin and lifting me up like a kit in her parent’s mouth…
The first thing I’m able to see is the monster’s flat, booted feet, followed by a pair of long thick legs, then a chest and left arm covered in a loose fitting, buttoned shirt, patterned with vertical and horizontal lines.
The red fabric of his top disguises the bloodstain from the wound he got from Flynn, just below his shoulder. However, the nauseatingly metallic smell of it absolutely fills my nostrils!
The final thing to be revealed, as my feet hang more than [a metre] from the ground, is a face… the scarred skin a pale beige, the white, calcite teeth bared in a furious grimace, copper coloured eyebrows tilted downward in the middle over a nose, wrinkled with anger, and emerald eyes, burning with rage!
His shoulders rise and fall, in time with panted breaths he sucks in and out through his gritted teeth, putting me less in mind of a person (or even an animal) catching their breath after exertion and more in mind of some hulking piece of machinery from the Steam Age venting its pressure!
The Terran extends his pallid skinned, long fingered, furless, pentadactyl left hand to me, stained with the ferrous blood that’s run down his sleeve, and growls “Sample!”
“No…” I breathe, terrified.
“GIRL! I AIN’T fuckin’ PLAYIN’ with you!” he snarls, curling all but his index finger and jabbing it towards my snout “You’re gonna. GIVE. BACK. what you. FUCKIN’. STOLE!”
“You… can take it… from my corpse…” I defy, clutching my exhausted, trembling pawhands to the front of my jumpsuit.
Effortlessly, his free hand comes forward, batting my four aside, before pinching the top of the stasis vial and pulling it free, with there being absolutely nothing I can do to stop him!
He holds up the tube, in which is visible a small plant with a rosette of frilly black leaves and through which can be seen a frozen impression of the room it was in when it was stasised, demanding “You’re really willin’ to die for this!? For corporate espionage?!… Why the fuck’s this matter to you like that?!?!?!”
“I don’t care… about the plant… at all…” I answer, defeated.
His face twists in a sneer as he asks “Then why tell me I had to pry it from your cold. dead. hands!?”
“Because… if I come back… emptyhanded… they’re going to… torture my husband… and son… and make me watch!… If I don’t… come back… at all… maybe they’ll let them go!” I pant in answer.
His face falls blank… but I can tell that is not because he’s no longer angry!
Instead, his redoubled rage has gone from white hot to ice cold as he leans in and demands “Who’s ‘they’?”
---2715 Terran Calenda2 years AF---
“One!?” demands the sceptical, lutrine, Nvar man, one of six listening to my story for the first time (along with the two friends who’ve heard it before), holding up a webbed pawhand and extending a single finger “You’re trying to tell us that one Terran dismantled the entire Giluspri Sisters’ Syndicate, overnight!?… Simply because you told him a sob story about them holding your family hostage!?”
“I did say you wouldn’t believe me(!)” I smirk, lifting my drink to take a sip.
“You’re damn right I don’t believe you!!!” he sneers “It might have been a little more believable if you’d made it a team of a dozen or so Terrans that were guarding this thing but one!?… There’s no way it took a single individual a single night to root out and entirely destroy an enterprise that Prosperity’s government had been hunting for nearly [2 decades], even if that individual was a Terran!”
I place my drink down on the table and turn the palms of all four pawhands to the ceiling as I say “Believe me or don’t… that’s exactly how it happened!”
“Hmmm… Don’t know ’bout ‘exactly’…!” comes a familiar voice from behind my head, in the next booth over.
I freeze and straighten my back.
The friends and audience in my booth are looking past me, curiously, but, from their faces, it doesn’t look like they can see anything.
I stand and slide out through the gap between the table and Nafnarl’s footpaws.
I turn right and am immediately able to see that the booth next to us is occupied by a mixture of Terrans and some much smaller humanoids with green skin.
I keep going, rounding the partition to reveal…
“By the Hunt! Victor?!” I exclaim, seeing the man sat with his back almost exactly to where I was sitting, next to another tall, slim humanoid with blue skin and four arms.
His copper hair is much longer, his face isn’t as scarred and isn’t wearing the disgusted sneer that characterised so much of the time he and I spent together but… there’s no mistaking it!
The man turns his head, smiling, before standing up to nearly twice my height and extending a palm to ruffle the fur between my ears, saying “How’s it goin’, Foxy? You look a lot better ’an you did last time I saw you at least(!)” gesturing with his other hand up and down my less skinny and less visibly scarred body.
“Never mind that, Victor! What are you doing here?! You didn’t tell me you were coming back to Prosperity!”
He smirks “Yeah, sorry Foxy… It’s a loose lips sink ships kinda deal… Just thought I’d show my friends here the bar you brought me to celebrate after everythin’ was done that time… Didn’t think I’d actually run into you here!”
I stare up at the man, agog, for a few moments before reaching up with both my left hands and closing them around his wrist.
He allows me to drag him back to the head of my table.
“Nafnarl! Gfurnaf! This is him! This is the one I’ve been telling you about for the last [5 years]!” I say to my two Graufna friends before turning to the rest of the table to declare “He’s the man who took down the Giluspris! He’s Victor ‘Cuddles’ Taylor!”
With mirthful bemusement, the Terran raises his left palm to the table to smile “Y’alright guys!” before his eyes scan the faces and his expression goes concerned. He turns to me and asks “Your hubby alright, Foxy?”
I bare my teeth (I hope friendlily) and answer “Fnarnulf’s fine, Victor!… Fuffarn too! This is just a girl’s night…” gesturing at my two friends “…or… it was(!)” gesturing over the four men and two women, of four different species, who joined us to hear my story.
“What did you mean by it not being ‘exactly’ right?” queries Lunvo, the same sceptical Nvar who voiced disbelief before, still looking sceptical (not that I can blame him) but at least impressed by the fact that the ‘con’ has a (imposing looking) Terran stooge now(!)
“Weeeeell…” Victor frowns down at me, mirthfully “…the way she described me dodgin’ that knife attack, she made me sound almost psychic(!)… In reality, she and this guy weren’t as smooth as she seems to think(!) The fact that I even got nicked by someone I was payin’ as much attention to as that is a bad reflection on my reaction time!… Also, she kinda made it sound like I went into their headquarters with a gun in one hand and a lit plasmasword in the other(!) As I recall, I gave ’em all a chance to surrender and come quietly and it were only after they, shall we say, indicated a lack of interest in that option that my weapons first cleared leather!… Oh! And what was with all that comparin’ the way I pant to ventin’ steam engines, Foxy(?!)”
“But…” starts Muan, a nervous tolypeutine Wne woman beside her Wno husband, Kmuw “…you don’t deny it was you and you alone who brought down the Giluspris?… Without help?”
The pale skin of the Terran’s flat face performs a complicated scrunch as he considers the question before answering “Don’t know ’bout ‘without help’… I had Foxy here for showin’ me the way, after I’d done a lotta convincin’… and, once I’d taken care of ’em, local law enforcers came to take the survivors away… Aaaaand… I probably didn’t actually manage to kill or capture every last one of ’em… just gutted its power structure enough that the rats fled the sinkin’ ship(!)”
“Why are you calling her ‘Foxy’?” asks Lunvo, four eyes narrowed in suspicion “‘Fnurfar’ is the name she gave us!”
The large man shrugs his shoulders “I didn’t get her name until we came here to celebrate… she didn’t trust me to give it… Had to call her somethin’, so I called her Foxy.”
“Hmmm…” responds Lunvo “…I’m not buying it…”
Victor raises an eyebrow “You ain’t buyin’ me givin’ her a nickname(!?)”
“I don’t believe any of it! The whole story reeks of the fanciful!”
I bare my teeth and slam my paws on the table before snarling “I don’t care if you question my honesty, Lunvo, but this man saved my husband’s life, my son’s life, the lives of dozens of others, freed me from effective slavery and freed this planet from its largest criminal syndicate! I will not have you questioning his integrity!”
Lunvo cowers away from me, despite the table separating us.
I feel a large, strong hand on my shoulder.
I turn to see a smiling face.
“Eeeeasy there, Foxy… ’Preciate the defence but there ain’t no need to get heated over it!… ’Specially not when there’s a really easy way to sort this out…” he looks up at Lunvo and asks “Lunvo, was it? Could I ask you to look up the front page of the Prosperity Chronicle from the 3rd of September, 2710?… I think you’ll see a picture of me shakin’ hands with your governor at the time…”
---
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2024.06.01 11:52 jetstreamer2 [ROLEPLAY] The Statue of Victory
Following the fall of the Caliphate and the liberation of Constantinople, the Second Roman Republic emerged victorious, and in commemoration of this pivotal triumph, a magnificent Statue of Victory was erected in the Port of Rhodes, where the legendary Colossus of Rhodes once stood.
Excerpt from: An Unabridged History of Rome, Chapter 20 of 100: The First Fifty Years of the Second Republic, Page 370
vibe
The Battle for the Forum of Constantine
The century from Rhodes, a unit of hardened soldiers, found themselves at the heart of the decisive battle for Constantinople. Their mission: to secure the Blue Mosque, a critical strategic objective. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the ancient city, the soldiers prepared for what would become a grueling and relentless fight.
"Advance with caution," Evocatus Antonius barked, his voice steady despite the chaos. The streets of Constantinople echoed with the sounds of gunfire and explosions as the Rhodian soldiers moved through the narrow alleys, their senses heightened and nerves on edge. The Caliphate fighters, well-entrenched and determined, fought back fiercely, making every inch of progress a hard-won victory. They had already survived seven suicide bombing attempts today.
As they approached the Blue Mosque, the resistance intensified. Machine gun nests and sniper positions forced the Rhodian soldiers to take cover behind crumbling walls and abandoned vehicles. The air was thick with the acrid smell of vaporized civilians and the constant rattle of automatic fire.
"Move! Move! Move!" Tesserarius Lucius urged, leading a squad through a hail of bullets. They darted from cover to cover, returning fire whenever possible. Legionary Memmio, the youngest in the unit, was hit and fell to the ground. "Medic!" Lucius shouted, pulling Memmio to safety as the medic worked frantically to stabilize him.
Despite the casualties, they pushed on. The Blue Mosque was within sight, but as they crossed an open square, a hidden IED detonated, sending shrapnel in all directions. Several soldiers were thrown to the ground, and the screams of the injured filled the air. Evoactus Antonius, bleeding from a gash on his forehead, rallied his men. "We’re not stopping now! For the Republic!"
Reaching the Forum of Constantine, they set up a defensive perimeter. The ancient square, once a symbol of the gravitas of the empire of old, once again served as a battleground as it had 600 years ago when the ancestors of the Caliphate finally breached the Theodosian Walls. The Caliphate fighters, realizing the strategic importance of the Forum, launched a relentless assault. Waves of enemy troops surged forward, attempting to break the Rhodian lines.
"Hold your ground!" Decurion Marcus shouted, firing his Scorpio Heavy Cannon with an ever smaller supply of programmable airburst rounds. The century from Rhodes fought valiantly, their training and camaraderie evident in every coordinated move. But the sheer number of enemy fighters was overwhelming. Ammunition dwindled, and the cries of the wounded filled the air.
As hope began to wane, a powerful explosion rocked the ground, sending debris flying. When the dust settled, a remarkable sight was revealed: a statue of Victoria, the ancient Roman goddess of victory, uncovered by the blast. The soldiers, desperate and weary, took this as a sign.
"Victoria!" Tesserarius Lucius cried out, dropping to one knee in reverence. The others followed suit, paying homage to the goddess in a spontaneous and heartfelt prayer. "Grant us your favor and deliver us from this peril."
The enemy assault grew fiercer. The Caliphate fighters, emboldened by their numerical superiority, pressed the attack. The Rhodian soldiers, outnumbered and running low on ammunition, fought with every ounce of strength they had left. Hand-to-hand combat broke out as the enemy breached the perimeter of the Forum. Desperation set in as the defenders realized they were on the brink of being overrun.
Legionary Alexios, using his last grenade, managed to time his throw to detonate above a suicide bomber who took another 15 enemy soldiers with him, buying precious seconds for his comrades. But the situation was dire. Evocatus Antonius, clutching a makeshift bandage over a bullet wound in his side, ordered the last stand. "We fight to the end! For Rome!"
Just as the last of their ammunition was spent, the distinctive roar of Argentavis tiltrotors filled the sky. Friendly air support had finally arrived. The massive aircraft unleashed a barrage of firepower on the enemy positions, forcing the Caliphate fighters to pull back to cover. The tiltrotors hovered above the Forum, lowering ropes and medevac stretchers to evacuate the wounded and bring in fresh troops and supplies.
The arrival of reinforcements was nothing short of miraculous. The Rhodian soldiers, invigorated by the sight of their comrades descending from the skies, as if Victoria herself had arrived, launched a counteroffensive. With renewed strength and the tide turning in their favor, they pressed the attack, driving the enemy back and securing the Forum. The day was won, and their heroic stand would become legendary.
Erecting the Statue
In the aftermath of the war, the bravery and dedication of the Rhodian century were celebrated throughout the Second Roman Republic. Donations poured in from citizens moved by their courage, and a sense of renewed Roman citizenship flourished. The soldiers of Rhodes, honored and humbled by the support, decided to use the funds to build a monument to their victory and the divine favor they believed had saved them.
The Statue of Victory, a colossal representation of Victoria, was erected in the Port of Rhodes. Standing where the Old Colossus of Rhodes once welcomed travelers, this new monument symbolizes the resilience and unity of the Roman people. It serves as a reminder of shared history and enduring spirit that carried them through the darkest times to emerge victorious once more.
In the shadow of this grand statue, the citizens of Rhodes and visitors from across the Republic found inspiration and pride, knowing that the spirit of Victory and the legacy of their ancestors continued to guide and protect them.
It was also equipped with an Asterion Medium Range Missile Defense System housed in the head of the monument as well as two Jove Laser Systems, one for each eye, naturally.
2024.06.01 11:36 domestic-zombie After stomach infection I can barely eat, and when I do I sweat
I(32M) have ulcerative colitis and primary sclerosing cholangitis. About two weeks ago on Friday I started feeling unwell and ended up having an episode of cholangitis, where I had pain in my upper right abdomen. I needed about a week to recover, during which I had issues with stomach upset come up time and time again. However on the next Sunday I started developing a fever after eating a bigger meal, and ended up vomiting for 1.5 hours in the early hours of Monday. I didn't have diarrhea on the other hand, which I believed was because I vomited everything up from what caused me to get sick.
Since then I have been slowly recovering, but whenever I tried to eat a bigger meal I would again start feeling sick and develop a fever. When I realized this connection I stuck to eating smaller meals again.
We got a blood test done, which revealed a high CRP(66 mg/L), and an elevated GPT of 113(U/L). My white blood cell counts were also elevated. A few days after the vomiting I had one night where I was itching on my hands and feet quite badly, and this morning my urine was brown, but generally I experienced no pain in my upper right abdomen since two weeks ago.
So why I am posting this is to just get a few pointers on where I should head next. I visited my family doctor during the previous week twice and we were on the conclusion that I was recovering from a bacterial infection of the stomach, and that everything should be okay now. Instead yesterday(on Friday) I felt well enough to go back to work, until eating a bigger meal gave me a fever again and made me realize I am still not well. I would go back to my family doctor of course, but I cant' do that until Monday. I will also be calling my hepatologist/gastroenterologist to consult with them.
I am mostly worried about this pattern of only being able to eat small meals, and that sometimes even small portions can make me sweat, and of course the fever induced by eating a larger meal. Can anyone please give some pointers? I wasn't prescribed any antibiotics, since we believed that with the vomiting having gone, I was already recovering.
Thanks.
submitted by domestic-zombie to AskDocs [link] [comments]
Since then I have been slowly recovering, but whenever I tried to eat a bigger meal I would again start feeling sick and develop a fever. When I realized this connection I stuck to eating smaller meals again.
We got a blood test done, which revealed a high CRP(66 mg/L), and an elevated GPT of 113(U/L). My white blood cell counts were also elevated. A few days after the vomiting I had one night where I was itching on my hands and feet quite badly, and this morning my urine was brown, but generally I experienced no pain in my upper right abdomen since two weeks ago.
So why I am posting this is to just get a few pointers on where I should head next. I visited my family doctor during the previous week twice and we were on the conclusion that I was recovering from a bacterial infection of the stomach, and that everything should be okay now. Instead yesterday(on Friday) I felt well enough to go back to work, until eating a bigger meal gave me a fever again and made me realize I am still not well. I would go back to my family doctor of course, but I cant' do that until Monday. I will also be calling my hepatologist/gastroenterologist to consult with them.
I am mostly worried about this pattern of only being able to eat small meals, and that sometimes even small portions can make me sweat, and of course the fever induced by eating a larger meal. Can anyone please give some pointers? I wasn't prescribed any antibiotics, since we believed that with the vomiting having gone, I was already recovering.
Thanks.
2024.06.01 11:17 dwredbaker Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified.
Matthew 27:11-26~" Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews? And Jesus said unto him, Thou sayest. And when he was accused of the chief priests and elders, he answered nothing. Then said Pilate unto him, Hearest thou not how many things they witness against thee? And he answered him to never a word; insomuch that the governor marvelled greatly. Now at that feast the governor was wont to release unto the people a prisoner, whom they would. And they had then a notable prisoner, called Barabbas. Therefore when they were gathered together, Pilate said unto them, Whom will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas, or Jesus which is called Christ? For he knew that for envy they had delivered him. When he was set down on the judgment seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him. But the chief priests and elders persuaded the multitude that they should ask Barabbas, and destroy Jesus. The governor answered and said unto them, Whether of the twain will ye that I release unto you? They said, Barabbas. Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ? They all say unto him, Let him be crucified. And the governor said, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified. When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it. Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children. Then released he Barabbas unto them: and when he had scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified.
These verses describe our Lord's appearance before Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor. That sight must have been astonishing to the angels of God. He who will one day judge the world allowed himself to be judged and condemned, though "he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth." (Isaiah 53:9.) He from whose lips Pilate and Caiaphas will one day receive their eternal sentence, suffered silently an unjust sentence to be passed upon him. Those silent sufferings fulfilled the words of Isaiah, "as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he opens not his mouth." (Isaiah 53:7.) To those silent sufferings believers owe all their peace and hope. Through them they will have boldness in the day of judgment, who in themselves would have nothing to say.
Let us learn from the conduct of Pilate, how pitiful is the condition of an unprincipled great man.
Pilate appears to have been inwardly satisfied that our Lord had done nothing worthy of death. We are told distinctly, "that he knew that for ENVY they had delivered him." Left to the exercise of his own unbiased judgment, he would probably have dismissed the charges against our Lord, and let Him go free.
But Pilate was governor of a jealous and turbulent people. His great desire was to procure favor with them and please them. He cared little how much he sinned against God and conscience, so long as he had the praise of man. Though willing to save our Lord's life, he was afraid to do it, if it offended the Jews. And so, after a feeble attempt to divert the fury of the people from Jesus to Barabbas — and a feebler attempt to satisfy his own conscience, by washing his hands publicly before the people — he at last condemned one whom he himself called "a just person." He rejected the strange and mysterious warning which his wife sent to him after her dream. He stifled the remonstrances of his own conscience. He "delivered Jesus to be crucified."
Behold in this miserable man a lively emblem of many a ruler of this world! How many there are, who know well that their public acts are wrong, and yet have not the courage to act up to their knowledge. They fear the people! They dread being laughed at! They cannot bear being unpopular! Like dead fish, they float with the tide. The praise of man is the idol before which they bow down, and to that idol they sacrifice conscience, inward peace, and an immortal soul.
Whatever our position in life may be, let us seek to be guided by principle, and not by expediency. The praise of man is a poor, feeble, uncertain thing. It is here today, and gone tomorrow. Let us strive to please God, and then we may care little who else is pleased. Let us fear God, and then there is none else of whom we need be afraid.
Let us learn from the conduct of the Jews described in these verses, the desperate wickedness of human nature.
The behavior of Pilate afforded the chief priests and elders an occasion of reconsidering what they were about. The difficulties he raised about condemning our Lord, gave time for second thoughts. But there were no second thoughts in the minds of our Lord's enemies. They pressed on their wicked deed. They rejected the compromise that Pilate offered. They actually preferred having a wretched felon, named Barabbas, set at liberty rather than Jesus. They clamored loudly for our Lord's crucifixion. And they wound up all by recklessly taking on themselves all the guilt of our Lord's death, in words of portentous meaning, "His blood be on us and our children."
And what had our Lord done, that the Jews should hate Him so? He was no robber, or murderer. He was no blasphemer of their God, or reviler of their prophets. He was one whose life was love. He was one who "went about doing good, and healing all that were oppressed of the devil." (Acts 10:38.) He was innocent of any transgression against the law of God or man. And yet the Jews hated Him, and never rested until He was slain! They hated Him, because He told them the truth. They hated Him, because He testified of their works that they were evil. They hated the light, because it made their own darkness visible. In a word, they hated Christ, because He was righteous and they were wicked, because He was holy and they were unholy — because He testified against sin, and they were determined to keep their sins and not let them go.
Let us observe this. There are few things so little believed and realized as the corruption of human nature. Men imagine that if they saw a perfect person, they would love and admire him. They flatter themselves that it is the inconsistency of professing Christians which they dislike, and not their religion. They forget that when a really perfect man was on earth, in the person of the Son of God, He was hated and put to death. That single fact goes far to prove the truth of Edwards' remark — "unconverted men would kill God, if they could get at Him."
Let us never be surprised at the wickedness there is in the world. Let us mourn over it, and labor to make it less, but let us never be surprised at its extent. There is nothing which the heart of man is not capable of conceiving, or the hand of man of doing. As long as we live, let us mistrust our own hearts. Even when renewed by the Spirit, they are still "deceitful above all things and desperately wicked." (Jer. 17:9.)
submitted by dwredbaker to OldPaths [link] [comments]
These verses describe our Lord's appearance before Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor. That sight must have been astonishing to the angels of God. He who will one day judge the world allowed himself to be judged and condemned, though "he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth." (Isaiah 53:9.) He from whose lips Pilate and Caiaphas will one day receive their eternal sentence, suffered silently an unjust sentence to be passed upon him. Those silent sufferings fulfilled the words of Isaiah, "as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he opens not his mouth." (Isaiah 53:7.) To those silent sufferings believers owe all their peace and hope. Through them they will have boldness in the day of judgment, who in themselves would have nothing to say.
Let us learn from the conduct of Pilate, how pitiful is the condition of an unprincipled great man.
Pilate appears to have been inwardly satisfied that our Lord had done nothing worthy of death. We are told distinctly, "that he knew that for ENVY they had delivered him." Left to the exercise of his own unbiased judgment, he would probably have dismissed the charges against our Lord, and let Him go free.
But Pilate was governor of a jealous and turbulent people. His great desire was to procure favor with them and please them. He cared little how much he sinned against God and conscience, so long as he had the praise of man. Though willing to save our Lord's life, he was afraid to do it, if it offended the Jews. And so, after a feeble attempt to divert the fury of the people from Jesus to Barabbas — and a feebler attempt to satisfy his own conscience, by washing his hands publicly before the people — he at last condemned one whom he himself called "a just person." He rejected the strange and mysterious warning which his wife sent to him after her dream. He stifled the remonstrances of his own conscience. He "delivered Jesus to be crucified."
Behold in this miserable man a lively emblem of many a ruler of this world! How many there are, who know well that their public acts are wrong, and yet have not the courage to act up to their knowledge. They fear the people! They dread being laughed at! They cannot bear being unpopular! Like dead fish, they float with the tide. The praise of man is the idol before which they bow down, and to that idol they sacrifice conscience, inward peace, and an immortal soul.
Whatever our position in life may be, let us seek to be guided by principle, and not by expediency. The praise of man is a poor, feeble, uncertain thing. It is here today, and gone tomorrow. Let us strive to please God, and then we may care little who else is pleased. Let us fear God, and then there is none else of whom we need be afraid.
Let us learn from the conduct of the Jews described in these verses, the desperate wickedness of human nature.
The behavior of Pilate afforded the chief priests and elders an occasion of reconsidering what they were about. The difficulties he raised about condemning our Lord, gave time for second thoughts. But there were no second thoughts in the minds of our Lord's enemies. They pressed on their wicked deed. They rejected the compromise that Pilate offered. They actually preferred having a wretched felon, named Barabbas, set at liberty rather than Jesus. They clamored loudly for our Lord's crucifixion. And they wound up all by recklessly taking on themselves all the guilt of our Lord's death, in words of portentous meaning, "His blood be on us and our children."
And what had our Lord done, that the Jews should hate Him so? He was no robber, or murderer. He was no blasphemer of their God, or reviler of their prophets. He was one whose life was love. He was one who "went about doing good, and healing all that were oppressed of the devil." (Acts 10:38.) He was innocent of any transgression against the law of God or man. And yet the Jews hated Him, and never rested until He was slain! They hated Him, because He told them the truth. They hated Him, because He testified of their works that they were evil. They hated the light, because it made their own darkness visible. In a word, they hated Christ, because He was righteous and they were wicked, because He was holy and they were unholy — because He testified against sin, and they were determined to keep their sins and not let them go.
Let us observe this. There are few things so little believed and realized as the corruption of human nature. Men imagine that if they saw a perfect person, they would love and admire him. They flatter themselves that it is the inconsistency of professing Christians which they dislike, and not their religion. They forget that when a really perfect man was on earth, in the person of the Son of God, He was hated and put to death. That single fact goes far to prove the truth of Edwards' remark — "unconverted men would kill God, if they could get at Him."
Let us never be surprised at the wickedness there is in the world. Let us mourn over it, and labor to make it less, but let us never be surprised at its extent. There is nothing which the heart of man is not capable of conceiving, or the hand of man of doing. As long as we live, let us mistrust our own hearts. Even when renewed by the Spirit, they are still "deceitful above all things and desperately wicked." (Jer. 17:9.)
2024.06.01 11:08 AnywhereOk4380 How can I save myself.
Well this is not about me but I am asking this so when time comes I am well prepared for it.
Recently recived news that many freshers from computer branch who were hired by Sprinklr at the start of placement season which is around july august 2023 and were about to join in I think July were had their placements revoked.
This i a bloodbath for CSE placements as for freshers it is very hard to find jobs without exprience. Also to add salt to the wounds, collages don't allow students to apply for other componies if they already have gotten a offer in hand.
Is there a way for be prepared for this and is what should I do if this happenes to me. What laws can help here.
submitted by AnywhereOk4380 to LegalAdviceIndia [link] [comments]
Recently recived news that many freshers from computer branch who were hired by Sprinklr at the start of placement season which is around july august 2023 and were about to join in I think July were had their placements revoked.
This i a bloodbath for CSE placements as for freshers it is very hard to find jobs without exprience. Also to add salt to the wounds, collages don't allow students to apply for other componies if they already have gotten a offer in hand.
Is there a way for be prepared for this and is what should I do if this happenes to me. What laws can help here.
2024.06.01 10:37 Cold_Might_4682 Can we talk about minor mistakes as an experienced nurse?
As a new grad you hear all the time, and for good reason, that you will make mistakes. I feel like that topic isn’t talked about nearly as much once you’ve been doing this for a while. I’ve been a nurse for five years and have worked at 4 hospitals (first job three years).
My example: for my first three years that hospital had us scan both the antibiotic and the bag that it was reconstituted in, to cross check the volume, so I became very accustomed to that second check. I’ve been at my current hospital for a few months and for the first time grabbed the wrong concentration to reconstitute (100 instead of 50) and ran the med. of course as soon as I realized this I told my charge and contacted pharmacy about it. Pharmacy essentially said it wasn’t a problem. I feel terrible about it, obviously I should have double checked what was in my hand. Not an excuse but it was a very hectic beginning of shift with little help available.
One of the hospitals i previously worked at had an initiative about aiming for zero error rate which of course in theory is great, but I think it puts an unrealistic pressure on us. I think most of us in this profession are already aiming for that, have high standards, and tend be very hard on ourselves for the percentage of human error that does occur.
I feel that nurses are often too proud and/or ashamed to talk about that percentage of error they make simply because we are human. Perhaps some have never made a mistake, and perhaps some have but have never caught it.
Is this just part of our culture? Would it help to talk about it more? Am I likely being too hard on myself?
If you made it this far into my quasi-rant thanks for reading and please excuse my night shift brain for the rambling
submitted by Cold_Might_4682 to nursing [link] [comments]
My example: for my first three years that hospital had us scan both the antibiotic and the bag that it was reconstituted in, to cross check the volume, so I became very accustomed to that second check. I’ve been at my current hospital for a few months and for the first time grabbed the wrong concentration to reconstitute (100 instead of 50) and ran the med. of course as soon as I realized this I told my charge and contacted pharmacy about it. Pharmacy essentially said it wasn’t a problem. I feel terrible about it, obviously I should have double checked what was in my hand. Not an excuse but it was a very hectic beginning of shift with little help available.
One of the hospitals i previously worked at had an initiative about aiming for zero error rate which of course in theory is great, but I think it puts an unrealistic pressure on us. I think most of us in this profession are already aiming for that, have high standards, and tend be very hard on ourselves for the percentage of human error that does occur.
I feel that nurses are often too proud and/or ashamed to talk about that percentage of error they make simply because we are human. Perhaps some have never made a mistake, and perhaps some have but have never caught it.
Is this just part of our culture? Would it help to talk about it more? Am I likely being too hard on myself?
If you made it this far into my quasi-rant thanks for reading and please excuse my night shift brain for the rambling
2024.06.01 10:32 Ok_Adhesiveness3464 Can’t cure feline chlamydia
Hi everyone,
About 2 months ago, my kitten was diagnosed with feline chlamydia (eye swab). The medicine that he got for it was amoxicillin. He was taking it for a month, and his redness in the eye and sneezing went away. After 2 weeks of stopping taking antibiotics, he was neutred and in period of 10 days he got 5 shots of prolonged antibiotics so that his wound wouldn't get infected. It is now 2 weeks after his surgery, and again, he has redness in the same eye as before, and he started sneezing again. What should I do? I don't think it's very smart to put him on another round of antibiotics since he's been on them for 2 months in and out. Please help 🥹🐱
submitted by Ok_Adhesiveness3464 to AskVet [link] [comments]
About 2 months ago, my kitten was diagnosed with feline chlamydia (eye swab). The medicine that he got for it was amoxicillin. He was taking it for a month, and his redness in the eye and sneezing went away. After 2 weeks of stopping taking antibiotics, he was neutred and in period of 10 days he got 5 shots of prolonged antibiotics so that his wound wouldn't get infected. It is now 2 weeks after his surgery, and again, he has redness in the same eye as before, and he started sneezing again. What should I do? I don't think it's very smart to put him on another round of antibiotics since he's been on them for 2 months in and out. Please help 🥹🐱
2024.06.01 10:15 eartheo I was bitten during a dog fight - should I report?
My mother, my two dogs (both around 45 lbs), and I were on a walk on a quiet local trail that is familiar to us. I keep both leashed and when trail walking, harnessed with back grips to help them up rocks or grab them securely if needed. They can be great or they can be jerks; they’re both rescues and we’re working on it. I always move off trail with them to let people pass. Off leash dogs are my nightmare.
While walking, a dog (spitz-type about the same size as my dogs, maybe slightly larger) came running towards us from the other direction. I yelled for the owner to get their dog and tried to kick the dog away. My initial thought was the dog did not look like it was coming to say hi, but charging, which is why I yelled and kicked.
I pulled my male dog behind me with the leash, again trying to keep the dogs apart. Well, it didn’t work, I ended up between them as the other dog dove at mine. I did end up pulling my dog away using the harness, and when I did, the other dog bit the back of my calf, just below my knee. I don’t believe the dog intended to bite me, but was aiming for my dog. My dog seems fine. The dog was going for his neck and back/belly, which were protected by his harness.
Side note: I didn’t see this, but apparently the dog charged at my other dog after I pulled them apart, and she gave him a growl that had him go full reverse. She has now been dubbed “baddest bitch.” The owner grabbed him at that point.
As it turns out, the dog was off leash because the owner had twisted her ankle and was looking for a stick to help her walk. She didn’t realize anyone else was on this not-often-used trail. I suspect the dog was protecting her, as there were two unknown dogs coming up on its hurt owner. It’s also why it took her a minute to get to us.
The dog is vaccinated, I’ve gone to urgent care and am on two courses of antibiotics, probiotics, etc., all of which she’s offered to pay for. I had jeans on and still managed puncture wounds and a very pretty bruise. It’s sore but I’ll be good in a few days. I haven’t found anything on my dog, the harness protected him.
I don’t think this dog is vicious. It was a bad series of circumstances, she made some errors in judgement, and is trying to make it right.
I don’t want this dog put down nor do I want to sue or go to court. I’m fine with being reimbursed for my costs. I made the choice to not let the dogs fight it out or wait for her to help wheelbarrow them.
There is no leash law, but you are expected to have your dog under control. Reading the RSAs (state laws) I’m not sure if this dog would need to be removed/quarantined or if the owner would get a laughable fine. One seems extreme, the other a joke. I just want her to leash her dog in the future, and I suspect after this she will.
If this were you in this situation, would you report the bite to the pd? - if it matters, I’m in NH, USA
submitted by eartheo to DogAdvice [link] [comments]
While walking, a dog (spitz-type about the same size as my dogs, maybe slightly larger) came running towards us from the other direction. I yelled for the owner to get their dog and tried to kick the dog away. My initial thought was the dog did not look like it was coming to say hi, but charging, which is why I yelled and kicked.
I pulled my male dog behind me with the leash, again trying to keep the dogs apart. Well, it didn’t work, I ended up between them as the other dog dove at mine. I did end up pulling my dog away using the harness, and when I did, the other dog bit the back of my calf, just below my knee. I don’t believe the dog intended to bite me, but was aiming for my dog. My dog seems fine. The dog was going for his neck and back/belly, which were protected by his harness.
Side note: I didn’t see this, but apparently the dog charged at my other dog after I pulled them apart, and she gave him a growl that had him go full reverse. She has now been dubbed “baddest bitch.” The owner grabbed him at that point.
As it turns out, the dog was off leash because the owner had twisted her ankle and was looking for a stick to help her walk. She didn’t realize anyone else was on this not-often-used trail. I suspect the dog was protecting her, as there were two unknown dogs coming up on its hurt owner. It’s also why it took her a minute to get to us.
The dog is vaccinated, I’ve gone to urgent care and am on two courses of antibiotics, probiotics, etc., all of which she’s offered to pay for. I had jeans on and still managed puncture wounds and a very pretty bruise. It’s sore but I’ll be good in a few days. I haven’t found anything on my dog, the harness protected him.
I don’t think this dog is vicious. It was a bad series of circumstances, she made some errors in judgement, and is trying to make it right.
I don’t want this dog put down nor do I want to sue or go to court. I’m fine with being reimbursed for my costs. I made the choice to not let the dogs fight it out or wait for her to help wheelbarrow them.
There is no leash law, but you are expected to have your dog under control. Reading the RSAs (state laws) I’m not sure if this dog would need to be removed/quarantined or if the owner would get a laughable fine. One seems extreme, the other a joke. I just want her to leash her dog in the future, and I suspect after this she will.
If this were you in this situation, would you report the bite to the pd? - if it matters, I’m in NH, USA
2024.06.01 09:57 Sagittarius-A_Star Got bit by a dog and stupid people are escalating the situation 😤
So I got bit by a friend’s (more like acquaintance’s) dog last week. We were playing fetch with our dogs in the backyard and his dog clamped onto my wrist once while I was reaching for the ball. It wasn’t that major but it broke skin and was fairly deep so it bled quite a bit. I asked the guy if the dog is vaccinated, he said yes. Then I asked if this had happened before and he said no, definitively. He said sorry and told me he’d cover any expenses. I walked home and then went to the ER (I have state insurance so it’s free) and got a tetanus shot and antibiotics. Part of the ER visit involved an animal bite form. I didn’t want to throw his dog under the bus so I was intentionally vague providing only a first name and phone number on the form. A couple days later I was contacted by animal services saying they’d like to take a look at the dog and make sure that it wasn’t showing any signs of rabies while explicitly saying this was not about reporting the dog or taking him away. The dog owner was apparently then contacted by animal services where he volunteered his address for them to come and see the dog. After this he sent a series of very stern, and somewhat threatening, text messages demanding pictures of my wound “for his records.” I was taken aback by his insistence, therefore refused to provide the photos.
Fast forward to now. I ran into said dog owner’s roommate at the restaurant where he works. He seemed clearly unhappy to see me and even though he doesn’t like me anyway, this was more so than usual. Before I left I went to talk to him, and make sure everything was alright between us, but he was obviously still angry about the situation surrounding me going to the ER and the visit from animal services, including a $100 fine for something that was left unexplained. We started to argue about the severity of the bite and the necessity for medical attention and it got so intense that I lost my temper and he actually punched me in the face! I subsequently called the police and I will probably make a formal report.
Before this I wasn’t mad at the dog owner or the dog, had no medical expenses to speak of, so no lawsuits or anything. The situation could have been done with, but because of these stupid people it’s been turned into a major ordeal. Very frustrating.
Edit: Also, since the incident I’ve found out that this dog has actually bit a number of people and is generally problematic.
submitted by Sagittarius-A_Star to Vent [link] [comments]
Fast forward to now. I ran into said dog owner’s roommate at the restaurant where he works. He seemed clearly unhappy to see me and even though he doesn’t like me anyway, this was more so than usual. Before I left I went to talk to him, and make sure everything was alright between us, but he was obviously still angry about the situation surrounding me going to the ER and the visit from animal services, including a $100 fine for something that was left unexplained. We started to argue about the severity of the bite and the necessity for medical attention and it got so intense that I lost my temper and he actually punched me in the face! I subsequently called the police and I will probably make a formal report.
Before this I wasn’t mad at the dog owner or the dog, had no medical expenses to speak of, so no lawsuits or anything. The situation could have been done with, but because of these stupid people it’s been turned into a major ordeal. Very frustrating.
Edit: Also, since the incident I’ve found out that this dog has actually bit a number of people and is generally problematic.
2024.06.01 09:50 ellieellie7199 my wife and i are both having recurring ear infections, help!
hi all. over the past 4 months i have been having repeated ear infections, and now my wife has one, too. i dont think it's a coincidence but i dont know what is causing them. here to ask if anyone has any idea, or has had something similar.
we are both women in our early 20's, wife has no history of ear infections, but I had them a lot as a kid. had ear tubes put in and removed.
here's the timeline so far:
-i got a bacterial middle ear infection in February. a few days in, a server at a restaurant ran into me and hit the ear with the tray he was holding very hard. pain got exponentially worse, got oral antibiotics and antibiotic drops (ciprofloxacin .3% and dexamethasone .1%). spread to second ear a few days later. constantly had pus + blood pouring out of both ears. 2 weeks into it I got pinkeye, which lasted I ~2 days. ear pain and pinkeye both cleared up after that. in total was infected ~3 weeks.
-it came back in March (a little over a week later). doc said bacterial middle ear infection in both ears, fungal outer ear infection in one ear. prescribed the same drops + another for the fungal infection, don't have the name. lasted a week.
-i had a respiratory infection early may, lasted a week or so. something was going around. unsure if it's relevant.
-i cleaned my wife's ears with a wax removal kit (brand new, never been used by either of us before) which had a metal spiral brush and small scoops. her ears had been plugged and painful for a day and a half, which is not unusual. i used a scoop to take a lot of wax out. I kept asking if it hurt, and she said no, but apparently it was painful and she didn't tell me. she got an infection in one ear the next day. I sterilized the tools and decided not to use them again. she got prescribed those same ear drops, but we don't know if it was the same infection or not, because she has not had any pus or blood coming out. she's on day 10 now and it's spread to the other ear.
-against my better judgement, I used the ear kit on my own ears a few times over the past week, sterilizing it with boiling water each time, not scratching or scraping. as of 5 hours ago, one ear is starting to hurt.
I'm reading that ear infections obviously are not contagious but the bacteria can spread. so I think something in our apartment is contaminated. my wife and I do not share pillows, earplugs, headphones, or hats. I guess things can spread by hand, though. I've replaced my shower cap, threw away all the eye makeup I used before I had pinkeye + deep cleaned the brushes, disinfected my headphones, stopped using q tips, frequently replace my pillow case... everything I can think of. so what the hell are these infections coming from?! is it something in my shower head? the mattress?? the air?
I know the obvious answer sounds like the metal cleaning kit, but I had the first two infections before even buying it. I probably either gave it to my wife by scraping her ears too hard, or she already had one and I made it worse. and then, I may have given it to myself again with the kit. I was leaving the tools in boiling water for 15 min then rinsing with rubbing alcohol after each use, but I guess that's not foolproof.
it doesn't explain the first two infections. there has to be something we are coming into contact with. does anyone have any ideas? any advice? we are both in excruciating pain, and have called out of work way more times than we can afford to (the urgent care bills and prescriptions aren't helping, either). I am desperate at this point. please help!
submitted by ellieellie7199 to DiagnoseMe [link] [comments]
we are both women in our early 20's, wife has no history of ear infections, but I had them a lot as a kid. had ear tubes put in and removed.
here's the timeline so far:
-i got a bacterial middle ear infection in February. a few days in, a server at a restaurant ran into me and hit the ear with the tray he was holding very hard. pain got exponentially worse, got oral antibiotics and antibiotic drops (ciprofloxacin .3% and dexamethasone .1%). spread to second ear a few days later. constantly had pus + blood pouring out of both ears. 2 weeks into it I got pinkeye, which lasted I ~2 days. ear pain and pinkeye both cleared up after that. in total was infected ~3 weeks.
-it came back in March (a little over a week later). doc said bacterial middle ear infection in both ears, fungal outer ear infection in one ear. prescribed the same drops + another for the fungal infection, don't have the name. lasted a week.
-i had a respiratory infection early may, lasted a week or so. something was going around. unsure if it's relevant.
-i cleaned my wife's ears with a wax removal kit (brand new, never been used by either of us before) which had a metal spiral brush and small scoops. her ears had been plugged and painful for a day and a half, which is not unusual. i used a scoop to take a lot of wax out. I kept asking if it hurt, and she said no, but apparently it was painful and she didn't tell me. she got an infection in one ear the next day. I sterilized the tools and decided not to use them again. she got prescribed those same ear drops, but we don't know if it was the same infection or not, because she has not had any pus or blood coming out. she's on day 10 now and it's spread to the other ear.
-against my better judgement, I used the ear kit on my own ears a few times over the past week, sterilizing it with boiling water each time, not scratching or scraping. as of 5 hours ago, one ear is starting to hurt.
I'm reading that ear infections obviously are not contagious but the bacteria can spread. so I think something in our apartment is contaminated. my wife and I do not share pillows, earplugs, headphones, or hats. I guess things can spread by hand, though. I've replaced my shower cap, threw away all the eye makeup I used before I had pinkeye + deep cleaned the brushes, disinfected my headphones, stopped using q tips, frequently replace my pillow case... everything I can think of. so what the hell are these infections coming from?! is it something in my shower head? the mattress?? the air?
I know the obvious answer sounds like the metal cleaning kit, but I had the first two infections before even buying it. I probably either gave it to my wife by scraping her ears too hard, or she already had one and I made it worse. and then, I may have given it to myself again with the kit. I was leaving the tools in boiling water for 15 min then rinsing with rubbing alcohol after each use, but I guess that's not foolproof.
it doesn't explain the first two infections. there has to be something we are coming into contact with. does anyone have any ideas? any advice? we are both in excruciating pain, and have called out of work way more times than we can afford to (the urgent care bills and prescriptions aren't helping, either). I am desperate at this point. please help!
2024.06.01 09:48 ellieellie7199 my wife and i are both having recurring ear infections, help!
hi all. over the past 4 months i have been having repeated ear infections, and now my wife has one, too. i dont think it's a coincidence but i dont know what is causing them. here to ask if anyone has any idea, or has had something similar.
we are both women in our early 20's, wife has no history of ear infections, but I had them a lot as a kid. had ear tubes put in and removed.
here's the timeline so far:
-i got a bacterial middle ear infection in February. a few days in, a server at a restaurant ran into me and hit the ear with the tray he was holding very hard. pain got exponentially worse, got oral antibiotics and antibiotic drops (ciprofloxacin .3% and dexamethasone .1%). spread to second ear a few days later. constantly had pus + blood pouring out of both ears. 2 weeks into it I got pinkeye, which lasted I ~2 days. ear pain and pinkeye both cleared up after that. in total was infected ~3 weeks.
-it came back in March (a little over a week later). doc said bacterial middle ear infection in both ears, fungal outer ear infection in one ear. prescribed the same drops + another for the fungal infection, don't have the name. lasted a week.
-i had a respiratory infection early may, lasted a week or so. something was going around. unsure if it's relevant.
-i cleaned my wife's ears with a wax removal kit (brand new, never been used by either of us before) which had a metal spiral brush and small scoops. her ears had been plugged and painful for a day and a half, which is not unusual. i used a scoop to take a lot of wax out. I kept asking if it hurt, and she said no, but apparently it was painful and she didn't tell me. she got an infection in one ear the next day. I sterilized the tools and decided not to use them again. she got prescribed those same ear drops, but we don't know if it was the same infection or not, because she has not had any pus or blood coming out. she's on day 10 now and it's spread to the other ear.
-against my better judgement, I used the ear kit on my own ears a few times over the past week, sterilizing it with boiling water each time, not scratching or scraping. as of 5 hours ago, one ear is starting to hurt.
I'm reading that ear infections obviously are not contagious but the bacteria can spread. so I think something in our apartment is contaminated. my wife and I do not share pillows, earplugs, headphones, or hats. I guess things can spread by hand, though. I've replaced my shower cap, threw away all the eye makeup I used before I had pinkeye + deep cleaned the brushes, disinfected my headphones, stopped using q tips, frequently replace my pillow case... everything I can think of. so what the hell are these infections coming from?! is it something in my shower head? the mattress?? the air?
I know the obvious answer sounds like the metal cleaning kit, but I had the first two infections before even buying it. I probably either gave it to my wife by scraping her ears too hard, or she already had one and I made it worse. and then, I may have given it to myself again with the kit. I was leaving the tools in boiling water for 15 min then rinsing with rubbing alcohol after each use, but I guess that's not foolproof.
it doesn't explain the first two infections. there has to be something we are coming into contact with. does anyone have any ideas? any advice? we are both in excruciating pain, and have called out of work way more times than we can afford to (the urgent care bills and prescriptions aren't helping, either). I am desperate at this point. please help!
submitted by ellieellie7199 to EaR [link] [comments]
we are both women in our early 20's, wife has no history of ear infections, but I had them a lot as a kid. had ear tubes put in and removed.
here's the timeline so far:
-i got a bacterial middle ear infection in February. a few days in, a server at a restaurant ran into me and hit the ear with the tray he was holding very hard. pain got exponentially worse, got oral antibiotics and antibiotic drops (ciprofloxacin .3% and dexamethasone .1%). spread to second ear a few days later. constantly had pus + blood pouring out of both ears. 2 weeks into it I got pinkeye, which lasted I ~2 days. ear pain and pinkeye both cleared up after that. in total was infected ~3 weeks.
-it came back in March (a little over a week later). doc said bacterial middle ear infection in both ears, fungal outer ear infection in one ear. prescribed the same drops + another for the fungal infection, don't have the name. lasted a week.
-i had a respiratory infection early may, lasted a week or so. something was going around. unsure if it's relevant.
-i cleaned my wife's ears with a wax removal kit (brand new, never been used by either of us before) which had a metal spiral brush and small scoops. her ears had been plugged and painful for a day and a half, which is not unusual. i used a scoop to take a lot of wax out. I kept asking if it hurt, and she said no, but apparently it was painful and she didn't tell me. she got an infection in one ear the next day. I sterilized the tools and decided not to use them again. she got prescribed those same ear drops, but we don't know if it was the same infection or not, because she has not had any pus or blood coming out. she's on day 10 now and it's spread to the other ear.
-against my better judgement, I used the ear kit on my own ears a few times over the past week, sterilizing it with boiling water each time, not scratching or scraping. as of 5 hours ago, one ear is starting to hurt.
I'm reading that ear infections obviously are not contagious but the bacteria can spread. so I think something in our apartment is contaminated. my wife and I do not share pillows, earplugs, headphones, or hats. I guess things can spread by hand, though. I've replaced my shower cap, threw away all the eye makeup I used before I had pinkeye + deep cleaned the brushes, disinfected my headphones, stopped using q tips, frequently replace my pillow case... everything I can think of. so what the hell are these infections coming from?! is it something in my shower head? the mattress?? the air?
I know the obvious answer sounds like the metal cleaning kit, but I had the first two infections before even buying it. I probably either gave it to my wife by scraping her ears too hard, or she already had one and I made it worse. and then, I may have given it to myself again with the kit. I was leaving the tools in boiling water for 15 min then rinsing with rubbing alcohol after each use, but I guess that's not foolproof.
it doesn't explain the first two infections. there has to be something we are coming into contact with. does anyone have any ideas? any advice? we are both in excruciating pain, and have called out of work way more times than we can afford to (the urgent care bills and prescriptions aren't helping, either). I am desperate at this point. please help!
2024.06.01 09:48 catwrshipper I relapsed and everything hurts
Just wanted to post an update, I’m a bit embarrassed because I really thought I was locked in with the “all-in” method but the ed got me when I was in a vulnerable spot. It’s “comforting” to track my intake even though I hate doing it so much.
On the second day of my relapse, which was the day that I graduated, sucked ass. My sister got me Canes as a part of a surprise gift. It used to be my favorite food but it became a fear food due to the high calories. I forced myself to eat a little because I didn’t want her gift to go to waste, and my mom was pressuring me to eat it. Felt disgustingly full the whole ceremony, and it was COLD. I was having painful shivers the whole ceremony as it was outside and I was wearing a dress.
The cold made my limbs go numb. As I was leaving I was running in heeled shoes back to the car (my family was rushing me) and I fell quite hard on asphalt road. I am pretty underweight so all my limbs got bruised up, and I have deep open wounds on my knee and dominant hand. I also got burnt on most of my limbs from my clothes rubbing against my skin when I fell.
Since ana slows down healing I’ve had these open wounds for three days and it hurts whenever I move because I just reopen the slowly forming scabs. I’m having my graduation party soon so I’ve been cleaning the house for it to avoid my mom being pissed at me. The pain is unbearable at some points as I have to lean on the bruises and wounds to clean properly but I keep pushing myself. I feel so weak and I’ve been eating less as I can’t workout in this condition.
And to add on to the pain, a day before the graduation I had gotten a vaccine that made me sick and gave me a sore arm (that has just now gotten tolerable on the pain scale). I also got 5 vials of blood drawn for tests which made me faint for a few days.
I also had a celebration dinner yesterday at a Chinese restaurant. I had gotten the calorie counts mixed up and I thought the calories listed were for a full serving but it was for a half serving, so I accidentally ate probably 4 full servings of dishes. I made the mistake of weighing myself, thinking I properly maintained but I gained a pound. Of course this made me restrict even more as I am already having a bad relapse.
I also saw a post on TikTok where literal children were asking for tips on how to purge and lose weight to EXTREMELY dangerous weights. Like- they were idolizing this stuff, it made me extremely upset and disgusted. I wish I hadn’t seen it but it’s so hard to avoid that stuff now even when casually scrolling for some reason. It made me feel unmotivated with getting back into recovery.
I’m struggling so bad, so any words of encouragement to get me back on track would be appreciated. Sorry for the yap session I just feel stuck.
I hope everything heals up quicker so I can stop limping and wobbling everywhere. It would be embarrassing to look like a corpse in front of my family when my party comes up in two days.
submitted by catwrshipper to fuckeatingdisorders [link] [comments]
On the second day of my relapse, which was the day that I graduated, sucked ass. My sister got me Canes as a part of a surprise gift. It used to be my favorite food but it became a fear food due to the high calories. I forced myself to eat a little because I didn’t want her gift to go to waste, and my mom was pressuring me to eat it. Felt disgustingly full the whole ceremony, and it was COLD. I was having painful shivers the whole ceremony as it was outside and I was wearing a dress.
The cold made my limbs go numb. As I was leaving I was running in heeled shoes back to the car (my family was rushing me) and I fell quite hard on asphalt road. I am pretty underweight so all my limbs got bruised up, and I have deep open wounds on my knee and dominant hand. I also got burnt on most of my limbs from my clothes rubbing against my skin when I fell.
Since ana slows down healing I’ve had these open wounds for three days and it hurts whenever I move because I just reopen the slowly forming scabs. I’m having my graduation party soon so I’ve been cleaning the house for it to avoid my mom being pissed at me. The pain is unbearable at some points as I have to lean on the bruises and wounds to clean properly but I keep pushing myself. I feel so weak and I’ve been eating less as I can’t workout in this condition.
And to add on to the pain, a day before the graduation I had gotten a vaccine that made me sick and gave me a sore arm (that has just now gotten tolerable on the pain scale). I also got 5 vials of blood drawn for tests which made me faint for a few days.
I also had a celebration dinner yesterday at a Chinese restaurant. I had gotten the calorie counts mixed up and I thought the calories listed were for a full serving but it was for a half serving, so I accidentally ate probably 4 full servings of dishes. I made the mistake of weighing myself, thinking I properly maintained but I gained a pound. Of course this made me restrict even more as I am already having a bad relapse.
I also saw a post on TikTok where literal children were asking for tips on how to purge and lose weight to EXTREMELY dangerous weights. Like- they were idolizing this stuff, it made me extremely upset and disgusted. I wish I hadn’t seen it but it’s so hard to avoid that stuff now even when casually scrolling for some reason. It made me feel unmotivated with getting back into recovery.
I’m struggling so bad, so any words of encouragement to get me back on track would be appreciated. Sorry for the yap session I just feel stuck.
I hope everything heals up quicker so I can stop limping and wobbling everywhere. It would be embarrassing to look like a corpse in front of my family when my party comes up in two days.
2024.06.01 09:43 cartoon_Dinosaur Yulpa wife-- [one-shot]
This is a sequal to u/uktabi's Yulpa GF one shot, since he seems to LAZY to make a sequel. (that's a joke, god I'm so tired its almost 3am as I write this god fucking dammit why did i do this to myself)
He was originally inspired by u/FrostedScales' art., (God, please make a cover for this I want one so fucking baaaaaaad)
I make my way into my house, a small part of me is hoping for relief from the harsh Savannah heat. Only to be brought back to my unpleasant reality of my house being just as hot and dry as the outside.
Ugh, why do I willingly live in this hellish place without AC?
I hear mewing and tapping hooves getting closer, a small blood red calf comes running towards me and runs circles around me. I extend my free hand and she readily forces her head into it, wrapping her tongue, upper and lower lip around it to return the gesture of connection. The barbs irritate my skin, but she's old enough now not to unintentionally draw blood.
I look down at the pleading eye, happy to see me again.
Ah, right. While I'm in hell she's in paradise, I guess I’ll have to suck it up for her.
I give her a closed lip smile and rub her ears.
“Hi honey, how was school?” She inflates her nostrils and begins to talk to me in learned English. It is… unsettling how accurately she can mimic almost anyone with only her nose. I am reminded of that fact as she speaks in my voice.
“Good, bunny lunch was.” I forced down an indignant laugh at the child's broken grammar. It seems Yulpa are able to understand words, but grammar doesn't seem important to them. I remember how off puttingly dense their spoken language is, they can communicate in infra sound over vast distances. Their phrases were spoken in single words, so a single “word” was a bit of a conversation. Like “Over the river” or ”up the tree is food.”
It was insane how dense their language was.
“Do you know if mom is back?” The little head in my hand nodes while still wrapped around me.
“Garden she eating is.”
I rub her head one more time before I make my way out the back door. The child quickly scampered off to do who knows what.
Out in the back I see her, draped in golden jewelry, with a well maintained main, green cloth and jewels to accentuate her natural deep red coat. She was laying down with what looked like roughage in her maw. She was absentmindedly chewing and staring off into space.
I walked over and rested myself against her side, I let her breathing rise and lower me. Being in the presence of such a large person really made me feel how insanely varied our body masses were. Despite being married and … constituting it, we had to sleep in separate beds, lest she roll onto me and I die of suffocation or all my bones breaking.
I absentmindedly picked some grass and twirled it around. “So, what's wrong?” She rolled her eyes towards me.
“Hungry.” She spoke in perfect English, I looked down at the grass I began to weave together.
“You need to get the cure.” She raised her massive head ever so slightly. “No, betrayal, life lived one way. Too late, already sacrificed too many.” She blows out her nose.
I grab more grass and weave it into the mass I was creating. “I thought I was too old, set in my ways to be married when we met. But now look at us.” I point to the child in the window clearly talking to someone on the home computer. “I’m glad you hunted me, forced me into this. If you didn't I'd still be a lonely S.O.B. jacking it to venlil stuff right now.”
She flicks an ear. “I wanted sacrifice YOU.“ She spoke.
I smirked as I continued to weave. “Yeah but ya didn't. Cause I’m just so sexy!!!”
I can feel a ruble as she laughed, I didn't notice the twitching of her neck mussels as she swung her head over to slap my head with her upper lip. “Ow!!!” I screamed at the surprising strength of the dexterous lip.
I will never get used to how she can hold me like a rag-doll with just her lip. Nor do I want to.
As I nursed my wounded pride I placed the straw hat on her head. “Besides, this is a better use for the hay than causing you pain.”
She breathed out sharply and made a sound only a multi-ton mammal can produce.
“Okay, me get cure.”
I smiled and rubbed her ears, she adjusted the hat I made for her and rested her head on the ground once more.
**\*
She seemed antsy as she rocked back and forth, she was making a loaf of herself on the ground. But she could still reach up to my face with her lips as I sat down in a chair beside her.
The waiting room of the Xeno walk-in clinic reminded me more of the vets as species of every size and shape sat in chairs meant for humanoids, or sat on the ground or in perches or, rarely, species specific chairs. Though they were a rarity, a luxury whose expense was used for the most populous non-human species in the area.
Most of which were in a separate waiting room. I saw a family of Farsul enter it, opening the door to the KolSul wing of the clinic. Most everyone in the office instantly scowled when the mother and her pups walked through. They got both the separate wing and specialty chairs as they were by far the most populous Xenos on earth. Thanks to resentment building to massive levels all across the S.C. pushing them here.
I ran my hand through her main, careful to not undo any braids or tug any of her excessive adornments.She was still shifting this way and that as we waited to be called on. I spied a venlil with a deep scowl near the door of the separate wing, he seemed to be wearing a coat. Something highly unusual for his species, especially in this climate.
“Hello uh, we are not sure you… should be seeking care here.”
I was jolted out of my observations by a young farsul attendant addressing me.
“What?” She seemed to stammer.
“We, uh, are a xeno clinic, we specialize in ailments for non humans. Since we are on a human majority planet, human specialty clinics are open here. They can give you much better focused care."
I stared at the young farsul for a few moments, I studied her nervous stance. She seemed to resemble a great Pyrenees breed of dog. I continued to stare for a couple of seconds, enough to make the awkward situation even worse before I shook myself out of it.
“Oh, uh, I’m not here to receive care, my wife is.” I run my hand through her main and look down at her. This is the most nervous I've ever seen her in all my years with her. “She recently got the cure injection and is here to test it out in case something goes wrong.”
The farsul then takes on a deeply confused expression, snapping her head between me and her in quick succession. “...You two… are married?”
I smile and straighten my back and respond in the most enthusiastic voice I can muster. “Yep!!!”
She continued her confused expression before resigning herself. “...Alright then, I’ll get her tested… just follow me.” She turns as she reads our file, we were heading to a farm outside of town to test her on some authentic meat. As we exited the office I tapped her shoulder. “By the way, I saw a venlil by the Kolsul section door, I think is planning something bad.”
She took on a look of annoyed apathy, as though it was a daily occurrence. “Oh, him. Don't worry security is on their way to search him, you'd be surprised how many expats from Scalga we get.”
She rubbed the back of her head and I could barely make out something she whispered. “Not nearly as weird as a human yupla couple, Jesus Christ.”
**\*
There, the object of my fearless and terrifyingly powerful wife's hesitation. A single skinned chicken leg, sitting on a metal table. The farsul nurse was making superficial vital checks on her as she stared at the drumstick.
Her lips were curled under her chin.
“Common honey. It's not going to bite you.” I say to comfort her. She glances at me with a look of I don't want to do this, why did i let you convince me to do this onmygodi’mgoingtosacrificeyouyousonofabit-
Her simultaneous death stare/ pleading eyes were pulled away as the farmer spoke at us.
“Eat it and get off my property, I got enough animals to take care of. Don't need two more.” He pointed to my wife and the farsul nurse, they both gave him a scowl as he turned back into his house.
She gently unrolls her lips and tentatively brings out her barbed tongue and wraps it around the drumstick. She brings it into her mouth and I hear a series of slow crunches.
The farsul nurse looks over at her medical doodad as she chews.
“Hmm, it seems everything is in order, the cure has taken and she is handling the meat fine. Just call our clinic if she seems to be having-”
My focus was pulled away from the nurse as I saw my wife's eyes light up from the taste. She looked at the ground at the pecking chicken that was so near. I could hear her imitate the clucking of the chicken, I saw it shoot up and looked confused. Before my wife coils it in her tongue and quickly brings it into her maw, I hear crunching again and a loud gulp. She looks around at the pens and she spies a pig.
She stalks towards it and I can hear her imitating the pigs, she steps over the fence and quickly grapples the approaching pig and bites down hard on its head. I can see her tongue quickly strip the skin off as her lips dig in with their own bards to force the corpse up and into her mouth.
I stare in shock at the display, by this time the other pigs notice the smell of blood and my wife devouring one of their companions and they quickly run to the farthest corner of the pen.
Before I know it the corpse is gone, she licks her lips and walks back over to us.
“-mitochondrial flux drive. As long as that looks good over the next week you should be all set!”
“I , uh, she ate a pig! D-did you see that?” I point to my wife cleaning herself of the mud of the pen.
'Yes, you'd be surprised how suddenly ravenous former omnivores get when they get their appetites fulfilled for the first time, heck I remember I ate a guinea pig when I got cured I was so hungry!’
I wave my arms about. “SHE ATE AN ACTUAL PIG AND YOUR NOT ONE BIT IMPRESSED OR SCARED???”
She turned her gaze to my wife, who was currently spying yet another pig in the corner. “I’ve seen yulpa do it before, trust me, get used to her eating vast amounts of meat.”
I looked at the simultaneously nervous and unimpressed Farsul. I was still reeling from my wife's actions, but decided to deal with them another time. “O-okay”
“Good, now I'd suggest you get her to not eat another. The farmer will definitely notice two pigs missing.” She begins to laugh in her throat. “Heh, I guess he’ll have two less animals to take care of after today heh.”
As we rode back to the clinic my wife was fast asleep in a food coma. The way she just… ate that thing so fast… I think I have to worry about being eaten now. It felt… oddly exhilarating, like when she was still trying to convince herself to sacrifice me all over again.
I think I might have a problem.
submitted by cartoon_Dinosaur to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
He was originally inspired by u/FrostedScales' art., (
I make my way into my house, a small part of me is hoping for relief from the harsh Savannah heat. Only to be brought back to my unpleasant reality of my house being just as hot and dry as the outside.
Ugh, why do I willingly live in this hellish place without AC?
I hear mewing and tapping hooves getting closer, a small blood red calf comes running towards me and runs circles around me. I extend my free hand and she readily forces her head into it, wrapping her tongue, upper and lower lip around it to return the gesture of connection. The barbs irritate my skin, but she's old enough now not to unintentionally draw blood.
I look down at the pleading eye, happy to see me again.
Ah, right. While I'm in hell she's in paradise, I guess I’ll have to suck it up for her.
I give her a closed lip smile and rub her ears.
“Hi honey, how was school?” She inflates her nostrils and begins to talk to me in learned English. It is… unsettling how accurately she can mimic almost anyone with only her nose. I am reminded of that fact as she speaks in my voice.
“Good, bunny lunch was.” I forced down an indignant laugh at the child's broken grammar. It seems Yulpa are able to understand words, but grammar doesn't seem important to them. I remember how off puttingly dense their spoken language is, they can communicate in infra sound over vast distances. Their phrases were spoken in single words, so a single “word” was a bit of a conversation. Like “Over the river” or ”up the tree is food.”
It was insane how dense their language was.
“Do you know if mom is back?” The little head in my hand nodes while still wrapped around me.
“Garden she eating is.”
I rub her head one more time before I make my way out the back door. The child quickly scampered off to do who knows what.
Out in the back I see her, draped in golden jewelry, with a well maintained main, green cloth and jewels to accentuate her natural deep red coat. She was laying down with what looked like roughage in her maw. She was absentmindedly chewing and staring off into space.
I walked over and rested myself against her side, I let her breathing rise and lower me. Being in the presence of such a large person really made me feel how insanely varied our body masses were. Despite being married and … constituting it, we had to sleep in separate beds, lest she roll onto me and I die of suffocation or all my bones breaking.
I absentmindedly picked some grass and twirled it around. “So, what's wrong?” She rolled her eyes towards me.
“Hungry.” She spoke in perfect English, I looked down at the grass I began to weave together.
“You need to get the cure.” She raised her massive head ever so slightly. “No, betrayal, life lived one way. Too late, already sacrificed too many.” She blows out her nose.
I grab more grass and weave it into the mass I was creating. “I thought I was too old, set in my ways to be married when we met. But now look at us.” I point to the child in the window clearly talking to someone on the home computer. “I’m glad you hunted me, forced me into this. If you didn't I'd still be a lonely S.O.B. jacking it to venlil stuff right now.”
She flicks an ear. “I wanted sacrifice YOU.“ She spoke.
I smirked as I continued to weave. “Yeah but ya didn't. Cause I’m just so sexy!!!”
I can feel a ruble as she laughed, I didn't notice the twitching of her neck mussels as she swung her head over to slap my head with her upper lip. “Ow!!!” I screamed at the surprising strength of the dexterous lip.
I will never get used to how she can hold me like a rag-doll with just her lip. Nor do I want to.
As I nursed my wounded pride I placed the straw hat on her head. “Besides, this is a better use for the hay than causing you pain.”
She breathed out sharply and made a sound only a multi-ton mammal can produce.
“Okay, me get cure.”
I smiled and rubbed her ears, she adjusted the hat I made for her and rested her head on the ground once more.
**\*
She seemed antsy as she rocked back and forth, she was making a loaf of herself on the ground. But she could still reach up to my face with her lips as I sat down in a chair beside her.
The waiting room of the Xeno walk-in clinic reminded me more of the vets as species of every size and shape sat in chairs meant for humanoids, or sat on the ground or in perches or, rarely, species specific chairs. Though they were a rarity, a luxury whose expense was used for the most populous non-human species in the area.
Most of which were in a separate waiting room. I saw a family of Farsul enter it, opening the door to the KolSul wing of the clinic. Most everyone in the office instantly scowled when the mother and her pups walked through. They got both the separate wing and specialty chairs as they were by far the most populous Xenos on earth. Thanks to resentment building to massive levels all across the S.C. pushing them here.
I ran my hand through her main, careful to not undo any braids or tug any of her excessive adornments.She was still shifting this way and that as we waited to be called on. I spied a venlil with a deep scowl near the door of the separate wing, he seemed to be wearing a coat. Something highly unusual for his species, especially in this climate.
“Hello uh, we are not sure you… should be seeking care here.”
I was jolted out of my observations by a young farsul attendant addressing me.
“What?” She seemed to stammer.
“We, uh, are a xeno clinic, we specialize in ailments for non humans. Since we are on a human majority planet, human specialty clinics are open here. They can give you much better focused care."
I stared at the young farsul for a few moments, I studied her nervous stance. She seemed to resemble a great Pyrenees breed of dog. I continued to stare for a couple of seconds, enough to make the awkward situation even worse before I shook myself out of it.
“Oh, uh, I’m not here to receive care, my wife is.” I run my hand through her main and look down at her. This is the most nervous I've ever seen her in all my years with her. “She recently got the cure injection and is here to test it out in case something goes wrong.”
The farsul then takes on a deeply confused expression, snapping her head between me and her in quick succession. “...You two… are married?”
I smile and straighten my back and respond in the most enthusiastic voice I can muster. “Yep!!!”
She continued her confused expression before resigning herself. “...Alright then, I’ll get her tested… just follow me.” She turns as she reads our file, we were heading to a farm outside of town to test her on some authentic meat. As we exited the office I tapped her shoulder. “By the way, I saw a venlil by the Kolsul section door, I think is planning something bad.”
She took on a look of annoyed apathy, as though it was a daily occurrence. “Oh, him. Don't worry security is on their way to search him, you'd be surprised how many expats from Scalga we get.”
She rubbed the back of her head and I could barely make out something she whispered. “Not nearly as weird as a human yupla couple, Jesus Christ.”
**\*
There, the object of my fearless and terrifyingly powerful wife's hesitation. A single skinned chicken leg, sitting on a metal table. The farsul nurse was making superficial vital checks on her as she stared at the drumstick.
Her lips were curled under her chin.
“Common honey. It's not going to bite you.” I say to comfort her. She glances at me with a look of I don't want to do this, why did i let you convince me to do this onmygodi’mgoingtosacrificeyouyousonofabit-
Her simultaneous death stare/ pleading eyes were pulled away as the farmer spoke at us.
“Eat it and get off my property, I got enough animals to take care of. Don't need two more.” He pointed to my wife and the farsul nurse, they both gave him a scowl as he turned back into his house.
She gently unrolls her lips and tentatively brings out her barbed tongue and wraps it around the drumstick. She brings it into her mouth and I hear a series of slow crunches.
The farsul nurse looks over at her medical doodad as she chews.
“Hmm, it seems everything is in order, the cure has taken and she is handling the meat fine. Just call our clinic if she seems to be having-”
My focus was pulled away from the nurse as I saw my wife's eyes light up from the taste. She looked at the ground at the pecking chicken that was so near. I could hear her imitate the clucking of the chicken, I saw it shoot up and looked confused. Before my wife coils it in her tongue and quickly brings it into her maw, I hear crunching again and a loud gulp. She looks around at the pens and she spies a pig.
She stalks towards it and I can hear her imitating the pigs, she steps over the fence and quickly grapples the approaching pig and bites down hard on its head. I can see her tongue quickly strip the skin off as her lips dig in with their own bards to force the corpse up and into her mouth.
I stare in shock at the display, by this time the other pigs notice the smell of blood and my wife devouring one of their companions and they quickly run to the farthest corner of the pen.
Before I know it the corpse is gone, she licks her lips and walks back over to us.
“-mitochondrial flux drive. As long as that looks good over the next week you should be all set!”
“I , uh, she ate a pig! D-did you see that?” I point to my wife cleaning herself of the mud of the pen.
'Yes, you'd be surprised how suddenly ravenous former omnivores get when they get their appetites fulfilled for the first time, heck I remember I ate a guinea pig when I got cured I was so hungry!’
I wave my arms about. “SHE ATE AN ACTUAL PIG AND YOUR NOT ONE BIT IMPRESSED OR SCARED???”
She turned her gaze to my wife, who was currently spying yet another pig in the corner. “I’ve seen yulpa do it before, trust me, get used to her eating vast amounts of meat.”
I looked at the simultaneously nervous and unimpressed Farsul. I was still reeling from my wife's actions, but decided to deal with them another time. “O-okay”
“Good, now I'd suggest you get her to not eat another. The farmer will definitely notice two pigs missing.” She begins to laugh in her throat. “Heh, I guess he’ll have two less animals to take care of after today heh.”
As we rode back to the clinic my wife was fast asleep in a food coma. The way she just… ate that thing so fast… I think I have to worry about being eaten now. It felt… oddly exhilarating, like when she was still trying to convince herself to sacrifice me all over again.
I think I might have a problem.
2024.06.01 09:23 Ho1yWood Dirtman - A Short Story
I knew that the Dirtman was real, although I hadn't wanted to believe it.
Just the idea creeped me out. A man slathered in dirt who sneaks into your home while you're asleep and steals dirt from underneath your pillow.
It was freaky.
The stuff of nightmares.
But regardless of that, there was worse to come.
If by any chance you looked at the Dirtman, then he would stare at you until you died a slow, painful and miserable death.
But I highly doubted it.
No one had ever died.
They just keep their eyes shut. Only, if it's true.
And I highly doubt that it is. I mean, it's just an urban legend. A campfire tale.
Like the tooth fairy, but replace the teeth with dirt.
I decided to test the theory out. I knew that there could have been a danger to it, but I knew that the chances of such a thing being real seemed minimal, even impossible.
There's no dirtman, I told myself.
Nothing's gonna get you.
I retreated out of my bedroom, wearing only loose fitting pajamas, and crept downstairs. I was an adult male living totally alone, still afraid to make the stairs in my house creak.
Regardless, I still crept down. The wood of the stairs was cold to the touch.
Very ice cold. Freezing, even.
Gooseflesh aroused on my arms and I rubbed them to melt the pimples of the cold and return my arm to the normal smooth layer of skin.
That's a weird description.
But that's what the Dirtman'll do.
I reached the bottom of the steps. Just behind the dining table stood an outdoor backyard. The doors were made of see-through glass. Sliding doors. Damn convenient for barbeques on a nice Saturday evening.
I walked around the table, and unlocked the door.
The cold air hit me like a fist to the stomach. My stomach clenched, eyes grew watery...
I stepped outside, my bare-feet feeling the damp wood of the patio.
I walked down the small steps and into the garden.
Crouching down, I burrowed for a bit, feeling the grains of dirt against my hands. They stank of water, and a little bit of faeces, too. But that's what the rain'll do.
I looked at the sky.
Gonna rain again.
With a handful of dirt, I quickly got up from my crouched position and made my way up the patio stairs.
I felt like a juggling clown at the carnival, attempting not to spill the handful of dirt clenched in my grasp.
Racing up the stairs, I came into a small problem.
My door was shut.
Fuck.
My door had the spinning knobs, so I needed a hand to open it.
And then, I noticed that it wasn't entirely shut. But when my shoulder pushed against the door, it didn't open.
Oh well, I can clean up the dirt a little later.
I cupped the dirt into one hand, watching small specks fall onto the floor, and twisted the doorknob.
I raced inside and leapt for my pillow, careful not to spill the dirt.
Pulling the soft pillow upwards, I emptied my hand onto the mattress. The dirt laid before my eyes, and I quickly found myself asleep, as if it were some hallucinogenic way to fall asleep.
But I awoke to a sound.
My room was dark. My eyes were shut.
The Dirtman was real.
And he was inside of my home.
Inside of my bedroom.
Touching me.
His skinny finger, curved and bony, jutting with perfect precision, traced the outlines of my face. Up my cheek.
The way his hand felt, brushing against my face, felt like a knife carving into fine wood.
I was afraid, but I knew that all I had to was keep my eyes shut.
Or so I thought.
The Dirtman's hand reached my eye, and began to pull the flesh open. I felt my eyes blink. I looked everywhere but at the Dirtman.
'Look at me, child,' he croaked.
The voice was not human,
It was monstrous.
Multi-pitched and croaky, it reminded me of an angel. If only that angel had risen from the bowels of Hell.
My eyes locked onto him. He was a tall, skinny figure, with dirt slathered across albino skin. A smile was etched into his face, with the only bit of light gleaming from his crystal teeth.
'You are one of us, now,' he said.
Dirt outlined him, fell to the ground in clumps.
'You should have been asleep.'
My heart was racing.
His eyes were black. Vanta. I looked at him and could feel his gaze tearing my soul from my body. Literally.
My intestines had tensed to the point I felt like they were being sucked up through my throat. My bones were buzzing with a sense of vibrations.
It was like a compression of my stomach.
Mashing my bones together. Dicing them. Slicing them. Rearranging my body.
I heard the snap of my leg as the Dirtman lifted it above my neck, the knee wrapping around. He did the same to the other, forming an O with my feet.
He pulled my arms from the socket. The small section of flesh without any bone to rely on was one of my biggest phobias. And now this random Dirtman had just tried to kill me.
I felt a gash open up my forehead, blood seeping from the wound and blinding me.
As I tried to scream, mountains of blood and dirt strangled me, choked me, forced all of my air out, until my heart slowly began to stop beating.
If you are reading this, I am dead. Sacrificed to the Dirtman.
Please, never put dirt underneath your pillow.
Because the Dirtman will only retreat from that corner.
You know exactly what corner I am talking about.
You.
The reader.
Holding this book open on a paperback, a e-reader, a phone, a computer, an app.
Please, whatever you do.
DO NOT LOOK AT THAT CORNER.
submitted by Ho1yWood to ExtremeHorrorLit [link] [comments]
Just the idea creeped me out. A man slathered in dirt who sneaks into your home while you're asleep and steals dirt from underneath your pillow.
It was freaky.
The stuff of nightmares.
But regardless of that, there was worse to come.
If by any chance you looked at the Dirtman, then he would stare at you until you died a slow, painful and miserable death.
But I highly doubted it.
No one had ever died.
They just keep their eyes shut. Only, if it's true.
And I highly doubt that it is. I mean, it's just an urban legend. A campfire tale.
Like the tooth fairy, but replace the teeth with dirt.
I decided to test the theory out. I knew that there could have been a danger to it, but I knew that the chances of such a thing being real seemed minimal, even impossible.
There's no dirtman, I told myself.
Nothing's gonna get you.
I retreated out of my bedroom, wearing only loose fitting pajamas, and crept downstairs. I was an adult male living totally alone, still afraid to make the stairs in my house creak.
Regardless, I still crept down. The wood of the stairs was cold to the touch.
Very ice cold. Freezing, even.
Gooseflesh aroused on my arms and I rubbed them to melt the pimples of the cold and return my arm to the normal smooth layer of skin.
That's a weird description.
But that's what the Dirtman'll do.
I reached the bottom of the steps. Just behind the dining table stood an outdoor backyard. The doors were made of see-through glass. Sliding doors. Damn convenient for barbeques on a nice Saturday evening.
I walked around the table, and unlocked the door.
The cold air hit me like a fist to the stomach. My stomach clenched, eyes grew watery...
I stepped outside, my bare-feet feeling the damp wood of the patio.
I walked down the small steps and into the garden.
Crouching down, I burrowed for a bit, feeling the grains of dirt against my hands. They stank of water, and a little bit of faeces, too. But that's what the rain'll do.
I looked at the sky.
Gonna rain again.
With a handful of dirt, I quickly got up from my crouched position and made my way up the patio stairs.
I felt like a juggling clown at the carnival, attempting not to spill the handful of dirt clenched in my grasp.
Racing up the stairs, I came into a small problem.
My door was shut.
Fuck.
My door had the spinning knobs, so I needed a hand to open it.
And then, I noticed that it wasn't entirely shut. But when my shoulder pushed against the door, it didn't open.
Oh well, I can clean up the dirt a little later.
I cupped the dirt into one hand, watching small specks fall onto the floor, and twisted the doorknob.
I raced inside and leapt for my pillow, careful not to spill the dirt.
Pulling the soft pillow upwards, I emptied my hand onto the mattress. The dirt laid before my eyes, and I quickly found myself asleep, as if it were some hallucinogenic way to fall asleep.
But I awoke to a sound.
The Dirtman was real.
And he was inside of my home.
Inside of my bedroom.
Touching me.
His skinny finger, curved and bony, jutting with perfect precision, traced the outlines of my face. Up my cheek.
The way his hand felt, brushing against my face, felt like a knife carving into fine wood.
I was afraid, but I knew that all I had to was keep my eyes shut.
Or so I thought.
The Dirtman's hand reached my eye, and began to pull the flesh open. I felt my eyes blink. I looked everywhere but at the Dirtman.
'Look at me, child,' he croaked.
The voice was not human,
It was monstrous.
Multi-pitched and croaky, it reminded me of an angel. If only that angel had risen from the bowels of Hell.
My eyes locked onto him. He was a tall, skinny figure, with dirt slathered across albino skin. A smile was etched into his face, with the only bit of light gleaming from his crystal teeth.
'You are one of us, now,' he said.
Dirt outlined him, fell to the ground in clumps.
'You should have been asleep.'
My heart was racing.
His eyes were black. Vanta. I looked at him and could feel his gaze tearing my soul from my body. Literally.
My intestines had tensed to the point I felt like they were being sucked up through my throat. My bones were buzzing with a sense of vibrations.
It was like a compression of my stomach.
Mashing my bones together. Dicing them. Slicing them. Rearranging my body.
I heard the snap of my leg as the Dirtman lifted it above my neck, the knee wrapping around. He did the same to the other, forming an O with my feet.
He pulled my arms from the socket. The small section of flesh without any bone to rely on was one of my biggest phobias. And now this random Dirtman had just tried to kill me.
I felt a gash open up my forehead, blood seeping from the wound and blinding me.
As I tried to scream, mountains of blood and dirt strangled me, choked me, forced all of my air out, until my heart slowly began to stop beating.
If you are reading this, I am dead. Sacrificed to the Dirtman.
Please, never put dirt underneath your pillow.
Because the Dirtman will only retreat from that corner.
You know exactly what corner I am talking about.
You.
The reader.
Holding this book open on a paperback, a e-reader, a phone, a computer, an app.
Please, whatever you do.
DO NOT LOOK AT THAT CORNER.
2024.06.01 09:22 Mrtoasterguy DayZ is the best pvp survival game.
It's crazy I built my first PC in 2013 for DayZ and it's been over ten years and this game has aged like fine wine. This is the only game that sinks fear deep down in my soul. I know there are hackers but they are so far and few between.
Just the other day I was playing on an official server and I was messing around in the town of gorka I didn't have really any gear or food. As I was looking though a house a man walked up to me with a foreign accent and said he was dying. He had a blood disease from an infected wound ,and needed antibiotics. I told him I had none and he kind of just walked away. I continued to look for some food and found nothing. I heard a gunshot from the west, in the direction that the guy went so I decided to investigate. When I found him he was skinning a goat that he had killed. Then he had killed another. I slowly approached and asked him if I could have some food because I was starving to death at this point. We then went and found a house where we prepared a fire and cooked the goat. While we were sitting there he told me that he couldn't go any further or he would die.
I asked him if there was anything we could do. He said that he needed a strong antibiotic called tetracycline to fight off the infection and these can be only found in medical buildings and hospitals and this town didn't have any. At this point it had started to thunder storm outside and his sickness had progressed to the 2 stage. He asked if I would go while he rests here.
This man who was dying had saved me no matter what I had to try to find this medicine for him. I looked on a map I had found and saw that there was a campsite with a medical building a little over 1km away I ate as much as my stomach would allow and sent off. Overwhelmed by the situation and the storm outside I made my way west out of town to a road that lead to a trail that would bring me all the way to the campsite.
While I was walking I was thinking about everything. -is this a death trap? -will I get sick from the storm? -will he be there when I return just like he said or will he have left or be dead? (We were only talking in game) -this is insane there is no way he will be there when I get back I have an inventory full of good meat I should just hit the medical station and move along solo.
As I get closer I take In the sounds of the storm and the wind blowing in the trees and grass. I can hear the rain hit the leaves above my head and I count the seconds between the lightning flashing and the thunder. I know that this is not a realistic mission but it sure is a noble one. Now that I think of it I didn't even get his name before I left.
I arrived at the camp and slowed my approach the place looked like people had been though how recently I couldnt tell but doors to the cabins were open and this was exactly what I had expected. I expect people to be here but I don't even have time to worry Im ready to die for this I would be dead anyway by now if it wasn't for him. I run up to the medical buildings in a mad dash for cover and open the door.
I Found it. I didn't just find it I found 10 of those little bastards! I couldn't believe it. Now I needed to get back and the rain wasn't letting up. I am soaked I am cold and seriously I am so in to this shit like dude had better be there when I get back because I just spent 30 mins running there and back for him haha. "This was to long" I thought. He will be dead.
I grabbed a drink from the well and booked it back to disease boy as fast as I could only stopping to catch my breath. -would he still be in the house? -will someone have killed him and will they try to kill me? -i wonder what his name is.
Empty...the house was empty. The fire had gone out the town was quiet. I hadn't heard a gunshot since he killed the goats. Just like I said this is DayZ and this whole thing was just too forced. To many mistakes were made and the cards just weren't in his favour if only he would have stayed put. But would I have stayed for 30 minutes and just died hoping some random guy would bring me medicine?
Just then I heard a sound something...getting punched. It's fucking him! Even if it's not I'm about to get shot because I fucking made it dude. I run over and yell "yo man it's me the guy who went for medicine i found it dude" "Seriously? Thank you I didn't think you would come back!" he said with a sound of genuine relief!
"What's your name anyways?" I said "Zerek, what's yours?" "My name is Jigg."
I didn't mean to make it so long but I wanted to try my best to share how immersive DayZ can be. I remember so many interesting interactions and situations from this game not only would I say that DayZ is one of the best survival games ever made but I would probably say that it's my most favorite game I've ever played and often feel very privileged to be able to play this game. Thanks for reading y'all!
submitted by Mrtoasterguy to SurvivalGaming [link] [comments]
Just the other day I was playing on an official server and I was messing around in the town of gorka I didn't have really any gear or food. As I was looking though a house a man walked up to me with a foreign accent and said he was dying. He had a blood disease from an infected wound ,and needed antibiotics. I told him I had none and he kind of just walked away. I continued to look for some food and found nothing. I heard a gunshot from the west, in the direction that the guy went so I decided to investigate. When I found him he was skinning a goat that he had killed. Then he had killed another. I slowly approached and asked him if I could have some food because I was starving to death at this point. We then went and found a house where we prepared a fire and cooked the goat. While we were sitting there he told me that he couldn't go any further or he would die.
I asked him if there was anything we could do. He said that he needed a strong antibiotic called tetracycline to fight off the infection and these can be only found in medical buildings and hospitals and this town didn't have any. At this point it had started to thunder storm outside and his sickness had progressed to the 2 stage. He asked if I would go while he rests here.
This man who was dying had saved me no matter what I had to try to find this medicine for him. I looked on a map I had found and saw that there was a campsite with a medical building a little over 1km away I ate as much as my stomach would allow and sent off. Overwhelmed by the situation and the storm outside I made my way west out of town to a road that lead to a trail that would bring me all the way to the campsite.
While I was walking I was thinking about everything. -is this a death trap? -will I get sick from the storm? -will he be there when I return just like he said or will he have left or be dead? (We were only talking in game) -this is insane there is no way he will be there when I get back I have an inventory full of good meat I should just hit the medical station and move along solo.
As I get closer I take In the sounds of the storm and the wind blowing in the trees and grass. I can hear the rain hit the leaves above my head and I count the seconds between the lightning flashing and the thunder. I know that this is not a realistic mission but it sure is a noble one. Now that I think of it I didn't even get his name before I left.
I arrived at the camp and slowed my approach the place looked like people had been though how recently I couldnt tell but doors to the cabins were open and this was exactly what I had expected. I expect people to be here but I don't even have time to worry Im ready to die for this I would be dead anyway by now if it wasn't for him. I run up to the medical buildings in a mad dash for cover and open the door.
I Found it. I didn't just find it I found 10 of those little bastards! I couldn't believe it. Now I needed to get back and the rain wasn't letting up. I am soaked I am cold and seriously I am so in to this shit like dude had better be there when I get back because I just spent 30 mins running there and back for him haha. "This was to long" I thought. He will be dead.
I grabbed a drink from the well and booked it back to disease boy as fast as I could only stopping to catch my breath. -would he still be in the house? -will someone have killed him and will they try to kill me? -i wonder what his name is.
Empty...the house was empty. The fire had gone out the town was quiet. I hadn't heard a gunshot since he killed the goats. Just like I said this is DayZ and this whole thing was just too forced. To many mistakes were made and the cards just weren't in his favour if only he would have stayed put. But would I have stayed for 30 minutes and just died hoping some random guy would bring me medicine?
Just then I heard a sound something...getting punched. It's fucking him! Even if it's not I'm about to get shot because I fucking made it dude. I run over and yell "yo man it's me the guy who went for medicine i found it dude" "Seriously? Thank you I didn't think you would come back!" he said with a sound of genuine relief!
"What's your name anyways?" I said "Zerek, what's yours?" "My name is Jigg."
I didn't mean to make it so long but I wanted to try my best to share how immersive DayZ can be. I remember so many interesting interactions and situations from this game not only would I say that DayZ is one of the best survival games ever made but I would probably say that it's my most favorite game I've ever played and often feel very privileged to be able to play this game. Thanks for reading y'all!
2024.06.01 09:16 Upbeat_Mistake_1702 War Cleric Modification
Hello I am looking for potential advice on my slight tweak to the war domain cleric. I really like the idea of being a war cleric and don’t really want to go down the paladin path this time around and I’ve just finished doing a multiclass character so I’m trying to keep things straightforward. I was looking at War domain cleric and thought it looked really cool, but not all that powerful in later levels (in comparison to other clerics or just a paladin) and I think that one slight tweak could give it enough of a boost to not be super powerful but also exciting.
The change would be around the War Priest feature, and just making it an option to take a bonus action melee attack without the prerequisite of making a melee attack as an action prior. Still keeping the amount of times you can do it limited to the Wisdom modifier.
Now I understand that this has some potential for quite a bit of damage in one round, especially combining it with spells like inflict wounds and such, however I think the balance comes from the fact that you need to be careful where you are in the battlefield. To use this feature it assumes that you are up close to attackers, and many of the clerics best spells are concentration so you either need to stay away from immediate danger to maintain concentration, or risk losing it by getting close. Additionally I think that it gives the cleric an interesting choice at the start of each day when they choose their spells deciding if they want to be more of a frontliner or a supporter, which the guided strike feature allows for. Plus it is important to clarify exactly what the character is holding. If the cleric is holding a weapon and a shield, then they can’t cast spells with S components additionally if they are using a versatile weapon and casted a spell as an action, then it could be argued that they roll with the one handed damage die. I think technically the book says that switching weapons is a free action unless you intend to draw and stow a weapon in the same turn, in which case it’s an action, could be wrong but I think that is the case. I think by just making a weapon swap a bonus action as well would also make this more balanced, making the cleric choose their bonus action economy carefully, with spells like healing word, spiritual weapon, and even the war priest attack.
In any case when it comes down to it with a Wisdom score of 20, the most damage this ability allows in one long rest period is 10d8+5weapon die+STR mod at level 14, assuming every attack hits, which I don’t think is too much to worry about
Any thoughts are appreciated 👍
submitted by Upbeat_Mistake_1702 to DnD [link] [comments]
The change would be around the War Priest feature, and just making it an option to take a bonus action melee attack without the prerequisite of making a melee attack as an action prior. Still keeping the amount of times you can do it limited to the Wisdom modifier.
Now I understand that this has some potential for quite a bit of damage in one round, especially combining it with spells like inflict wounds and such, however I think the balance comes from the fact that you need to be careful where you are in the battlefield. To use this feature it assumes that you are up close to attackers, and many of the clerics best spells are concentration so you either need to stay away from immediate danger to maintain concentration, or risk losing it by getting close. Additionally I think that it gives the cleric an interesting choice at the start of each day when they choose their spells deciding if they want to be more of a frontliner or a supporter, which the guided strike feature allows for. Plus it is important to clarify exactly what the character is holding. If the cleric is holding a weapon and a shield, then they can’t cast spells with S components additionally if they are using a versatile weapon and casted a spell as an action, then it could be argued that they roll with the one handed damage die. I think technically the book says that switching weapons is a free action unless you intend to draw and stow a weapon in the same turn, in which case it’s an action, could be wrong but I think that is the case. I think by just making a weapon swap a bonus action as well would also make this more balanced, making the cleric choose their bonus action economy carefully, with spells like healing word, spiritual weapon, and even the war priest attack.
In any case when it comes down to it with a Wisdom score of 20, the most damage this ability allows in one long rest period is 10d8+5weapon die+STR mod at level 14, assuming every attack hits, which I don’t think is too much to worry about
Any thoughts are appreciated 👍
2024.06.01 09:00 Khaijentry12 Rose: Fear Your World - Chapter 1: Rose Among Any Other
Finn Tresscoat, a 20-year-old with short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion, strolled down the sidewalk of his small town. He wore a light brown leather jacket over a black shirt, paired with black jeans and black-and-white sneakers.
As Finn ambled along, he glanced at the many shops lining the main road of the town's bustling center. He wasn't searching for anything in particular; he simply wanted to enjoy the rare day off from his job, one of the most perilous occupations in the United West (U.W.).
"Finn! Oh, Finn!"
Finn turned his head to the right and spotted Ms. Tori Elortor, or simply Ms. Tori as he called her. She was an older lady in her early fifties, though her youthful appearance often surprised the townsfolk. With long white hair cascading down her back, pale skin, and bright hazel eyes, she was a striking figure. Today, she wore a navy blue sundress over a pair of tight blue jeans and brown cowboy boots.
Ms. Tori, the local bakery owner, was considered quite attractive and often caught the eye of the younger men in town. Her curvaceous figure and active lifestyle, including regular yoga sessions in the park, only added to her allure. However, Finn saw her differently. Having known her since childhood and feeling like part of her family, he saw her as a maternal figure rather than anything else. He was also close to her son, Eric, feeling like an older brother to him.
Despite his demanding job, which kept him busy for nearly twenty-four-seven, Finn always tried to visit Ms. Tori and Eric whenever he could. Today was a rare opportunity for him to relax and reconnect.
"Ah, hi Ms. Tori! How are you today?" Finn greeted her with a warm smile.
Ms. Tori returned his smile. "I'm just fine, Finn. The real question is, how are you? I haven't seen you in months!" Her tone shifted to one of concern. "I was worried, and so was Eric. You do have quite a dangerous job for someone so young," she added.
What kind of dangerous job did Finn have, you might ask?
Well, Finn was a "Gaunt Hunter," a member of a specialized group tasked with safeguarding the small towns outside the major cities in the United West from creatures known as Gaunts.
These slim, humanoid creatures had leathery black skin, no eyes or nose, and wide mouths that drooled a strange dark green liquid. They had emerged after the cataclysmic "Decade of Winter."
The Gaunts varied in form and capability. Some were very muscular, while others had bat-like wings, allowing them to fly. They were also cunning, often creating weapons from scavenged materials and hunting in packs.
Disturbingly, these were just the common variants.
There were tales of Gaunts resembling animals and some that could even speak, though Finn himself had never encountered such anomalies.
Despite the ominous title of Gaunt Hunter, Finn's role wasn't as glamorous as one might imagine.
He wasn't a high-tech, gadget-wielding hero. Gaunt Hunters received training similar to regular police officers, focusing on the use of firearms. However, since firearms were not commonly traded or shipped to the smaller towns outside the major cities, Gaunt Hunters were also taught to wield swords, knives, and other melee weapons, as well as trained in close-range combat.
Finn had been trained to fire a pistol but also learned to fight with a machete, which was more practical for their needs than a traditional sword. On duty, he carried a standard-issue Glock-17 and a machete strapped to his side. He also wore the standard protective gear issued to United West Security Forces (UWSF) officers.
Returning to the conversation with Ms. Tori, Finn let out a lighthearted chuckle. "Dangerous for most of the veterans on the job, but I'm young and fit! Practically invincible!" he said with a grin.
Ms. Tori gave Finn an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow. "Is that right?" she asked. "Then what's this I hear about a Gaunt nearly taking your head off just last week?"
Finn's face flushed with embarrassment as he recalled the incident. A Gaunt had caught him off guard and nearly decapitated him with a makeshift axe. "Okay... yeah, fair enough," he admitted, looking down.
Ms. Tori's expression softened, and she gave him a few light taps on the shoulder. "Oh, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Finn, I'm just reminding you that your job is dangerous… You need to be careful," she said gently.
Finn looked up at her and nodded. "I know, and thank you for caring," he replied. Inwardly, he thought, 'It's not like anyone else does'
"Of course, I care, Finn," Ms. Tori said firmly. "Do you know how devastated I'd be if you got hurt or, heaven forbid, died? I'd be heartbroken,” she told him. “Eric would be even worse off, after all, who would play with him?"
Finn felt a wave of warmth at her words. Despite not wanting to worry Ms. Tori or Eric, it was comforting to know there were people who cared about him, and who wanted him to stay safe and come back home. "I guess you're right," he said with a soft smile. "I'll try to be more careful out there, I promise,”
Ms. Tori nodded, her smile lingering. "Good,” she said. “Now, how many days do you have off?" she asked.
"Not many," Finn replied with a sigh. "Just today,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in shock. "Only today? Why?" She asked.
Finn's expression turned serious. "Many of the other Gaunt Hunters are either dead, retiring, or switching to become cops... There are only ten of us left in the entire town,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in horror. Gaunt Hunters were the primary defense against the Gaunts. The law across the U.W. dictated that local law enforcement dealt with human issues, leaving Gaunt-related threats to the Hunters. The thought of their numbers dwindling was terrifying.
Each town was supposed to have a contingent of Gaunt Hunters, given that small towns were the primary targets for Gaunt attacks.
Major cities, in contrast, rarely had to deal with Gaunts.
The dense populations of these urban centers acted as a deterrent, scaring off most Gaunt packs. Even if a small group of Gaunts did manage to attack, the cities were equipped with heavy weaponry and advanced defenses, making Gaunt Hunters unnecessary there.
This starkly contrasted with the dire need for Gaunt Hunters in the smaller, more vulnerable towns.
Ideally, each small town would have around fifty Gaunt Hunters, a number intended to ensure adequate protection against the Gaunt threat. However, the reality was far grimmer. The inherent dangers and heavy responsibilities associated with the job dissuaded many from becoming Gaunt Hunters. The perilous nature of the work, combined with the constant threat of death, resulted in a severe shortage of recruits.
As a result, the numbers in many towns had dwindled alarmingly.
"Only ten?" she repeated her voice barely above a whisper. "That's... alarming… What happens if more Gaunts come?"
"We do our best," Finn said, trying to sound confident. "But it's tough… Every day, we’re stretched thinner,"
Ms. Tori took a deep breath, trying to process the gravity of the situation.
Finn felt a lump in his throat. "I promise, Ms. Tori. I'll do everything I can to stay safe," he said, trying to remind her if his promise mere moments ago.
Ms. Tori wanted to argue with Finn's comment, but deep down, she knew he was somewhat right. The town was struggling—trade had slowed to a trickle, and many residents had moved away. The constant threat of Gaunt attacks made living there increasingly untenable. Even Ms. Tori had considered leaving to ensure Eric’s safety and to give him a chance to grow up in a more stable environment where he could interact with other children and experience the broader world.
However, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
Her late husband was buried in this town, and even though years had passed since his death, she felt tied to the place where he rested. She had loved this town deeply, and in a way, staying felt like keeping a part of him alive.
Seeing the conflict in her eyes, Finn decided to change the subject. "Hey, why don't I come over for dinner?" he suggested with a soft smile. "I'm sure Eric would be happy to see me after so long,”
Ms. Tori was pulled out of her thoughts by his offer. She smiled, grateful for his willingness to spend his rare day off with them. "That would be lovely, Finn," she said with a quick nod.
They walked together to Ms. Tori's home, a modest three-bedroom house with a large attic. Inside, they found Eric sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons. Hearing Finn’s voice, Eric turned, his face lighting up with excitement. He jumped out of his seat and ran to give Finn a hug.
Eric was about 11 years old, with brown hair like his deceased father but hazel eyes like his mother. He was wearing a dark black and blue striped shirt, dark gray pants, and black slip-on shoes.
Finn hugged him back, smiling. "I've got some stories to tell over dinner," he said, which made Eric's eyes sparkle with anticipation.
He loved hearing about the world beyond their town, even if it was mostly filled with woods and the ruins of an old world.
Finn then followed Ms. Tori into the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He found what he could and handed the items to her, glad to be of assistance. Ms. Tori thanked him and asked if he could help chop vegetables, which he was more than happy to do.
As they worked side by side, Ms. Tori glanced at Finn, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern. "You know, Finn, this town means a lot to me,” she told him “It’s where I built my life with my husband, and it’s where I want Eric to grow up, despite everything,"
Finn nodded, understanding the deep attachment she had. "I get it, Ms. Tori. This place has a lot of memories, and as long as I'm here, I'll do my best to keep it safe for you and Eric,"
Ms. Tori smiled warmly. "I know you will, Finn... Thank you,”
Dinner was a warm, lively affair. Eric listened intently to Finn’s stories, hanging on every word. The laughter and conversation filled the small home, creating a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their world. For a brief time, the threats outside seemed distant, and they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together.
After a few bites, Eric looked at Finn eagerly. "Can you tell me one of your stories, Finn?" he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.
Finn nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Well, a couple of days ago, I was out with two or three other Hunters, we had just finished fighting off a few Gaunts, once they were dealt with, we decided to explore the area since it was the site of an old abandoned amusement park,” he began. “Some of the rides were still standing, though most were broken and destroyed, it was interesting to see the tech they used to have back then," Finn recounted.
Eric's eyes widened with excitement. "Wow! That's awesome!" he exclaimed.
Finn grinned. "It was pretty cool, but it’s nothing compared to some of the parks I saw in Salton Lake City! Those places are amazing,"
Eric's eyes gleamed at the mention of the nearby city. "Man, I want to go there someday!" he said enthusiastically. "Maybe when I start my training to be a Gaunt Hunter," he added with a big smile.
Finn chuckled. "So, you want to be a Gaunt Hunter, huh?" he asked. "You think you’ve got what it takes?"
Eric nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! I know I can be a Gaunt Hunter! I bet I can even be better than you!" he declared, pointing at Finn.
Finn raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really?" he said. "Who's to say I'm not the best of the best, huh?"
Eric gave him a smug smirk. "Because if you were the best Hunter, you'd have already gotten rid of all the Gaunts!" he said confidently.
Finn chuckled. "Well, you got me there," he admitted. "But hey, if you think you can be the best and get rid of all the Gaunts, then I say go for it, dude."
Eric chuckled and resumed eating, his enthusiasm undimmed. Ms. Tori watched the two with a fond smile, marveling at the brotherly bond between them. It warmed her heart to see how close they had become. She knew that Finn cherished this connection just as much as Eric did, especially since Finn had grown up without a family of his own, raised in the local orphanage.
She recalled those early days when a young Finn would walk into the bakery, clutching a few coins. His eyes would light up with wonder at the sight of the treats and goodies lining the shelves. Something about him had touched her heart, and she began offering him free treats for him and the other orphans whenever he visited. Her late husband had also taken a liking to Finn, treating him like the son they never had. When Finn decided to become a Gaunt Hunter, it was her husband who had helped him prepare for the rigorous training, getting him into shape and offering constant encouragement.
After her husband's death, it was Finn who helped her grieve and find the strength to carry on. She had felt terrible about leaning on him during such a hard time, knowing he had his own sadness to deal with, yet he remained steadfast and strong. He had been there for her and for Eric, helping the young boy understand their loss and navigate the difficult times that followed.
She was truly grateful to have Finn in her life.
Suddenly, Finn's phone vibrated insistently in his pocket. He quickly reached for it and saw a text message from work. He opened it, dreading what it might say.
[~Finn, we need you tonight. Jon and Gary quit out of the blue, so we need someone to fill in.~]
Finn sighed, frustration bubbling up inside him. 'Great, now we're down to eight Hunters,' he thought. 'And Jon and Gary were both my age and in better shape than the veterans at the station.'
Ms. Tori noticed the change in his expression and knew immediately what it meant. "Does duty call, Finn?" she asked gently.
Finn nodded, his expression weary. "Yeah, looks like Jon and Gary quit. They need me to cover tonight."
Ms. Tori sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know how much you were looking forward to some time off."
"It's alright," Finn said, forcing a smile. "I knew it was a long shot anyway. The town needs all the help it can get."
Eric looked up, concern etched on his young face. "Do you have to go, Finn?"
Finn ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, buddy. Duty calls. But I'll be back, and we’ll have more stories to share. I promise."
Ms. Tori gave him a supportive nod. "Just promise us you'll stay safe, Finn."
"I will," Finn assured her. He stood up, preparing to leave. "Thanks for dinner, Ms. Tori. It was great, as always."
As he left the warm, comforting atmosphere of Ms. Tori's home and headed out into the cold night, Finn felt a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the exhaustion and the ever-present danger, he knew he had to keep fighting. For the town, for Eric, and for the memory of the man who had helped him become who he was.
Once at the station, Finn entered and immediately spotted Dick Cortez, a veteran Gaunt Hunter who had been safeguarding the town for as long as Finn could remember. Dick, now in his 50s, had graying hair, deep-set wrinkles, and perpetually tired eyes. He was wearing the standard-issue armor that all Gaunt Hunters received, though each Hunter was allowed to customize their armor with different colors and modifications.
Dick's armor consisted of a high-collar black shirt beneath a modified, pure black chest plate that covered his upper abdomen, along with similarly-colored bracers. Both the chest plate and bracers were trimmed with white and featured matching shoulder pads. He also wore gloves with small metal plating on the fingers, dark navy jeans, black and white metal knee pads, and dark brown boots.
Dick noticed Finn and offered a small smile. "Heya, Finn," he greeted.
"Hey yourself, Dick," Finn replied with a nod.
"Sorry about having to bring you in on your day off," Dick said, his tone genuinely apologetic.
Finn walked over to his locker, where his armor and weapons were stored. He glanced at Dick and shrugged, giving a small smile. "It's alright, Dick. I understand why, and I'm not angry—well, not at you, but at those two," Finn said, referring to Jon and Gary.
Dick nodded in understanding. "Trust me, I'm disappointed in them too, but I can see why they left so suddenly," he said.
Finn nodded back, opening his locker to reveal his armor. His armor was similar to Dick's but differed in color and the clothing underneath. Finn wore his usual attire beneath the armor, which consisted of a dark brown chest plate trimmed with black, matching bracers, shoulder pads, knee pads, and gloves.
He took the armor out and quickly dressed, securing the pieces in place. He then grabbed his Glock and its holster, strapping it around his waist, and added his machete in its sheath. Once fully suited up, he turned to Dick with a raised brow. "Which side of town am I patrolling tonight?"
"Outer wall, west side," Dick stated, his voice firm.
Finn nodded, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. The west side of the outer wall was notorious for Gaunt activity, a hotspot for their attacks. It was going to be a long night.
As he headed out, Dick called after him, "Stay sharp out there, Finn. We can't afford to lose any more good Hunters."
Finn turned back and gave a resolute nod. "I will, Dick. See you in the morning."
Once outside the city, Finn couldn't help but take in the grim sight of the outer wall. It was marred with deep scratches and chips from relentless Gaunt attacks, stained with the dark green goo that dripped from their slavering mouths, and speckled with bloodstains that would never fully wash away. The stark contrast between this battered exterior and the inner walls of the town was striking. Inside, the walls were adorned with chalk drawings from children and vibrant murals from the town's artists. These cheerful images served as a reminder of what he was protecting, and why he had chosen to become a Gaunt Hunter in the first place.
Reaching the west side of the wall, Finn began his patrol, moving back and forth to ensure no Gaunts were attempting to scale the barrier. For now, the night was quiet, and he hoped it would remain that way.
As he walked his beat, his thoughts drifted back to dinner with Eric and the boy's enthusiastic declaration about becoming a Gaunt Hunter. While part of him felt honored by Eric's admiration, another part was deeply troubled. The life of a Hunter was dangerous and filled with horrors that no one should have to witness, let alone a young boy like Eric.
Finn's mind flashed back to a particularly gruesome memory from a past patrol. He and another Hunter had been called to assist in repelling a large pack of Gaunts. They had rushed to the scene, only to find their comrades dead, slaughtered in horrific ways. One Hunter's skull had been cracked open, with Gaunts eating from it as if it were a bowl of grapes. Another Hunter, still alive, was being disemboweled and devoured. Finn could never forget the man's agonized expression as he watched his own entrails being torn apart and consumed. The sight had been so revolting that Finn had vomited on the spot, paralyzed by shock until his partner snapped him back to reality.
Then there were the stories he had heard from veterans like Dick. Dick once recounted an incident where a Hunter had been speared to death by multiple Gaunts. They hadn't even eaten him; they had just impaled him repeatedly, leaving his body to rot in the woods for days. Such tales highlighted the Gaunts' malevolence and complete lack of empathy.
Finn shuddered at the memories. He didn't want Eric to face such nightmares. The boy was full of life and potential, and Finn couldn't bear the thought of him enduring the same horrors he had.
Since that harrowing incident and the chilling story Dick had shared, Finn had sworn to himself that he wouldn't meet a similar fate. He vowed to go out fighting, to not end up like those other hunters. He couldn't bear the thought of becoming another victim, especially after what happened to his sister.
The sudden howl nearby jolted Finn out of his grim thoughts. The sound was close—too close. Instantly alert, he scanned his surroundings. Just then, something whizzed past his face, slicing his cheek. He turned to see a makeshift arrow embedded in the wall. Spinning back around, his heart sank as he saw ten Gaunts emerging from the tree line.
"Shit!" Finn cursed, his eyes widening in horror. This was a dire situation. He quickly drew his Glock and aimed at the advancing creatures. Before he could fire, a sharp pain seared through his left side. He glanced down to see a small dagger lodged in his torso.
'What the hell?' Finn thought, bewildered. 'Did one of the Gaunts throw this?'
"Sorry, but it's nothing personal," a strange voice echoed through the darkness.
Finn's gaze snapped forward, and he saw a figure emerging from the shadows. They wore a long black cloak that seemed to envelop them completely, giving the eerie impression that they were gliding across the ground rather than walking.
The figure approached him, their face obscured by the cloak's hood. "My, you are a handsome young man," they purred in a sultry tone. "Such a fucking shame that my babies must eat. We've been on the run, and they haven't had a chance to rest and eat until we saw you." They giggled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Finn's spine.
Fear gripped Finn, but he managed to look up at the cloaked figure with a raised brow. "W-Who are you?" he stammered, his voice wavering.
The figure tilted their head slightly as if amused by his question. "Who am I?" they echoed. "I am their mother, their caretaker. I ensure they survive, even if it means feeding them humans like you." The figure leaned closer, and Finn could just make out a twisted smile beneath the hood.
Finn's mind raced. He needed to think of a way out, and fast. The Gaunts were closing in, and he was injured and at a severe disadvantage. Summoning his remaining strength, he clutched his Glock tighter and tried to steady his breath. He couldn't let this be the end.
The figure's giggle echoed eerily through the night, sending a shiver down Finn's spine. "Oh! Now I'm regretting stabbing you," they remarked with a twisted amusement. "It's not every day a handsome young man asks me my name, you know? Most prefer a no-name policy." Their tone was cryptic, and Finn couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. "While I would love to give you my name in far better circumstances, I'm afraid I don't have the time," they continued, their words dripping with urgency. "As I said, we're on the run from a rather unpleasant girl."
Finn's confusion only deepened. The figure's response didn't provide any clarity, leaving him even more perplexed. As the figure began to back away, Finn's eyes widened in shock as the Gaunts beside them moved in unison. ‘She can... control them!?’ he realized, disbelief washing over him.
"Go ahead, babies... EAT!" the figure commanded, her voice chillingly calm.
With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Finn watched as the Gaunts surged forward, their hunger palpable in the air. Determination surged within him, driving him to fight against the odds stacked against him. Ignoring the searing pain from his wound, he raised his gun and fired at the approaching Gaunts. Despite his efforts, only one was hit, and even then, it didn't slow down.
Finn gritted his teeth, preparing for the inevitable close-quarter battle with the monsters. "Come on!" he growled defiantly. "I'm right here!"
The Gaunts closed in, their predatory instincts driving them forward. Just as they leaped toward him, ready to strike, something unexpected occurred.
Thorny vines erupted from the ground, snaking around the Gaunts with incredible speed. Finn's eyes widened in astonishment as the vines ensnared the creatures, halting their advance. The vines twisted and contorted, slamming the Gaunts into the ground with brutal force, tearing at their flesh and rendering them helpless.
" Damn! How did that bitch already find us!?" the figure exclaimed, frustration evident in their voice.
Finn's gaze followed the figure's gaze as a new figure emerged from the shadows.
Her appearance was striking, to say the least. With a spiky red Mohawk and piercing red eyes devoid of any white, she exuded an aura of fierce determination. Smudged mascara framed her intense gaze, adding to her wild and untamed appearance. Her lips were painted black, a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and eyes. Clad in a black leather crop top vest that accentuated her slim, athletic frame, she exuded an air of defiance. Arm bands encircled her wrists and biceps, resembling the wraps worn by boxers, hinting at her combat prowess. Around her neck, she wore a large choker, adding to her rebellious demeanor. Her attire was completed by tight leather pants and high-heeled platform boots, giving her an imposing presence.
"Found you, ya freaking cunt!" she spat, her voice laced with venom.
The cloaked figure retreated, increasing the distance between them and the girl. "Ugh, don't you ever give up?" they retorted, their tone tinged with irritation.
The girl leveled a fierce glare at the figure. "After the shit you've done!? I ain't letting you go!" she declared, her voice dripping with disdain.
The figure let out a mocking giggle. "Is that so?" they taunted, gesturing toward Finn who lay wounded on the ground. "Not even to save his life?"
The girl's gaze shifted to Finn, her expression softening momentarily as she registered his injuries. Before she could react, a shrill howl pierced the air, drawing their attention back to the figure.
"What the hell did you do!?" the girl demanded, her voice trembling with rage.
"Oh, just called in a few friends over for dinner," the figure replied casually.
"You bitch!" the girl seethed.
With a swift motion, she thrust her hand forward, summoning a massive vine with thorns protruding from its surface. The vine lunged toward the figure, but they evaded the attack with agile grace, darting away through the forest.
"Have fun~!" they taunted, their laughter echoing through the trees as they disappeared into the darkness.
Driven by determination, the girl pursued the figure, her footsteps echoing through the forest. However, her path was suddenly obstructed as a horde of Gaunts emerged from the shadows, blocking her way with menacing snarls and bared teeth.
"Get out of my way!" the girl cried, her voice ringing with determination.
In an instant, a smaller thorned vine shot out of the ground with startling speed, piercing through the approaching Gaunts like a bullet. Lifted into the air by the force of the vine, the creatures were hurled aside, crashing into trees with bone-crushing force.
As more Gaunts emerged from the shadows behind her, four shots echoed through the air. Finn's aim was true, striking the advancing Gaunts and causing them to writhe in agony as they fell to the ground. The girl glanced back to see Finn's timely intervention, offering a silent nod of acknowledgment before focusing her attention back on the remaining threats. Summoning more vines, she ensnared the creatures, tearing them apart with ruthless efficiency.
Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, the girl turned back towards Finn, who was now sitting against the wall, applying pressure to his wound.
Bending down beside him, the girl flashed a smile, revealing sharp triangular teeth reminiscent of a shark. "Nice shooting there, dude. Really saved my ass back there," she remarked.
Finn managed a weak chuckle. "I should be thanking you. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be Gaunt food," he admitted.
"Let's call it even, then, eh?" she suggested. "What's your name?" she inquired.
Finn met her gaze, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding. "Finn, Finn Tresscoat," he introduced himself. Curiosity burning in his eyes, he posed a question in return. "Who are you? No... What are you?" he asked, unable to shake off the mystery surrounding her.
The girl maintained her enigmatic smile, meeting his gaze with her striking red eyes. "The name's Rachel Rose," she revealed. "As for what I am, well... I can answer that once you're all patched up," she added cryptically.
Summoning another vine, Rachel gently lifted Finn to his feet, supporting him as they began to make their way back towards town. With each step, Finn's mind buzzed with questions, the mysteries surrounding Rachel and her abilities swirling in his thoughts. Who was the cloaked figure? How did they control the Gaunts? And most pressing of all, who—or what—was Rachel, and how was she able to command those vines with such ease?
As they walked back toward town, Finn couldn't help but feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, both physically and mentally. His thoughts swirled with questions about the events that had just transpired—about Rachel, the cloaked figure, and the unsettling abilities they both possessed. Yet, amidst the chaos of his mind, one pressing question emerged, demanding attention above all else.
'When the hell am I gonna get another day off? Because I can sure as hell use it right now...!' Finn thought to himself, his weariness palpable.
Rachel, walking beside him, seemed to sense his inner turmoil. Casting him a sidelong glance, she offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Finn. You'll have your chance to rest soon," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of empathy.
Finn managed a weary smile in return, grateful for the reassurance. Despite the gravity of their situation, her words offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed over them…
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As Finn ambled along, he glanced at the many shops lining the main road of the town's bustling center. He wasn't searching for anything in particular; he simply wanted to enjoy the rare day off from his job, one of the most perilous occupations in the United West (U.W.).
"Finn! Oh, Finn!"
Finn turned his head to the right and spotted Ms. Tori Elortor, or simply Ms. Tori as he called her. She was an older lady in her early fifties, though her youthful appearance often surprised the townsfolk. With long white hair cascading down her back, pale skin, and bright hazel eyes, she was a striking figure. Today, she wore a navy blue sundress over a pair of tight blue jeans and brown cowboy boots.
Ms. Tori, the local bakery owner, was considered quite attractive and often caught the eye of the younger men in town. Her curvaceous figure and active lifestyle, including regular yoga sessions in the park, only added to her allure. However, Finn saw her differently. Having known her since childhood and feeling like part of her family, he saw her as a maternal figure rather than anything else. He was also close to her son, Eric, feeling like an older brother to him.
Despite his demanding job, which kept him busy for nearly twenty-four-seven, Finn always tried to visit Ms. Tori and Eric whenever he could. Today was a rare opportunity for him to relax and reconnect.
"Ah, hi Ms. Tori! How are you today?" Finn greeted her with a warm smile.
Ms. Tori returned his smile. "I'm just fine, Finn. The real question is, how are you? I haven't seen you in months!" Her tone shifted to one of concern. "I was worried, and so was Eric. You do have quite a dangerous job for someone so young," she added.
What kind of dangerous job did Finn have, you might ask?
Well, Finn was a "Gaunt Hunter," a member of a specialized group tasked with safeguarding the small towns outside the major cities in the United West from creatures known as Gaunts.
These slim, humanoid creatures had leathery black skin, no eyes or nose, and wide mouths that drooled a strange dark green liquid. They had emerged after the cataclysmic "Decade of Winter."
The Gaunts varied in form and capability. Some were very muscular, while others had bat-like wings, allowing them to fly. They were also cunning, often creating weapons from scavenged materials and hunting in packs.
Disturbingly, these were just the common variants.
There were tales of Gaunts resembling animals and some that could even speak, though Finn himself had never encountered such anomalies.
Despite the ominous title of Gaunt Hunter, Finn's role wasn't as glamorous as one might imagine.
He wasn't a high-tech, gadget-wielding hero. Gaunt Hunters received training similar to regular police officers, focusing on the use of firearms. However, since firearms were not commonly traded or shipped to the smaller towns outside the major cities, Gaunt Hunters were also taught to wield swords, knives, and other melee weapons, as well as trained in close-range combat.
Finn had been trained to fire a pistol but also learned to fight with a machete, which was more practical for their needs than a traditional sword. On duty, he carried a standard-issue Glock-17 and a machete strapped to his side. He also wore the standard protective gear issued to United West Security Forces (UWSF) officers.
Returning to the conversation with Ms. Tori, Finn let out a lighthearted chuckle. "Dangerous for most of the veterans on the job, but I'm young and fit! Practically invincible!" he said with a grin.
Ms. Tori gave Finn an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow. "Is that right?" she asked. "Then what's this I hear about a Gaunt nearly taking your head off just last week?"
Finn's face flushed with embarrassment as he recalled the incident. A Gaunt had caught him off guard and nearly decapitated him with a makeshift axe. "Okay... yeah, fair enough," he admitted, looking down.
Ms. Tori's expression softened, and she gave him a few light taps on the shoulder. "Oh, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Finn, I'm just reminding you that your job is dangerous… You need to be careful," she said gently.
Finn looked up at her and nodded. "I know, and thank you for caring," he replied. Inwardly, he thought, 'It's not like anyone else does'
"Of course, I care, Finn," Ms. Tori said firmly. "Do you know how devastated I'd be if you got hurt or, heaven forbid, died? I'd be heartbroken,” she told him. “Eric would be even worse off, after all, who would play with him?"
Finn felt a wave of warmth at her words. Despite not wanting to worry Ms. Tori or Eric, it was comforting to know there were people who cared about him, and who wanted him to stay safe and come back home. "I guess you're right," he said with a soft smile. "I'll try to be more careful out there, I promise,”
Ms. Tori nodded, her smile lingering. "Good,” she said. “Now, how many days do you have off?" she asked.
"Not many," Finn replied with a sigh. "Just today,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in shock. "Only today? Why?" She asked.
Finn's expression turned serious. "Many of the other Gaunt Hunters are either dead, retiring, or switching to become cops... There are only ten of us left in the entire town,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in horror. Gaunt Hunters were the primary defense against the Gaunts. The law across the U.W. dictated that local law enforcement dealt with human issues, leaving Gaunt-related threats to the Hunters. The thought of their numbers dwindling was terrifying.
Each town was supposed to have a contingent of Gaunt Hunters, given that small towns were the primary targets for Gaunt attacks.
Major cities, in contrast, rarely had to deal with Gaunts.
The dense populations of these urban centers acted as a deterrent, scaring off most Gaunt packs. Even if a small group of Gaunts did manage to attack, the cities were equipped with heavy weaponry and advanced defenses, making Gaunt Hunters unnecessary there.
This starkly contrasted with the dire need for Gaunt Hunters in the smaller, more vulnerable towns.
Ideally, each small town would have around fifty Gaunt Hunters, a number intended to ensure adequate protection against the Gaunt threat. However, the reality was far grimmer. The inherent dangers and heavy responsibilities associated with the job dissuaded many from becoming Gaunt Hunters. The perilous nature of the work, combined with the constant threat of death, resulted in a severe shortage of recruits.
As a result, the numbers in many towns had dwindled alarmingly.
"Only ten?" she repeated her voice barely above a whisper. "That's... alarming… What happens if more Gaunts come?"
"We do our best," Finn said, trying to sound confident. "But it's tough… Every day, we’re stretched thinner,"
Ms. Tori took a deep breath, trying to process the gravity of the situation.
Finn felt a lump in his throat. "I promise, Ms. Tori. I'll do everything I can to stay safe," he said, trying to remind her if his promise mere moments ago.
Ms. Tori wanted to argue with Finn's comment, but deep down, she knew he was somewhat right. The town was struggling—trade had slowed to a trickle, and many residents had moved away. The constant threat of Gaunt attacks made living there increasingly untenable. Even Ms. Tori had considered leaving to ensure Eric’s safety and to give him a chance to grow up in a more stable environment where he could interact with other children and experience the broader world.
However, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
Her late husband was buried in this town, and even though years had passed since his death, she felt tied to the place where he rested. She had loved this town deeply, and in a way, staying felt like keeping a part of him alive.
Seeing the conflict in her eyes, Finn decided to change the subject. "Hey, why don't I come over for dinner?" he suggested with a soft smile. "I'm sure Eric would be happy to see me after so long,”
Ms. Tori was pulled out of her thoughts by his offer. She smiled, grateful for his willingness to spend his rare day off with them. "That would be lovely, Finn," she said with a quick nod.
They walked together to Ms. Tori's home, a modest three-bedroom house with a large attic. Inside, they found Eric sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons. Hearing Finn’s voice, Eric turned, his face lighting up with excitement. He jumped out of his seat and ran to give Finn a hug.
Eric was about 11 years old, with brown hair like his deceased father but hazel eyes like his mother. He was wearing a dark black and blue striped shirt, dark gray pants, and black slip-on shoes.
Finn hugged him back, smiling. "I've got some stories to tell over dinner," he said, which made Eric's eyes sparkle with anticipation.
He loved hearing about the world beyond their town, even if it was mostly filled with woods and the ruins of an old world.
Finn then followed Ms. Tori into the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He found what he could and handed the items to her, glad to be of assistance. Ms. Tori thanked him and asked if he could help chop vegetables, which he was more than happy to do.
As they worked side by side, Ms. Tori glanced at Finn, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern. "You know, Finn, this town means a lot to me,” she told him “It’s where I built my life with my husband, and it’s where I want Eric to grow up, despite everything,"
Finn nodded, understanding the deep attachment she had. "I get it, Ms. Tori. This place has a lot of memories, and as long as I'm here, I'll do my best to keep it safe for you and Eric,"
Ms. Tori smiled warmly. "I know you will, Finn... Thank you,”
Dinner was a warm, lively affair. Eric listened intently to Finn’s stories, hanging on every word. The laughter and conversation filled the small home, creating a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their world. For a brief time, the threats outside seemed distant, and they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together.
After a few bites, Eric looked at Finn eagerly. "Can you tell me one of your stories, Finn?" he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.
Finn nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Well, a couple of days ago, I was out with two or three other Hunters, we had just finished fighting off a few Gaunts, once they were dealt with, we decided to explore the area since it was the site of an old abandoned amusement park,” he began. “Some of the rides were still standing, though most were broken and destroyed, it was interesting to see the tech they used to have back then," Finn recounted.
Eric's eyes widened with excitement. "Wow! That's awesome!" he exclaimed.
Finn grinned. "It was pretty cool, but it’s nothing compared to some of the parks I saw in Salton Lake City! Those places are amazing,"
Eric's eyes gleamed at the mention of the nearby city. "Man, I want to go there someday!" he said enthusiastically. "Maybe when I start my training to be a Gaunt Hunter," he added with a big smile.
Finn chuckled. "So, you want to be a Gaunt Hunter, huh?" he asked. "You think you’ve got what it takes?"
Eric nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! I know I can be a Gaunt Hunter! I bet I can even be better than you!" he declared, pointing at Finn.
Finn raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really?" he said. "Who's to say I'm not the best of the best, huh?"
Eric gave him a smug smirk. "Because if you were the best Hunter, you'd have already gotten rid of all the Gaunts!" he said confidently.
Finn chuckled. "Well, you got me there," he admitted. "But hey, if you think you can be the best and get rid of all the Gaunts, then I say go for it, dude."
Eric chuckled and resumed eating, his enthusiasm undimmed. Ms. Tori watched the two with a fond smile, marveling at the brotherly bond between them. It warmed her heart to see how close they had become. She knew that Finn cherished this connection just as much as Eric did, especially since Finn had grown up without a family of his own, raised in the local orphanage.
She recalled those early days when a young Finn would walk into the bakery, clutching a few coins. His eyes would light up with wonder at the sight of the treats and goodies lining the shelves. Something about him had touched her heart, and she began offering him free treats for him and the other orphans whenever he visited. Her late husband had also taken a liking to Finn, treating him like the son they never had. When Finn decided to become a Gaunt Hunter, it was her husband who had helped him prepare for the rigorous training, getting him into shape and offering constant encouragement.
After her husband's death, it was Finn who helped her grieve and find the strength to carry on. She had felt terrible about leaning on him during such a hard time, knowing he had his own sadness to deal with, yet he remained steadfast and strong. He had been there for her and for Eric, helping the young boy understand their loss and navigate the difficult times that followed.
She was truly grateful to have Finn in her life.
Suddenly, Finn's phone vibrated insistently in his pocket. He quickly reached for it and saw a text message from work. He opened it, dreading what it might say.
[~Finn, we need you tonight. Jon and Gary quit out of the blue, so we need someone to fill in.~]
Finn sighed, frustration bubbling up inside him. 'Great, now we're down to eight Hunters,' he thought. 'And Jon and Gary were both my age and in better shape than the veterans at the station.'
Ms. Tori noticed the change in his expression and knew immediately what it meant. "Does duty call, Finn?" she asked gently.
Finn nodded, his expression weary. "Yeah, looks like Jon and Gary quit. They need me to cover tonight."
Ms. Tori sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know how much you were looking forward to some time off."
"It's alright," Finn said, forcing a smile. "I knew it was a long shot anyway. The town needs all the help it can get."
Eric looked up, concern etched on his young face. "Do you have to go, Finn?"
Finn ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, buddy. Duty calls. But I'll be back, and we’ll have more stories to share. I promise."
Ms. Tori gave him a supportive nod. "Just promise us you'll stay safe, Finn."
"I will," Finn assured her. He stood up, preparing to leave. "Thanks for dinner, Ms. Tori. It was great, as always."
As he left the warm, comforting atmosphere of Ms. Tori's home and headed out into the cold night, Finn felt a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the exhaustion and the ever-present danger, he knew he had to keep fighting. For the town, for Eric, and for the memory of the man who had helped him become who he was.
Once at the station, Finn entered and immediately spotted Dick Cortez, a veteran Gaunt Hunter who had been safeguarding the town for as long as Finn could remember. Dick, now in his 50s, had graying hair, deep-set wrinkles, and perpetually tired eyes. He was wearing the standard-issue armor that all Gaunt Hunters received, though each Hunter was allowed to customize their armor with different colors and modifications.
Dick's armor consisted of a high-collar black shirt beneath a modified, pure black chest plate that covered his upper abdomen, along with similarly-colored bracers. Both the chest plate and bracers were trimmed with white and featured matching shoulder pads. He also wore gloves with small metal plating on the fingers, dark navy jeans, black and white metal knee pads, and dark brown boots.
Dick noticed Finn and offered a small smile. "Heya, Finn," he greeted.
"Hey yourself, Dick," Finn replied with a nod.
"Sorry about having to bring you in on your day off," Dick said, his tone genuinely apologetic.
Finn walked over to his locker, where his armor and weapons were stored. He glanced at Dick and shrugged, giving a small smile. "It's alright, Dick. I understand why, and I'm not angry—well, not at you, but at those two," Finn said, referring to Jon and Gary.
Dick nodded in understanding. "Trust me, I'm disappointed in them too, but I can see why they left so suddenly," he said.
Finn nodded back, opening his locker to reveal his armor. His armor was similar to Dick's but differed in color and the clothing underneath. Finn wore his usual attire beneath the armor, which consisted of a dark brown chest plate trimmed with black, matching bracers, shoulder pads, knee pads, and gloves.
He took the armor out and quickly dressed, securing the pieces in place. He then grabbed his Glock and its holster, strapping it around his waist, and added his machete in its sheath. Once fully suited up, he turned to Dick with a raised brow. "Which side of town am I patrolling tonight?"
"Outer wall, west side," Dick stated, his voice firm.
Finn nodded, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. The west side of the outer wall was notorious for Gaunt activity, a hotspot for their attacks. It was going to be a long night.
As he headed out, Dick called after him, "Stay sharp out there, Finn. We can't afford to lose any more good Hunters."
Finn turned back and gave a resolute nod. "I will, Dick. See you in the morning."
Once outside the city, Finn couldn't help but take in the grim sight of the outer wall. It was marred with deep scratches and chips from relentless Gaunt attacks, stained with the dark green goo that dripped from their slavering mouths, and speckled with bloodstains that would never fully wash away. The stark contrast between this battered exterior and the inner walls of the town was striking. Inside, the walls were adorned with chalk drawings from children and vibrant murals from the town's artists. These cheerful images served as a reminder of what he was protecting, and why he had chosen to become a Gaunt Hunter in the first place.
Reaching the west side of the wall, Finn began his patrol, moving back and forth to ensure no Gaunts were attempting to scale the barrier. For now, the night was quiet, and he hoped it would remain that way.
As he walked his beat, his thoughts drifted back to dinner with Eric and the boy's enthusiastic declaration about becoming a Gaunt Hunter. While part of him felt honored by Eric's admiration, another part was deeply troubled. The life of a Hunter was dangerous and filled with horrors that no one should have to witness, let alone a young boy like Eric.
Finn's mind flashed back to a particularly gruesome memory from a past patrol. He and another Hunter had been called to assist in repelling a large pack of Gaunts. They had rushed to the scene, only to find their comrades dead, slaughtered in horrific ways. One Hunter's skull had been cracked open, with Gaunts eating from it as if it were a bowl of grapes. Another Hunter, still alive, was being disemboweled and devoured. Finn could never forget the man's agonized expression as he watched his own entrails being torn apart and consumed. The sight had been so revolting that Finn had vomited on the spot, paralyzed by shock until his partner snapped him back to reality.
Then there were the stories he had heard from veterans like Dick. Dick once recounted an incident where a Hunter had been speared to death by multiple Gaunts. They hadn't even eaten him; they had just impaled him repeatedly, leaving his body to rot in the woods for days. Such tales highlighted the Gaunts' malevolence and complete lack of empathy.
Finn shuddered at the memories. He didn't want Eric to face such nightmares. The boy was full of life and potential, and Finn couldn't bear the thought of him enduring the same horrors he had.
Since that harrowing incident and the chilling story Dick had shared, Finn had sworn to himself that he wouldn't meet a similar fate. He vowed to go out fighting, to not end up like those other hunters. He couldn't bear the thought of becoming another victim, especially after what happened to his sister.
The sudden howl nearby jolted Finn out of his grim thoughts. The sound was close—too close. Instantly alert, he scanned his surroundings. Just then, something whizzed past his face, slicing his cheek. He turned to see a makeshift arrow embedded in the wall. Spinning back around, his heart sank as he saw ten Gaunts emerging from the tree line.
"Shit!" Finn cursed, his eyes widening in horror. This was a dire situation. He quickly drew his Glock and aimed at the advancing creatures. Before he could fire, a sharp pain seared through his left side. He glanced down to see a small dagger lodged in his torso.
'What the hell?' Finn thought, bewildered. 'Did one of the Gaunts throw this?'
"Sorry, but it's nothing personal," a strange voice echoed through the darkness.
Finn's gaze snapped forward, and he saw a figure emerging from the shadows. They wore a long black cloak that seemed to envelop them completely, giving the eerie impression that they were gliding across the ground rather than walking.
The figure approached him, their face obscured by the cloak's hood. "My, you are a handsome young man," they purred in a sultry tone. "Such a fucking shame that my babies must eat. We've been on the run, and they haven't had a chance to rest and eat until we saw you." They giggled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Finn's spine.
Fear gripped Finn, but he managed to look up at the cloaked figure with a raised brow. "W-Who are you?" he stammered, his voice wavering.
The figure tilted their head slightly as if amused by his question. "Who am I?" they echoed. "I am their mother, their caretaker. I ensure they survive, even if it means feeding them humans like you." The figure leaned closer, and Finn could just make out a twisted smile beneath the hood.
Finn's mind raced. He needed to think of a way out, and fast. The Gaunts were closing in, and he was injured and at a severe disadvantage. Summoning his remaining strength, he clutched his Glock tighter and tried to steady his breath. He couldn't let this be the end.
The figure's giggle echoed eerily through the night, sending a shiver down Finn's spine. "Oh! Now I'm regretting stabbing you," they remarked with a twisted amusement. "It's not every day a handsome young man asks me my name, you know? Most prefer a no-name policy." Their tone was cryptic, and Finn couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. "While I would love to give you my name in far better circumstances, I'm afraid I don't have the time," they continued, their words dripping with urgency. "As I said, we're on the run from a rather unpleasant girl."
Finn's confusion only deepened. The figure's response didn't provide any clarity, leaving him even more perplexed. As the figure began to back away, Finn's eyes widened in shock as the Gaunts beside them moved in unison. ‘She can... control them!?’ he realized, disbelief washing over him.
"Go ahead, babies... EAT!" the figure commanded, her voice chillingly calm.
With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Finn watched as the Gaunts surged forward, their hunger palpable in the air. Determination surged within him, driving him to fight against the odds stacked against him. Ignoring the searing pain from his wound, he raised his gun and fired at the approaching Gaunts. Despite his efforts, only one was hit, and even then, it didn't slow down.
Finn gritted his teeth, preparing for the inevitable close-quarter battle with the monsters. "Come on!" he growled defiantly. "I'm right here!"
The Gaunts closed in, their predatory instincts driving them forward. Just as they leaped toward him, ready to strike, something unexpected occurred.
Thorny vines erupted from the ground, snaking around the Gaunts with incredible speed. Finn's eyes widened in astonishment as the vines ensnared the creatures, halting their advance. The vines twisted and contorted, slamming the Gaunts into the ground with brutal force, tearing at their flesh and rendering them helpless.
" Damn! How did that bitch already find us!?" the figure exclaimed, frustration evident in their voice.
Finn's gaze followed the figure's gaze as a new figure emerged from the shadows.
Her appearance was striking, to say the least. With a spiky red Mohawk and piercing red eyes devoid of any white, she exuded an aura of fierce determination. Smudged mascara framed her intense gaze, adding to her wild and untamed appearance. Her lips were painted black, a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and eyes. Clad in a black leather crop top vest that accentuated her slim, athletic frame, she exuded an air of defiance. Arm bands encircled her wrists and biceps, resembling the wraps worn by boxers, hinting at her combat prowess. Around her neck, she wore a large choker, adding to her rebellious demeanor. Her attire was completed by tight leather pants and high-heeled platform boots, giving her an imposing presence.
"Found you, ya freaking cunt!" she spat, her voice laced with venom.
The cloaked figure retreated, increasing the distance between them and the girl. "Ugh, don't you ever give up?" they retorted, their tone tinged with irritation.
The girl leveled a fierce glare at the figure. "After the shit you've done!? I ain't letting you go!" she declared, her voice dripping with disdain.
The figure let out a mocking giggle. "Is that so?" they taunted, gesturing toward Finn who lay wounded on the ground. "Not even to save his life?"
The girl's gaze shifted to Finn, her expression softening momentarily as she registered his injuries. Before she could react, a shrill howl pierced the air, drawing their attention back to the figure.
"What the hell did you do!?" the girl demanded, her voice trembling with rage.
"Oh, just called in a few friends over for dinner," the figure replied casually.
"You bitch!" the girl seethed.
With a swift motion, she thrust her hand forward, summoning a massive vine with thorns protruding from its surface. The vine lunged toward the figure, but they evaded the attack with agile grace, darting away through the forest.
"Have fun~!" they taunted, their laughter echoing through the trees as they disappeared into the darkness.
Driven by determination, the girl pursued the figure, her footsteps echoing through the forest. However, her path was suddenly obstructed as a horde of Gaunts emerged from the shadows, blocking her way with menacing snarls and bared teeth.
"Get out of my way!" the girl cried, her voice ringing with determination.
In an instant, a smaller thorned vine shot out of the ground with startling speed, piercing through the approaching Gaunts like a bullet. Lifted into the air by the force of the vine, the creatures were hurled aside, crashing into trees with bone-crushing force.
As more Gaunts emerged from the shadows behind her, four shots echoed through the air. Finn's aim was true, striking the advancing Gaunts and causing them to writhe in agony as they fell to the ground. The girl glanced back to see Finn's timely intervention, offering a silent nod of acknowledgment before focusing her attention back on the remaining threats. Summoning more vines, she ensnared the creatures, tearing them apart with ruthless efficiency.
Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, the girl turned back towards Finn, who was now sitting against the wall, applying pressure to his wound.
Bending down beside him, the girl flashed a smile, revealing sharp triangular teeth reminiscent of a shark. "Nice shooting there, dude. Really saved my ass back there," she remarked.
Finn managed a weak chuckle. "I should be thanking you. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be Gaunt food," he admitted.
"Let's call it even, then, eh?" she suggested. "What's your name?" she inquired.
Finn met her gaze, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding. "Finn, Finn Tresscoat," he introduced himself. Curiosity burning in his eyes, he posed a question in return. "Who are you? No... What are you?" he asked, unable to shake off the mystery surrounding her.
The girl maintained her enigmatic smile, meeting his gaze with her striking red eyes. "The name's Rachel Rose," she revealed. "As for what I am, well... I can answer that once you're all patched up," she added cryptically.
Summoning another vine, Rachel gently lifted Finn to his feet, supporting him as they began to make their way back towards town. With each step, Finn's mind buzzed with questions, the mysteries surrounding Rachel and her abilities swirling in his thoughts. Who was the cloaked figure? How did they control the Gaunts? And most pressing of all, who—or what—was Rachel, and how was she able to command those vines with such ease?
As they walked back toward town, Finn couldn't help but feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, both physically and mentally. His thoughts swirled with questions about the events that had just transpired—about Rachel, the cloaked figure, and the unsettling abilities they both possessed. Yet, amidst the chaos of his mind, one pressing question emerged, demanding attention above all else.
'When the hell am I gonna get another day off? Because I can sure as hell use it right now...!' Finn thought to himself, his weariness palpable.
Rachel, walking beside him, seemed to sense his inner turmoil. Casting him a sidelong glance, she offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Finn. You'll have your chance to rest soon," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of empathy.
Finn managed a weary smile in return, grateful for the reassurance. Despite the gravity of their situation, her words offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed over them…
2024.06.01 09:00 letmeseecontent I want my fucking life back
I always struggled with picking at my face but in the past few months it has gotten so much worse than I could have ever imagined. Not just my face anymore, now my face and my legs and my stomach and my arms — not a single piece of me left unmarked. I’m a walking infection, hundreds of small wounds glistening white. I’ve gone through thousands of band-aids. I spent over $100 on hydrocolloid bandages last month.
And I have OCD, I’m always thinking about germs, and I have to wash my hands over and over while I’m picking at my skin, and I’ll wipe my entire body down with rubbing alcohol until I feel clean. I always had dry skin — but now I’m on steroids for severe eczema.
I always had ADHD and struggled with work, but now my performance has tanked because I work remotely and thus will get side-tracked spending HOURS of the work day in the bathroom, picking. Once, four fucking hours passed. I’m going to lose my fucking job at this rate.
I always struggled with social anxiety, now I can’t leave the house because I don’t want anyone to look at me. My therapist says it’s agoraphobia. I didn’t struggle with it until I started picking like this.
I can’t believe how much dermatillomania has taken from me. When I had a much more mild case, I would have never even imagined how life-ruining it can be when it’s so severe.
AND I WANT MY FUCKING LIFE BACK.
Edit to add: also I struggled with self harm for years when I was younger but I was able to quit. Stopping self harming was 10,000 times easier than trying to stop the skin picking. Maybe 100,000 times. It’s so much harder, it’s barely even comparable.
submitted by letmeseecontent to Dermatillomania [link] [comments]
And I have OCD, I’m always thinking about germs, and I have to wash my hands over and over while I’m picking at my skin, and I’ll wipe my entire body down with rubbing alcohol until I feel clean. I always had dry skin — but now I’m on steroids for severe eczema.
I always had ADHD and struggled with work, but now my performance has tanked because I work remotely and thus will get side-tracked spending HOURS of the work day in the bathroom, picking. Once, four fucking hours passed. I’m going to lose my fucking job at this rate.
I always struggled with social anxiety, now I can’t leave the house because I don’t want anyone to look at me. My therapist says it’s agoraphobia. I didn’t struggle with it until I started picking like this.
I can’t believe how much dermatillomania has taken from me. When I had a much more mild case, I would have never even imagined how life-ruining it can be when it’s so severe.
AND I WANT MY FUCKING LIFE BACK.
Edit to add: also I struggled with self harm for years when I was younger but I was able to quit. Stopping self harming was 10,000 times easier than trying to stop the skin picking. Maybe 100,000 times. It’s so much harder, it’s barely even comparable.
2024.06.01 08:48 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: More and More [19]
First/Previous
Since I knew there was a time before, I’ve wanted it, but that was child’s hope; even as a boy I wanted a dream. I wanted some divine being to enter from heaven and tell us all how it should be, but that wasn’t something I could ever count on—of course. Is there a god? I think so. I’ve seen those things and if they exist, then surely there’s a maker on the other end of it—god made both the light and the dark if the word’s to be believed and all we can hope for is a glimpse of the former. Even for a second.
The streets were soaked with blood and so many artillery rounds were fired into the sky—many I witnessed missed Leviathan—that I forgot what silence was like (not to mention the screams and there was a lot of that).
In the scrambling, I found I was reentering deeper into Golgotha and that wasn’t good. There was the ever-present thought that Maron was around every corner; the man had haunted my thoughts for longer that he should have and every time it was like an overwhelming force. It was simple enough after all, he was a piece of the past, a piece I could theoretically reach out and touch and that was what kept me to him.
In the fray of bolting citizens, I pressed myself to the exterior of a wall—I’d neared the stairs which once led to my apartment—and I kept out of the way of those that mindlessly went; some of those which rushed from the onslaught were those afflicted with skitterbugs and many of them either hobbled on blackened legs or—and this was rare—comrades or family helped to carry those which could not carry themselves. It was a baffling sight. A man carried a woman like a child (her toes had fallen off and her legs were black to the knees) and though he strode on with her, his own boots were caked with a mixture of blood and earth. An older girl led a young boy from the whirlwind of dust which was kicked up in the square; the boy’s eyes were whited, and his hands were curled to his chest, discolored. People, whatever duality there is, cared. There was not a drop of the apathy I’d learned and encouraged in myself.
I chewed like a mad dog through my bindings, and it was of little use; I yanked at the cord which secured my hands together and received rope burn in return. “Bitch!” I cussed the thing, but the flames in the sky were so loud, the bangs and vibrations from the artillery consumed all so it was like yelling in a barrel. I swung my hands out in front of me, feeling useless and felt a sudden urge to try again. I bit into the cord and repetitively motioned my jaw against the pressure of the cord, like I was going to saw through it with my teeth. Ha! Another yank is what brought my left hand free, but not without tearing a triangle of skin away from my wrist.
The cord dropped to my feet, and I looked around; a woman brushed past me, nearly toppled over my foot and I caught her by the wrist before she went head-over. She violently thrust from my grasp and screamed something at me. Another bout of flames burst from Leviathan’s maw as it circle-dove overhead. The heatwave from the blast exploded across my face so that I recoiled from the sky itself till I was on the ground, and I pushed myself from the earth and ran half dog-like from my place there at the wall. Where? It was hard to say where when every person that touched-by seemed to send me in another direction; in the madness, it was impossible to tell my course.
With time and effort, I found my way to the opening where the hydro towers were, three pillars which rose above Golgotha’s skyline, each one a testament to human resilience—engineers laborers toiled untold hours under Lady’s father to construct them. The hydro towers exploded into rubble as Leviathan slammed into them. Rock rained down as cutting shards and destructive boulders. A man lay beside my feet where he'd been pinned by the onslaught—white concrete kept him there by his chest—he gasped for air and blood already formed around him. In a moment, I looked away at the dying man, his half-whited eyes bulging at me. Meat hung from the left side of another man’s face as he cradled his head in his hand and moved like he was stoned and sat among the stomping feet; he slumped into the spot he sat and did not move till others came by him in a hurry and he simply fell onto his side like a toy animal.
The screams were too much. I looked to the towers, the nubs which had broken away like bad teeth against the red sky, and whole people fell alongside the rubble, limbs and showers of blood and Leviathan latched atop the towers and rocked its massive body so that the structures slipped directly from their foundations and tumbled over like pins. I ran and again there was nothing but chaos, nothing but mind-numbing wilder thoughts—it was grim and there wasn’t a place for coherency; it was all snaps of images.
In the mess of bumbling limbs, I pushed through to the hall of Bosses and there were people there already, rushing the stairs; the ground shook and I assumed it must’ve been the towers. The things demolished all in their path, and briefly, I saw the ramshackle structures which normally stood in their shadows come slanting over and people leapt from those places too and landed poorly and there was a cacophony of tremors through the earth—it felt as though hell should open.
The steps at the base of the hall were flooded and it was a fight to climb them as legs came high up from ahead and swiped at those behind and I kept my hands ahead of me to block whatever foot may come my way.
Wall men stood ready with their rifles at the tops of those steps and fired their weapons indiscriminately into the crowd. Bodies, big and small, piled atop the steps after a brief bullet dance and it came that I wasn’t only climbing stairs, but corpses; the warmth of their flesh as I clawed ahead remained and blood fog hung in the air. That grouping of wall men, casually lined before the doors of the hall were overtaken and they disappeared, their rifles cackled and came alive with muzzle flashes and the animal hands of the horde brought them to ground.
Us, the horde, funneled through those front doors and for a moment, in the thick walls of the hall, the outside world audibly disappeared; the blood and dust remained, but it was quieter save the shuffling feet and cusses of passersby I was carried deeper.
Those that worked the underground went quickly and I followed, and those ignorant followed for the sake of survival and it was not long till we stumbled into the Boss’s lair. With room, people dispersed like water through the tunnels and found dark recesses to tend their wounds or mourn whatever was lost and the explosive open air had been fully replaced by the quiet black oppressive mumbles of people taking stock of all those that had died. And all those that would. Every few moments, the walls shook, and dust fell from the ceiling fixtures.
A few haggard folks moved to the doorway which led to the damp room which led to the kitchen, and they slammed the door shut and latched it and began to check adjacent rooms for things to barricade the way.
“Stop!” said a man in the dim flickering underground light—I was surprised to see the man was me, “Leave it open! Others might need help.” I retraced my steps to the small faction that’d gathered there at the doorway. “You can’t just let them die out there. Let them in.”
“Shut up!” a skinny girl with her hair pulled back on her malnourished skull spoke gruffly; she choked, coughed—dust clung to her clothes—she’d been near the collapse of the hydro towers if I guessed. “Step off, or I’ll—
“Or you’ll what?” I shouted.
The girl put up her fists, two lumpy stones, and in stupid response I closed the distance between us. With speed, her fist met my nose, and I stumbled back on my heel.
Without hesitation, I brought up my own hands and landed a blow to her stomach. She craned forward, gasped on repeat, and took a knee.
Blood wet my upper lip, and I wiped it away with my forearm.
“Move,” I said to the others by the door; there were two: a woman and a boy that was nearly a man.
The boy charged headstrongly, attempted a kick and I easily shoved his small frame against the tunnel wall; the hard metal sounded a meaty thud against his body and the woman launched unseen at me, raked her nails down the back of my neck, and tore at my collar. I kept a forearm to the boy’s throat and rocked his head with my free elbow. Once he wept and spit red, I let him go; the boy slid into a sit and I spun on the woman, shoving her away. My left leg began to give, and I used the wall over the boy’s head as support. I swung at her with a wild claw and my fingertips grazed her nose as she fell away to the opposite wall.
“Stop it!” I shouted.
She launched at me, and my leg gave out under her tackle, and I stumbled half-on the boy, my feet kicked helplessly at her, and the boy regained his composure and began to crawl towards me. We wrestled and then the girl I’d knocked in the gut rejoined the fray. I was done. They had me pinned and spat curses at me and took turns shoving my head into the floor.
“You’re going to get us killed,” shouted the woman, “Are you stupid?”
I grinded my teeth and tried to throw them off; I was overpowered and easily pressed down again.
The overhead lights flickered with another deep earthy vibration and the trio let go of me in an instant—I came up swinging my arms like crazy and as I went to kneel before propelling myself to stand, a hand rested on my shoulder. I spun on the hand and was met with the black mouth of a 9mm pistol—that froze me fast.
The owner of the weapon—a wall man by the look of her fatigues—motioned for me to stand and I did. Her eyes were far off and nervous and the metal shook in her outstretched hand. “Against the wall!” she barked at us; she was small-framed and youthful but full grown, and I could easily push her out of my way if not for the pistol. We went to the wall, and she moved to the door while keeping the gun drawn on us. She watched us and glanced at the door. “It’s latched! Who latched the door?” She asked.
No one spoke. The other three looked to their feet; I initially refused to rat, and snorted blood—my nose throbbed and by touch I could tell it swelled already.
“Well? Why’s it closed?” she asked the question more like a desperate child than a person with control. “C’mon!” The 9mm rolled limply on her wrist as she said the word, like she was attempting to draw the confession from us with the motion.
“There’s an attack. They’re killing everyone,” said the boy.
The girl and woman nodded.
“Who?” asked the wall man.
“Demons, muties,” said the boy, “Big stuff. Everyone’s dying.”
The ground shook as if to emphasize his point.
The wall man studied us for a moment, lingering last on me and for the longest and she took a long breath and let the sigh out dramatically slow. “I know you,” she motioned at me with the gun, “You’re that maniac. The one that tried to murder everyone.” Her eyes fell then returned and she put her weight on the door while maintaining the barrel of the gun eye-level in my direction.
“I ain’t gonna’ hurt anyone,” said. I briefly thought about smiling but decided that’d look worse.
“How do I know that?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said the boy, “He tried to kill us already!” His voice cracked with adolescence; the blood I’d spilled from his mouth coated the front of his holey shirt.
The trio nodded all together—everyone agreed that I was a maniac killer.
“They latched it,” I said, “Cowards.”
A thump came from the other side of the door which frightened the wall man and she leapt from the spot she’d leaned—it took several full seconds to realize her gun went off; there was a flash, and my ears rang. I stumbled from the knot of people and slunk a couple of feet from the space by the door. The girl—the one I gut-punched—collapsed to the floor while holding the right side of her face. The women crowded the girl, panicked, the boy sprinted past me and disappeared deeper into the underground, and the wall man stood there with a wretched blank expression. There was a long moment which hung in the air; I could not hear and then it came back, and it was the girl’s screams I heard first.
Upon stepping to them, I saw the prone girl had been shot just so—through the cheek. Her eyes rolled from likely spinal damage; whatever the angle, it seemed to have ripped through irreparable nerves and she bled a lot. There wasn’t any hope for that girl.
“Well,” I said to the wall man, “Finish it. No reason to make her suffer.”
The girl on the ground writhed unnaturally and caterwauled while the woman by her side attempted to calm her.
Greater became the sound of the belabored hands on the other side of the door; then a hollow-sounding gunshot came from the other side; were they shooting the door? Or each other? Another round—human screams.
The wall man shook her head. “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident.”
I tried to hold the wall man’s gaze, but she didn’t seem able.
With speed, I moved to the wall man, reached for the gun which dangled helpless by her side—her initial response was to flinch, pull the weapon from my reach; our eyes locked and I clenched my jaw. She could’ve killed me. There wouldn’t have been surprise from me if she had.
She let go of the gun and I nodded, and she nodded and the woman kneeling by the girl threw herself over her. “Please,” protested the woman, “Please don’t!”
With the aid of the pistol, I was given space, and nothing was said. I mentally prepared myself for the ringing which accompanied gunfire in small spaces, even tilted my head away with my free palm up and took aim and the girl jerked once then went still.
With the ringing going and sound returning, the drumming on the door returned, as well as the quiet weeps of the woman; she crawled to the wayside of the hall, pressed her back against the wall and rested her chin on her knees with her arms around her shins. She didn’t rock to or fro and hardly made any noise at all. But the small and quiet sobs remained faintly there.
First/Previous
Archive
submitted by Edwardthecrazyman to cryosleep [link] [comments]
Since I knew there was a time before, I’ve wanted it, but that was child’s hope; even as a boy I wanted a dream. I wanted some divine being to enter from heaven and tell us all how it should be, but that wasn’t something I could ever count on—of course. Is there a god? I think so. I’ve seen those things and if they exist, then surely there’s a maker on the other end of it—god made both the light and the dark if the word’s to be believed and all we can hope for is a glimpse of the former. Even for a second.
The streets were soaked with blood and so many artillery rounds were fired into the sky—many I witnessed missed Leviathan—that I forgot what silence was like (not to mention the screams and there was a lot of that).
In the scrambling, I found I was reentering deeper into Golgotha and that wasn’t good. There was the ever-present thought that Maron was around every corner; the man had haunted my thoughts for longer that he should have and every time it was like an overwhelming force. It was simple enough after all, he was a piece of the past, a piece I could theoretically reach out and touch and that was what kept me to him.
In the fray of bolting citizens, I pressed myself to the exterior of a wall—I’d neared the stairs which once led to my apartment—and I kept out of the way of those that mindlessly went; some of those which rushed from the onslaught were those afflicted with skitterbugs and many of them either hobbled on blackened legs or—and this was rare—comrades or family helped to carry those which could not carry themselves. It was a baffling sight. A man carried a woman like a child (her toes had fallen off and her legs were black to the knees) and though he strode on with her, his own boots were caked with a mixture of blood and earth. An older girl led a young boy from the whirlwind of dust which was kicked up in the square; the boy’s eyes were whited, and his hands were curled to his chest, discolored. People, whatever duality there is, cared. There was not a drop of the apathy I’d learned and encouraged in myself.
I chewed like a mad dog through my bindings, and it was of little use; I yanked at the cord which secured my hands together and received rope burn in return. “Bitch!” I cussed the thing, but the flames in the sky were so loud, the bangs and vibrations from the artillery consumed all so it was like yelling in a barrel. I swung my hands out in front of me, feeling useless and felt a sudden urge to try again. I bit into the cord and repetitively motioned my jaw against the pressure of the cord, like I was going to saw through it with my teeth. Ha! Another yank is what brought my left hand free, but not without tearing a triangle of skin away from my wrist.
The cord dropped to my feet, and I looked around; a woman brushed past me, nearly toppled over my foot and I caught her by the wrist before she went head-over. She violently thrust from my grasp and screamed something at me. Another bout of flames burst from Leviathan’s maw as it circle-dove overhead. The heatwave from the blast exploded across my face so that I recoiled from the sky itself till I was on the ground, and I pushed myself from the earth and ran half dog-like from my place there at the wall. Where? It was hard to say where when every person that touched-by seemed to send me in another direction; in the madness, it was impossible to tell my course.
With time and effort, I found my way to the opening where the hydro towers were, three pillars which rose above Golgotha’s skyline, each one a testament to human resilience—engineers laborers toiled untold hours under Lady’s father to construct them. The hydro towers exploded into rubble as Leviathan slammed into them. Rock rained down as cutting shards and destructive boulders. A man lay beside my feet where he'd been pinned by the onslaught—white concrete kept him there by his chest—he gasped for air and blood already formed around him. In a moment, I looked away at the dying man, his half-whited eyes bulging at me. Meat hung from the left side of another man’s face as he cradled his head in his hand and moved like he was stoned and sat among the stomping feet; he slumped into the spot he sat and did not move till others came by him in a hurry and he simply fell onto his side like a toy animal.
The screams were too much. I looked to the towers, the nubs which had broken away like bad teeth against the red sky, and whole people fell alongside the rubble, limbs and showers of blood and Leviathan latched atop the towers and rocked its massive body so that the structures slipped directly from their foundations and tumbled over like pins. I ran and again there was nothing but chaos, nothing but mind-numbing wilder thoughts—it was grim and there wasn’t a place for coherency; it was all snaps of images.
In the mess of bumbling limbs, I pushed through to the hall of Bosses and there were people there already, rushing the stairs; the ground shook and I assumed it must’ve been the towers. The things demolished all in their path, and briefly, I saw the ramshackle structures which normally stood in their shadows come slanting over and people leapt from those places too and landed poorly and there was a cacophony of tremors through the earth—it felt as though hell should open.
The steps at the base of the hall were flooded and it was a fight to climb them as legs came high up from ahead and swiped at those behind and I kept my hands ahead of me to block whatever foot may come my way.
Wall men stood ready with their rifles at the tops of those steps and fired their weapons indiscriminately into the crowd. Bodies, big and small, piled atop the steps after a brief bullet dance and it came that I wasn’t only climbing stairs, but corpses; the warmth of their flesh as I clawed ahead remained and blood fog hung in the air. That grouping of wall men, casually lined before the doors of the hall were overtaken and they disappeared, their rifles cackled and came alive with muzzle flashes and the animal hands of the horde brought them to ground.
Us, the horde, funneled through those front doors and for a moment, in the thick walls of the hall, the outside world audibly disappeared; the blood and dust remained, but it was quieter save the shuffling feet and cusses of passersby I was carried deeper.
Those that worked the underground went quickly and I followed, and those ignorant followed for the sake of survival and it was not long till we stumbled into the Boss’s lair. With room, people dispersed like water through the tunnels and found dark recesses to tend their wounds or mourn whatever was lost and the explosive open air had been fully replaced by the quiet black oppressive mumbles of people taking stock of all those that had died. And all those that would. Every few moments, the walls shook, and dust fell from the ceiling fixtures.
A few haggard folks moved to the doorway which led to the damp room which led to the kitchen, and they slammed the door shut and latched it and began to check adjacent rooms for things to barricade the way.
“Stop!” said a man in the dim flickering underground light—I was surprised to see the man was me, “Leave it open! Others might need help.” I retraced my steps to the small faction that’d gathered there at the doorway. “You can’t just let them die out there. Let them in.”
“Shut up!” a skinny girl with her hair pulled back on her malnourished skull spoke gruffly; she choked, coughed—dust clung to her clothes—she’d been near the collapse of the hydro towers if I guessed. “Step off, or I’ll—
“Or you’ll what?” I shouted.
The girl put up her fists, two lumpy stones, and in stupid response I closed the distance between us. With speed, her fist met my nose, and I stumbled back on my heel.
Without hesitation, I brought up my own hands and landed a blow to her stomach. She craned forward, gasped on repeat, and took a knee.
Blood wet my upper lip, and I wiped it away with my forearm.
“Move,” I said to the others by the door; there were two: a woman and a boy that was nearly a man.
The boy charged headstrongly, attempted a kick and I easily shoved his small frame against the tunnel wall; the hard metal sounded a meaty thud against his body and the woman launched unseen at me, raked her nails down the back of my neck, and tore at my collar. I kept a forearm to the boy’s throat and rocked his head with my free elbow. Once he wept and spit red, I let him go; the boy slid into a sit and I spun on the woman, shoving her away. My left leg began to give, and I used the wall over the boy’s head as support. I swung at her with a wild claw and my fingertips grazed her nose as she fell away to the opposite wall.
“Stop it!” I shouted.
She launched at me, and my leg gave out under her tackle, and I stumbled half-on the boy, my feet kicked helplessly at her, and the boy regained his composure and began to crawl towards me. We wrestled and then the girl I’d knocked in the gut rejoined the fray. I was done. They had me pinned and spat curses at me and took turns shoving my head into the floor.
“You’re going to get us killed,” shouted the woman, “Are you stupid?”
I grinded my teeth and tried to throw them off; I was overpowered and easily pressed down again.
The overhead lights flickered with another deep earthy vibration and the trio let go of me in an instant—I came up swinging my arms like crazy and as I went to kneel before propelling myself to stand, a hand rested on my shoulder. I spun on the hand and was met with the black mouth of a 9mm pistol—that froze me fast.
The owner of the weapon—a wall man by the look of her fatigues—motioned for me to stand and I did. Her eyes were far off and nervous and the metal shook in her outstretched hand. “Against the wall!” she barked at us; she was small-framed and youthful but full grown, and I could easily push her out of my way if not for the pistol. We went to the wall, and she moved to the door while keeping the gun drawn on us. She watched us and glanced at the door. “It’s latched! Who latched the door?” She asked.
No one spoke. The other three looked to their feet; I initially refused to rat, and snorted blood—my nose throbbed and by touch I could tell it swelled already.
“Well? Why’s it closed?” she asked the question more like a desperate child than a person with control. “C’mon!” The 9mm rolled limply on her wrist as she said the word, like she was attempting to draw the confession from us with the motion.
“There’s an attack. They’re killing everyone,” said the boy.
The girl and woman nodded.
“Who?” asked the wall man.
“Demons, muties,” said the boy, “Big stuff. Everyone’s dying.”
The ground shook as if to emphasize his point.
The wall man studied us for a moment, lingering last on me and for the longest and she took a long breath and let the sigh out dramatically slow. “I know you,” she motioned at me with the gun, “You’re that maniac. The one that tried to murder everyone.” Her eyes fell then returned and she put her weight on the door while maintaining the barrel of the gun eye-level in my direction.
“I ain’t gonna’ hurt anyone,” said. I briefly thought about smiling but decided that’d look worse.
“How do I know that?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said the boy, “He tried to kill us already!” His voice cracked with adolescence; the blood I’d spilled from his mouth coated the front of his holey shirt.
The trio nodded all together—everyone agreed that I was a maniac killer.
“They latched it,” I said, “Cowards.”
A thump came from the other side of the door which frightened the wall man and she leapt from the spot she’d leaned—it took several full seconds to realize her gun went off; there was a flash, and my ears rang. I stumbled from the knot of people and slunk a couple of feet from the space by the door. The girl—the one I gut-punched—collapsed to the floor while holding the right side of her face. The women crowded the girl, panicked, the boy sprinted past me and disappeared deeper into the underground, and the wall man stood there with a wretched blank expression. There was a long moment which hung in the air; I could not hear and then it came back, and it was the girl’s screams I heard first.
Upon stepping to them, I saw the prone girl had been shot just so—through the cheek. Her eyes rolled from likely spinal damage; whatever the angle, it seemed to have ripped through irreparable nerves and she bled a lot. There wasn’t any hope for that girl.
“Well,” I said to the wall man, “Finish it. No reason to make her suffer.”
The girl on the ground writhed unnaturally and caterwauled while the woman by her side attempted to calm her.
Greater became the sound of the belabored hands on the other side of the door; then a hollow-sounding gunshot came from the other side; were they shooting the door? Or each other? Another round—human screams.
The wall man shook her head. “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident.”
I tried to hold the wall man’s gaze, but she didn’t seem able.
With speed, I moved to the wall man, reached for the gun which dangled helpless by her side—her initial response was to flinch, pull the weapon from my reach; our eyes locked and I clenched my jaw. She could’ve killed me. There wouldn’t have been surprise from me if she had.
She let go of the gun and I nodded, and she nodded and the woman kneeling by the girl threw herself over her. “Please,” protested the woman, “Please don’t!”
With the aid of the pistol, I was given space, and nothing was said. I mentally prepared myself for the ringing which accompanied gunfire in small spaces, even tilted my head away with my free palm up and took aim and the girl jerked once then went still.
With the ringing going and sound returning, the drumming on the door returned, as well as the quiet weeps of the woman; she crawled to the wayside of the hall, pressed her back against the wall and rested her chin on her knees with her arms around her shins. She didn’t rock to or fro and hardly made any noise at all. But the small and quiet sobs remained faintly there.
First/Previous
Archive
2024.06.01 08:45 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Execution Day [18]
First/Previous
“How’d you think that was going to go?” asked a voice from the other side of the door.
I lay on the bunk and stared at the ceiling; my head throbbed. The place where I’d been grazed stung whenever I touched my fingers to it. A bullet had—by whoever’s grace—scraped my scalp and traced a line from the far corner of my right eyebrow. It'd only been three days and it still caused pain. No doctors came and I was certain there would be infection—if not plain infection, then it could always be the worser: skitterbugs. I ached still. I had never fully recovered, not like how I should have.
The day of anger, as I’d begun to think of it in my mind, had caused no great ruckus beyond a few dead men. Two were Bosses, but who knew if they’d announce that as casually as they’d surely announce my execution. Perhaps they’d string me up alongside thieves. A good thief and a bad. What a riot; I deserved no thieves, of course.
What was I? Some great hero? Some idiot was more likely. I wanted misery to befall those that perpetrated it themselves and there I was, more miserable. Perhaps the wrath in my heart came from some mutation; the demon Mephisto resurrected me (so said the demon) and I’d begun to accept it. It was the reason for my poor state, surely, and the more I thought on it, the more I believed it was true; it felt true right down to my bones. The truth hurt or it was age and I rose from the cot I lay on; I’d been detained in a room beside the one I’d visited Andrew many months prior. They’d starved me, rattled the door to try and frighten me, and they’d wasted water on my head to keep me from good sleep.
I did not respond to the voice from the other side of the door and the object rattled in its frame and the voice came again, this time angrier, “Really? How did you think that was going to go? Crazy bastard! Thought you’d put the hurt on the Bosses? Thought you’d kill us at our worst? First, it’s that explosion. You have something to do with that? No! First, it was Harold’s daughter running off!” The voice on the other side of the door grew with mirth as it did with anger. “I’d seen you around town a bit. Thought the Bosses always liked you. Huh. Boss Harold mentioned you at his parties and said how you were a smart fella’, a good fella’, and there you killed him. Stone cold.” The man which spoke was a jailor that tortured me in those dreamlike days I spent locked in their prison, and he seemed personally affronted. “So first it’s the explosions; steam or dust rose out of cracks in the ground you know—some thought hell was rising up, but the Bosses put those thoughts to bed. God, what’s it with the likes of you? The explosions and now I’ve lost an eye and its because of the skitterbugs. You probably brought that on!” The voice muttered and then the door shook in its frame again, seemingly from a hard kick. I wished I could see the face of the man throwing his tantrum. “Can’t wait to see you hang.”
“So, I’ll hang?” I asked the door. There was a long silence, and I was uncertain if I’d pitched my voice enough for the man on the other side to hear me. I opened my mouth to ask, “So-
“You’ll hang.” The man on other side seemed to knock his knuckles against the surface of the door. “Or you’ll die here.”
“What’s Maron said?”
“Don’t you worry about him.”
“What’s he said?”
“Said you’d probably appreciate the punishment that we’d put on you. Said you’re a sick man. Said you like speaking with devils and people like you only find pleasure in such things.”
“So, I won’t hang?”
“Oh, you’ll hang, sir. You’ll hang if I need to do it myself with no one else. If not that, I’ll be sure to put you under one way or another. Accidents happen.” He chuckled. “Maybe you’d enjoy it, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever enjoyment you find in your tortures won’t compare to what ideas I have.”
A long silence followed, and I watched dust motes dance in the air; the place was stagnant and even a breath caused a shift in their glide. I closed my eyes and tried to remember a better time. I thought of Suzanne. I thought of Gemma. What a time to be alive. I thought of the movies, the books, the musical cartridges that sung of yesteryears. How unlucky I’d been, of course. Something had changed in me though and it was totally refreshing. Perhaps it was in realizing the evils of my brothers was that of a man and not some otherworldly force, or perhaps it was a push that came from years of terrible inconsistencies. All that living in the past and so it was. It didn’t matter—the past. I’d been so busy with it that I’d been in a constant state of unliving. I’d known that always, of course—something new had come.
“You dozing off in there?” asked the jailor.
“Nah.”
“Good. Stay awake or I’ll be forced to stay you awake.”
I’d been reborn with a rage, justified or otherwise, and it was felt all over. It was a wild compulsion. All that time and it had been me that was brought back.
The wound on my head throbbed and I prodded it with a finger and brought the finger away and examined the digit; it was dried well enough, and I did not smell infection nor were there any of the accompanying symptoms of a fever or hallucination. I was me, through and through. For now.
The door banged. I didn’t bother an answer and the door banged again.
“Who’s there?” I asked, surprising myself with the sarcasm.
“Why’d you do it?” asked the jailor.
“You wanna’ ask me about it now?”
“Tell me.” The voice on the other side of the door was serious entirely.
“Bah!” “Bah to you! Why’d you do it?”
“Is there a reason to explain myself? If you knew better the things I knew, would it get you to unlock that door and let me walk free? Would it change your mind even?”
The jailor caught a laugh before responding. “Can’t say it would.”
“So, what’s it that you want? You won’t understand me, and I don’t think I’ve got the energies of persuasion to try.”
“Try.”
“You like the Bosses?”
“They’re okay. Keep me in work anyway. Keep people safe.” I slumped forward onto my knees where I sat and placed my elbows on my knees and watched the crack at the base of the door on the other side of the prison cell. “What’s it matter if they keep you in work? Think they care about you anymore than what you represent?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you keep riffraff down and they like you for it. I wonder if they know you. You ever get invited to the feasts they hold at the hall? You ever worry about your water rations? You ever wonder why it is that so few of the women or men invited to the hall return? Children too, now that I think of it. They’d call those captured criminals, I know. Those brothers—the sheriff is to blame too—they’re bastards. You know they are.”
“Is that so? What’s that make me? A bastard too?”
“By proxy maybe.” I dryly chuckled. “What’s it matter? What do you want outta’ me anyhow? Some gratification? Some confession—you’ve gotten that already, ain’tcha? Maybe a repentance? Why don’t you call one of those Bosses on down from their throne and have them here on the other side of the door so I can apologize? Or call Lady and I’ll get her to channel some message to the afterlife and I’ll plead for forgiveness. That what you want? Now I’m a bad man and I know it, but it ain’t for the reasons you believe. What you want is belief that there’s a man under the skin of the monster you’ve projected? No, I won’t shoo away your boogeyman for you. It can’t be done, not from me.”
“You talk big for someone in your predicament. I like how you talk so holier. Like you’re talking down on me. I just wanted to know what made you want to go on a mad-killing spree the way you did.”
“Mm.” I cupped my hands together; as it was, my left knee shot off with pain and I tried to massage it to little comfort and stretched it out straight from my body. “When violence keeps you bound, violence is necessary to free yourself. That’s all I’ll say about it. If you hang me, then hang me. Spill my guts out for the birds and put a sack over my head so you won’t be sick by my face.”
“You’re a mouthy pig.”
I listened to the jailor’s footfalls disappear down the hall and finally it was totally quiet and all I could hear was the throb on my head. Lucky or unlucky? No, it wasn’t luck. I’d been marked. I was the payment, and I knew the price. The demon had my soul. Whatever protection it afforded me, I intended on using.
The image of that room continued over in my mind, with the peasantry (that’s what I saw them as then) knelt in front of the Bosses and the wall men, with the intense blood-smell, with the surprise on Maron’s face. Billy’s face. There was still a part of me, however small, that wanted to plead with him to change his ways. That wasn’t the part that welled up in me then though. The piece of me that wanted to see him die was what took over. It hadn’t been Maron that fired his gun; he’d still been fighting with his holster. I’d only taken a step in through the door and a spray of gunfire from one of the wall men’s rifles exploded and I was sure I was dead because I fell, and my vision went white. They should’ve put me down then.
I didn’t come too fully until I had a few goons on me, hauling me upright roughly under my arms. Maron didn’t say anything at first and those wall men took over; they shouted that I was alive still and I felt a hot gun barrel against my cheek.
“Stop!” shouted Maron. The Boss Sheriff stepped forward with his stilted gait and looked me over thoroughly. The gun barrel fell from my cheek, but they held me still; it wasn’t like I planned on fighting. “You got uglier,” said Boss Maron, “Really ugly.” His left eye, afflicted by the skitterbug infestation, had gone dead white with only the faintest trace of an iris; it dribbled pus.
I held his stare to the point that my eyes watered—whether from anger or sorrow or both—and my muscles tightened like an animal threatening to pounce. It was a ridiculous display.
“Lock him up,” said Boss Maron.
So, I was locked up and those uncounted days I was mildly tortured: sleep deprivation, pummeling, and sometimes they spit on me. It could have been worse. I’d seen worse.
The cell was numbingly quiet, and I continued to massage my knee, continued in thinking about how investing so much thought with the past twisted any future of mine into a dismal satire.
I could not tell how long it had been without sunlight and the jailor returned (he was bulbous and fattened and old but very strong—it could be sensed in how he carried himself) pushed through the door this time with a tray of diced potatoes, steamed but cold, and a metal cup of water. He sat them on the floor, stared at the tray there with his one good left eye, and it was like I could read his mind as he looked at the food there. He could destroy it; he jerked from the tray without saying a word to me then disappeared behind the door he closed. The jailor remained there outside.
Pride swelled in me momentarily before I pushed whatever silliness that was and devoured the food and drank the clear water. If it was poison, so be it. If it was poison, then all the problems of the world would disperse.
Again, the jailor pushed in through the door and bent to remove the tray and I was struck by the immediate thought of strangling him. So, I tried and threw myself at the man.
My hands felt the scruff around his throat, and I pressed hard with my fingers on his Adams apple. He’d lurched forward to lift the tray and he immediately came up with force, throwing me off him; my nails raked his cheek as I scrambled for purchase. He took the metal tray in both of his hands and thwapped me across the head—it rang, and I was stunned while he lifted back his right hand in a swing. In the dizziness, I momentarily caught a glimpse of the holster on his left hip and reached out dumbly for the revolver there. A meaty smack could be heard, and I didn’t even feel it when his fist met my face the second time. My head rocked and I fought to look upright, and his hand came again, and I put up my own hand in return; it was pushed away, and he continued at me, muttering epithets he found useful.
Once he was heaving and spitting, he left me on the cot and directly before slamming the door, he mentioned something about violence and how if I liked violence so much that he’d show it to me.
I nursed myself to sitting right-up and though adrenaline kept the pain away, I felt my face bruising already. There was no way for me to inspect the welts his hands had left, but I could guess their places by touch and how they thrummed with my heart.
Two days passed, if I counted them by the visits from the jailor and then Maron made his appearance to me, and I was surprised to see him with a leather eye patch over his left eye; he seemed ill on his feet and the jailor, though the man was there, did not move to stop Maron from entering the room and relieving me of my prison. He and the jailor roped my hands together in front of my pelvis and I didn’t fight.
Boss Maron stank of infection and yellow oozed from beneath his eye patch and he kept his cowboy hat pulled snugly over both his ears and did not speak so jovially—there were no crude jokes at my expense. A warmth radiated off him. The Boss carried my shotgun with him but made no remark on it. He marched me from the prison, and I met daylight, and it burned my eyes while I stared up into the reddish sky. Dust scattered from the nearest portion of wall and caught on the wind till it was carried and disappeared overhead, and I briefly thought how nice it must be to fly.
Golgotha stirred as ever, and people spoke loudly and candidly as I passed them by. Words came my way from passing faces like, “You kissed the devil’s ass!” or, “You sure are a monster, look at you!” and Maron pushed me on with the gun at my back, and I wavered on my legs like I was without any control.
“Is it true?” asked Boss Maron, “Did you kiss the devil’s ass?” He tilted the shotgun casually on his shoulder and kept me ahead of himself. He was taking me to hang—and making a big deal out of it too. “I know how you like to speak to them. The demons. I know how you conspire with them. I told them all how you do. Now they know I was right.”
What a rotten town it was, and it smelled like it. The atrophied muscles and diseased infections of those fine folks emanated in the air, flies buzzed around my head, bloated and doubtlessly happy from whatever corpse they’d sprung from.
“Say somethin’,” said Maron.
“What do you want?” I asked, watching my footfalls, ignoring the screeches of those on the sidelines; he marched me through the runways, past the onlookers which saw me with faces of twisted hatred. The tension was palpable—I could feel the venom off the eyes of those that watched. Blood red eyes which judged carelessly.
“I want you to say it,” said Maron; I felt the nudge of the shotgun at my back again and I stumbled forward, caught myself, carried on, “I want you to admit it to me. You’re like a mutant, ain’tcha? No better than any other monster. I knew it all them years. I seen it.” We took an alley and cretins followed behind; wall men flanked Maron and on either side of the narrow stretch there were faces made even with the wall, pressed there like they were afraid to be involved.
“Whatever you say, brother.”
“Don’t,” hissed Maron, “Don’t even.”
“What?” I spat the word, “Afraid they’ll treat you differently if they all know how close we are?” I felt the gun barrel press against my back, and I yelped out the words, “Hey! He’s my brother! My baby brother!” The barrel jabbed me in the spine, and I spilled forward, catching myself on one of those nearby faces. It was an old woman. She shoved me from her, and I flailed across the ground after trying to catch myself with my bound hands. Dirt met my face and exploded around me. I laughed, blinking through the dust. I spit too. He couldn’t kill me. Whatever black magic there was in me—bequeathed by Mephisto—refused me death. Maron lifted me with the help of his wall men, pinching the coat around my throat with his fist. He shoved me on, and we continued.
“You smell that?” I asked Maron.
“Stop talkin’. You might not be a man, but you’ll die like one,” he said. The wall men around muttered, and we took the way to the front square; already there were looky-loos gathered, throngs of them not at all bashful to see the day’s line-up—it was just me. The platform was emptier and that was good (Frank, Paul, and Matt looked naked without their eldest brother). Those Bosses which remained looked drunk as they did for any other execution. It was a good day for it. Warm. The stink of the crowd was worse and as those gathered parted for my entourage, the warmth of them cloistered us like the blood of a wound.
Even through the vile aroma, the smell of rotted poultry rose like nothing else. “You don’t smell it then?”
The roar, a cacophony of the damned souls stolen, shook the ground and the air changed. A dragon—Leviathan.
Along the wall which old skeletal corpses hung against dried blood stains from hook-chains, men and women scattered the length of the parapets with their weapons. Gunfire came and one of those atop the wall shouted, “Artillery! Dragon! Big guns!”
There was fire in the sky and the creature circled overhead and its wings beat the wind like mad; those organic ropes that hung from its body took on horrid shapes with its movement in the high noon sunlight.
Screams filled the air as the square erupted into panic. I dove into the sickly crowd; among the loudness, the horses which were lined by the big door fought against their ties and bolted across the square. Arms and heads disappeared beneath those dashing hooves, and it was not long before people were trampling people and in a quick glance I saw the Boss platform came down in splinters as the horses rushes it. Blood slickened the feet of many as they rushed to the buildings adjacent the square—what a small protection that’d be against Leviathan. A wall man went stumbling over the wall’s ledge and his body met the ground beneath the hanging corpses and he didn’t get up.
In the wild fray, Maron fired the shotgun into the air, and I briefly thought of where the pellets might fall.
Finally, artillery fire came and put a hole in the creature. It wavered in the air, its head lurched downward like it might pierce the ground and it pulled its long neck back and blew flames across the buildings. The heat was immaculate. Rotted chicken filled my lungs.
“There’s more!” shouted a wall man above, “Running across the field.”
The crowd grew more enamored with escape; there’s no good way to say it—blood frothed around our heels as I was shoved through the avenues of elbows, rocking heads, plunging knees. I pushed on, shielding myself with my bound hands as well as I could. I kept my head as high, and felt scratches reach my throat—doubtlessly those which could not continue—nails and fists came from every direction. In the ephemeral madness, I too screamed and it did not stop until I spilled into an alleyway along the wall nearest the execution chains. I ran and tripped from the crowd, slid, and bit my tongue so thoroughly that my teeth clicked together though the tissue; my breath was knocked from me. My pants were wet from the viscera. Others too had found the opening and barreled past me. I went to my feet and panted thought the pain, through the twinge in my left knee. I took the walls for support and still, those which rushed past nearly knocked me from my feet.
Some poor child—a lean, bony-faced boy—fell in the rush and before I had a moment to reach out, he was gone. Whether he lived or not, I did not stop to know. The crunch of bones as more people spilled into the narrow stretch indicated the worst.
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“How’d you think that was going to go?” asked a voice from the other side of the door.
I lay on the bunk and stared at the ceiling; my head throbbed. The place where I’d been grazed stung whenever I touched my fingers to it. A bullet had—by whoever’s grace—scraped my scalp and traced a line from the far corner of my right eyebrow. It'd only been three days and it still caused pain. No doctors came and I was certain there would be infection—if not plain infection, then it could always be the worser: skitterbugs. I ached still. I had never fully recovered, not like how I should have.
The day of anger, as I’d begun to think of it in my mind, had caused no great ruckus beyond a few dead men. Two were Bosses, but who knew if they’d announce that as casually as they’d surely announce my execution. Perhaps they’d string me up alongside thieves. A good thief and a bad. What a riot; I deserved no thieves, of course.
What was I? Some great hero? Some idiot was more likely. I wanted misery to befall those that perpetrated it themselves and there I was, more miserable. Perhaps the wrath in my heart came from some mutation; the demon Mephisto resurrected me (so said the demon) and I’d begun to accept it. It was the reason for my poor state, surely, and the more I thought on it, the more I believed it was true; it felt true right down to my bones. The truth hurt or it was age and I rose from the cot I lay on; I’d been detained in a room beside the one I’d visited Andrew many months prior. They’d starved me, rattled the door to try and frighten me, and they’d wasted water on my head to keep me from good sleep.
I did not respond to the voice from the other side of the door and the object rattled in its frame and the voice came again, this time angrier, “Really? How did you think that was going to go? Crazy bastard! Thought you’d put the hurt on the Bosses? Thought you’d kill us at our worst? First, it’s that explosion. You have something to do with that? No! First, it was Harold’s daughter running off!” The voice on the other side of the door grew with mirth as it did with anger. “I’d seen you around town a bit. Thought the Bosses always liked you. Huh. Boss Harold mentioned you at his parties and said how you were a smart fella’, a good fella’, and there you killed him. Stone cold.” The man which spoke was a jailor that tortured me in those dreamlike days I spent locked in their prison, and he seemed personally affronted. “So first it’s the explosions; steam or dust rose out of cracks in the ground you know—some thought hell was rising up, but the Bosses put those thoughts to bed. God, what’s it with the likes of you? The explosions and now I’ve lost an eye and its because of the skitterbugs. You probably brought that on!” The voice muttered and then the door shook in its frame again, seemingly from a hard kick. I wished I could see the face of the man throwing his tantrum. “Can’t wait to see you hang.”
“So, I’ll hang?” I asked the door. There was a long silence, and I was uncertain if I’d pitched my voice enough for the man on the other side to hear me. I opened my mouth to ask, “So-
“You’ll hang.” The man on other side seemed to knock his knuckles against the surface of the door. “Or you’ll die here.”
“What’s Maron said?”
“Don’t you worry about him.”
“What’s he said?”
“Said you’d probably appreciate the punishment that we’d put on you. Said you’re a sick man. Said you like speaking with devils and people like you only find pleasure in such things.”
“So, I won’t hang?”
“Oh, you’ll hang, sir. You’ll hang if I need to do it myself with no one else. If not that, I’ll be sure to put you under one way or another. Accidents happen.” He chuckled. “Maybe you’d enjoy it, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever enjoyment you find in your tortures won’t compare to what ideas I have.”
A long silence followed, and I watched dust motes dance in the air; the place was stagnant and even a breath caused a shift in their glide. I closed my eyes and tried to remember a better time. I thought of Suzanne. I thought of Gemma. What a time to be alive. I thought of the movies, the books, the musical cartridges that sung of yesteryears. How unlucky I’d been, of course. Something had changed in me though and it was totally refreshing. Perhaps it was in realizing the evils of my brothers was that of a man and not some otherworldly force, or perhaps it was a push that came from years of terrible inconsistencies. All that living in the past and so it was. It didn’t matter—the past. I’d been so busy with it that I’d been in a constant state of unliving. I’d known that always, of course—something new had come.
“You dozing off in there?” asked the jailor.
“Nah.”
“Good. Stay awake or I’ll be forced to stay you awake.”
I’d been reborn with a rage, justified or otherwise, and it was felt all over. It was a wild compulsion. All that time and it had been me that was brought back.
The wound on my head throbbed and I prodded it with a finger and brought the finger away and examined the digit; it was dried well enough, and I did not smell infection nor were there any of the accompanying symptoms of a fever or hallucination. I was me, through and through. For now.
The door banged. I didn’t bother an answer and the door banged again.
“Who’s there?” I asked, surprising myself with the sarcasm.
“Why’d you do it?” asked the jailor.
“You wanna’ ask me about it now?”
“Tell me.” The voice on the other side of the door was serious entirely.
“Bah!” “Bah to you! Why’d you do it?”
“Is there a reason to explain myself? If you knew better the things I knew, would it get you to unlock that door and let me walk free? Would it change your mind even?”
The jailor caught a laugh before responding. “Can’t say it would.”
“So, what’s it that you want? You won’t understand me, and I don’t think I’ve got the energies of persuasion to try.”
“Try.”
“You like the Bosses?”
“They’re okay. Keep me in work anyway. Keep people safe.” I slumped forward onto my knees where I sat and placed my elbows on my knees and watched the crack at the base of the door on the other side of the prison cell. “What’s it matter if they keep you in work? Think they care about you anymore than what you represent?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you keep riffraff down and they like you for it. I wonder if they know you. You ever get invited to the feasts they hold at the hall? You ever worry about your water rations? You ever wonder why it is that so few of the women or men invited to the hall return? Children too, now that I think of it. They’d call those captured criminals, I know. Those brothers—the sheriff is to blame too—they’re bastards. You know they are.”
“Is that so? What’s that make me? A bastard too?”
“By proxy maybe.” I dryly chuckled. “What’s it matter? What do you want outta’ me anyhow? Some gratification? Some confession—you’ve gotten that already, ain’tcha? Maybe a repentance? Why don’t you call one of those Bosses on down from their throne and have them here on the other side of the door so I can apologize? Or call Lady and I’ll get her to channel some message to the afterlife and I’ll plead for forgiveness. That what you want? Now I’m a bad man and I know it, but it ain’t for the reasons you believe. What you want is belief that there’s a man under the skin of the monster you’ve projected? No, I won’t shoo away your boogeyman for you. It can’t be done, not from me.”
“You talk big for someone in your predicament. I like how you talk so holier. Like you’re talking down on me. I just wanted to know what made you want to go on a mad-killing spree the way you did.”
“Mm.” I cupped my hands together; as it was, my left knee shot off with pain and I tried to massage it to little comfort and stretched it out straight from my body. “When violence keeps you bound, violence is necessary to free yourself. That’s all I’ll say about it. If you hang me, then hang me. Spill my guts out for the birds and put a sack over my head so you won’t be sick by my face.”
“You’re a mouthy pig.”
I listened to the jailor’s footfalls disappear down the hall and finally it was totally quiet and all I could hear was the throb on my head. Lucky or unlucky? No, it wasn’t luck. I’d been marked. I was the payment, and I knew the price. The demon had my soul. Whatever protection it afforded me, I intended on using.
The image of that room continued over in my mind, with the peasantry (that’s what I saw them as then) knelt in front of the Bosses and the wall men, with the intense blood-smell, with the surprise on Maron’s face. Billy’s face. There was still a part of me, however small, that wanted to plead with him to change his ways. That wasn’t the part that welled up in me then though. The piece of me that wanted to see him die was what took over. It hadn’t been Maron that fired his gun; he’d still been fighting with his holster. I’d only taken a step in through the door and a spray of gunfire from one of the wall men’s rifles exploded and I was sure I was dead because I fell, and my vision went white. They should’ve put me down then.
I didn’t come too fully until I had a few goons on me, hauling me upright roughly under my arms. Maron didn’t say anything at first and those wall men took over; they shouted that I was alive still and I felt a hot gun barrel against my cheek.
“Stop!” shouted Maron. The Boss Sheriff stepped forward with his stilted gait and looked me over thoroughly. The gun barrel fell from my cheek, but they held me still; it wasn’t like I planned on fighting. “You got uglier,” said Boss Maron, “Really ugly.” His left eye, afflicted by the skitterbug infestation, had gone dead white with only the faintest trace of an iris; it dribbled pus.
I held his stare to the point that my eyes watered—whether from anger or sorrow or both—and my muscles tightened like an animal threatening to pounce. It was a ridiculous display.
“Lock him up,” said Boss Maron.
So, I was locked up and those uncounted days I was mildly tortured: sleep deprivation, pummeling, and sometimes they spit on me. It could have been worse. I’d seen worse.
The cell was numbingly quiet, and I continued to massage my knee, continued in thinking about how investing so much thought with the past twisted any future of mine into a dismal satire.
I could not tell how long it had been without sunlight and the jailor returned (he was bulbous and fattened and old but very strong—it could be sensed in how he carried himself) pushed through the door this time with a tray of diced potatoes, steamed but cold, and a metal cup of water. He sat them on the floor, stared at the tray there with his one good left eye, and it was like I could read his mind as he looked at the food there. He could destroy it; he jerked from the tray without saying a word to me then disappeared behind the door he closed. The jailor remained there outside.
Pride swelled in me momentarily before I pushed whatever silliness that was and devoured the food and drank the clear water. If it was poison, so be it. If it was poison, then all the problems of the world would disperse.
Again, the jailor pushed in through the door and bent to remove the tray and I was struck by the immediate thought of strangling him. So, I tried and threw myself at the man.
My hands felt the scruff around his throat, and I pressed hard with my fingers on his Adams apple. He’d lurched forward to lift the tray and he immediately came up with force, throwing me off him; my nails raked his cheek as I scrambled for purchase. He took the metal tray in both of his hands and thwapped me across the head—it rang, and I was stunned while he lifted back his right hand in a swing. In the dizziness, I momentarily caught a glimpse of the holster on his left hip and reached out dumbly for the revolver there. A meaty smack could be heard, and I didn’t even feel it when his fist met my face the second time. My head rocked and I fought to look upright, and his hand came again, and I put up my own hand in return; it was pushed away, and he continued at me, muttering epithets he found useful.
Once he was heaving and spitting, he left me on the cot and directly before slamming the door, he mentioned something about violence and how if I liked violence so much that he’d show it to me.
I nursed myself to sitting right-up and though adrenaline kept the pain away, I felt my face bruising already. There was no way for me to inspect the welts his hands had left, but I could guess their places by touch and how they thrummed with my heart.
Two days passed, if I counted them by the visits from the jailor and then Maron made his appearance to me, and I was surprised to see him with a leather eye patch over his left eye; he seemed ill on his feet and the jailor, though the man was there, did not move to stop Maron from entering the room and relieving me of my prison. He and the jailor roped my hands together in front of my pelvis and I didn’t fight.
Boss Maron stank of infection and yellow oozed from beneath his eye patch and he kept his cowboy hat pulled snugly over both his ears and did not speak so jovially—there were no crude jokes at my expense. A warmth radiated off him. The Boss carried my shotgun with him but made no remark on it. He marched me from the prison, and I met daylight, and it burned my eyes while I stared up into the reddish sky. Dust scattered from the nearest portion of wall and caught on the wind till it was carried and disappeared overhead, and I briefly thought how nice it must be to fly.
Golgotha stirred as ever, and people spoke loudly and candidly as I passed them by. Words came my way from passing faces like, “You kissed the devil’s ass!” or, “You sure are a monster, look at you!” and Maron pushed me on with the gun at my back, and I wavered on my legs like I was without any control.
“Is it true?” asked Boss Maron, “Did you kiss the devil’s ass?” He tilted the shotgun casually on his shoulder and kept me ahead of himself. He was taking me to hang—and making a big deal out of it too. “I know how you like to speak to them. The demons. I know how you conspire with them. I told them all how you do. Now they know I was right.”
What a rotten town it was, and it smelled like it. The atrophied muscles and diseased infections of those fine folks emanated in the air, flies buzzed around my head, bloated and doubtlessly happy from whatever corpse they’d sprung from.
“Say somethin’,” said Maron.
“What do you want?” I asked, watching my footfalls, ignoring the screeches of those on the sidelines; he marched me through the runways, past the onlookers which saw me with faces of twisted hatred. The tension was palpable—I could feel the venom off the eyes of those that watched. Blood red eyes which judged carelessly.
“I want you to say it,” said Maron; I felt the nudge of the shotgun at my back again and I stumbled forward, caught myself, carried on, “I want you to admit it to me. You’re like a mutant, ain’tcha? No better than any other monster. I knew it all them years. I seen it.” We took an alley and cretins followed behind; wall men flanked Maron and on either side of the narrow stretch there were faces made even with the wall, pressed there like they were afraid to be involved.
“Whatever you say, brother.”
“Don’t,” hissed Maron, “Don’t even.”
“What?” I spat the word, “Afraid they’ll treat you differently if they all know how close we are?” I felt the gun barrel press against my back, and I yelped out the words, “Hey! He’s my brother! My baby brother!” The barrel jabbed me in the spine, and I spilled forward, catching myself on one of those nearby faces. It was an old woman. She shoved me from her, and I flailed across the ground after trying to catch myself with my bound hands. Dirt met my face and exploded around me. I laughed, blinking through the dust. I spit too. He couldn’t kill me. Whatever black magic there was in me—bequeathed by Mephisto—refused me death. Maron lifted me with the help of his wall men, pinching the coat around my throat with his fist. He shoved me on, and we continued.
“You smell that?” I asked Maron.
“Stop talkin’. You might not be a man, but you’ll die like one,” he said. The wall men around muttered, and we took the way to the front square; already there were looky-loos gathered, throngs of them not at all bashful to see the day’s line-up—it was just me. The platform was emptier and that was good (Frank, Paul, and Matt looked naked without their eldest brother). Those Bosses which remained looked drunk as they did for any other execution. It was a good day for it. Warm. The stink of the crowd was worse and as those gathered parted for my entourage, the warmth of them cloistered us like the blood of a wound.
Even through the vile aroma, the smell of rotted poultry rose like nothing else. “You don’t smell it then?”
The roar, a cacophony of the damned souls stolen, shook the ground and the air changed. A dragon—Leviathan.
Along the wall which old skeletal corpses hung against dried blood stains from hook-chains, men and women scattered the length of the parapets with their weapons. Gunfire came and one of those atop the wall shouted, “Artillery! Dragon! Big guns!”
There was fire in the sky and the creature circled overhead and its wings beat the wind like mad; those organic ropes that hung from its body took on horrid shapes with its movement in the high noon sunlight.
Screams filled the air as the square erupted into panic. I dove into the sickly crowd; among the loudness, the horses which were lined by the big door fought against their ties and bolted across the square. Arms and heads disappeared beneath those dashing hooves, and it was not long before people were trampling people and in a quick glance I saw the Boss platform came down in splinters as the horses rushes it. Blood slickened the feet of many as they rushed to the buildings adjacent the square—what a small protection that’d be against Leviathan. A wall man went stumbling over the wall’s ledge and his body met the ground beneath the hanging corpses and he didn’t get up.
In the wild fray, Maron fired the shotgun into the air, and I briefly thought of where the pellets might fall.
Finally, artillery fire came and put a hole in the creature. It wavered in the air, its head lurched downward like it might pierce the ground and it pulled its long neck back and blew flames across the buildings. The heat was immaculate. Rotted chicken filled my lungs.
“There’s more!” shouted a wall man above, “Running across the field.”
The crowd grew more enamored with escape; there’s no good way to say it—blood frothed around our heels as I was shoved through the avenues of elbows, rocking heads, plunging knees. I pushed on, shielding myself with my bound hands as well as I could. I kept my head as high, and felt scratches reach my throat—doubtlessly those which could not continue—nails and fists came from every direction. In the ephemeral madness, I too screamed and it did not stop until I spilled into an alleyway along the wall nearest the execution chains. I ran and tripped from the crowd, slid, and bit my tongue so thoroughly that my teeth clicked together though the tissue; my breath was knocked from me. My pants were wet from the viscera. Others too had found the opening and barreled past me. I went to my feet and panted thought the pain, through the twinge in my left knee. I took the walls for support and still, those which rushed past nearly knocked me from my feet.
Some poor child—a lean, bony-faced boy—fell in the rush and before I had a moment to reach out, he was gone. Whether he lived or not, I did not stop to know. The crunch of bones as more people spilled into the narrow stretch indicated the worst.
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2024.06.01 08:40 pauseglitched Homebrewed item cost and recommendations.
I am starting work putting together a DnD 5e campaign for level 5 adventurers that would go up to level 11. The main hook will be Rogue (not the PC class) alchemists and performance drug dealers in conflict with the guilds of the 6 Nation's Unified Guilds and local law enforcement.
With alchemy being a major theme, I brainstormed a bunch of things for more advanced versions of adventuring gear for the guilds or criminals to sell, or the party to loot off their corpses. Elemental resistance and vulnerabilities will play a part in the homebrew enemies.
I am looking for feedback on
•how much to charge for the items. •Any recommendations on changes to damage or DCs. •wording changes for clarity.
(Some Ideas are more thought out than others)
Here we go.
Alchemist's Fire (flask)
This sticky, adhesive fluid ignites when exposed to air. As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action you can throw this flask up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. Make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the alchemist's fire as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 1d4 fire damage at the start of each of its turns. A creature can end this damage by using its action to make a DC 10 Dexterity check to extinguish the flames.
War Fire (flask)
This alchemically enhanced adhesive fluid ignites when exposed to air. A vial held in hand may be thrown up to 20 ft. replacing an attack made as part of the attack action on your turn shattering on impact. Make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the alchemist's fire as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 2d4 fire damage at the start of each of its turns. A creature can end this damage by using its action to make a DC 12 Dexterity check to extinguish the flames. Hit or miss, the liquid ignites a square 15 ft on a side of the ground centered on the target. Creatures who enter an ignited area for the first time on a turn or start their turn there take 2d4 fire damage. A square 5 foot section of ignited area can be extinguished as an action.
Dragons breath (Canister) This volatile concoction is illegal to carry into most cities. Typically stored in a magically reinforced container, militaries and criminal master alchemists are the only source, neither of which are likely to give up their secrets. As an action you can speak the command word and throw the canister up to 30 ft where it shatters in a conflagration. Everyone in a 15 ft radius must make a DC 16 Dex save taking 6d4 fire damage on a failure and are ignited. Objects not worn or carried automatically fail this save. Ignited creatures take 6d4 fire damage at the start of each of their turns. A creature may use an action to attempt to put out the fire on themselves or others with a DC 16 Dexterity Check. Creatures who succeed on their saving throw take half damage and are not ignited.
caltrops As an action, you can spread a single bag of caltrops to cover a 5-foot-square area. Any creature that enters the area must succeed on a DC 15 Dexterity saving throw or stop moving and take 1 piercing damage. Until the creature regains at least 1 hit point, its walking speed is reduced by 10 feet. A creature moving through the area at half speed doesn't need to make the saving throw.
Barbed Caltrops
As with caltrops, but the damage is 1d4 piercing and the caltrops stick to those who fail their saving throw dealing 1 point of piercing damage for every 5 feet of movement spent. The caltrops can be removed as an action and they must be removed before recovering HP in order to regain movement speed.
Footbane caltrop bag
This magic bag contains 20 caltrops. When the command word is spoken, the caltops spring out of the bag to a location within 15 ft of the caster and spread themselves out over a 10-ft square area. They continue to move around that area until another command word is spoken to return them to the bag, an hour passes, or five creatures fail their saving throw against them as they become too spread out to be effective. Any caltrops not returned to the bag within 1 hour become non-magical. The constant movement of the caltrops make them impossible to hide, however, it also means that moving at half speed does not let a creature avoid having to make the save. If caltrops are lost or left behind they can be replaced by filling the bag with 20 non-magical caltrops and leaving them in the bag for 8 hours.
Acid Vial
As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action, you can splash the contents of this vial onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw the vial up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. In either case, make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the acid as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 2d6 acid damage.
Elemental vial As with acid Vial, but dealing fire, frost, poison, lightning, or thunder damage.
Clinging acid As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action, you can splash the contents of this vial onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw the vial up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. In either case, make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the acid as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 3d6 acid damage. At the end of each of the creatures' turns it takes a number of D6s of acid damage one less than the previous instance. (If it took 3d6 last time it takes 2d6 this time.) A creature may take the use an object action to reduce the next instance of this damage on themselves or an ally within 5 ft by 1d6. A creature proficient with alchemy tools may use the tools as part of the use an object action to reduce the next instance of damage damage by 2d6 instead.
Dragon's Bile [Flavor text] As with clinging acid but the starting damage is 5d6, creatures have disadvantage on saving throws to maintain concentration and while taking the ongoing damage, and the action now requires a DC 15 dexterity check to succeed. (alchemy tool proficiency applies)
Holy water
As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action, you can splash the contents of this flask onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw it up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. In either case, make a ranged attack against a target creature, treating the holy water as an improvised weapon. If the target is a fiend or undead, it takes 2d6 radiant damage.
Sacred oil As an action you can apply this oil to a melee or ranged weapon. For 1 minute, attacks made with the weapon are considered magical and deal an additional 1d6 radiant damage to fiends or undead. This oil smells abhorrent to fiends. Once opened, and for one hour after it is applied to a weapon, fiends within 100 feet of the open vial or weapon will not suffer the surprised condition.
Tears of the Saints/Blood of the Martyrs [Flavor text] As an action, you speak a command phrase (usually a prayer of censure) and throw the reliquary up to 30 feet away from you. The souls of the wronged cry out for vengeance and each undead (for tears) or Fiend (for blood) within 30 feet of the target location, that can see or hear, takes 2d6 radiant damage and must make a DC 15 Wisdom saving throw. If the creature fails its saving throw, and its CR is 1 or less it is destroyed (undead) or banished to its home plane (fiends). A creature above CR 1 that fails it's save is turned for 1 minute or until it takes any damage.
A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from the target location as it can, and it can't willingly move to a space within 30 feet of it. The creature also can't take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there's nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action.
Healing potion You regain 2d4+2 hit points when you drink this potion. Drinking or administering a potion takes an action.
Bloodmush! "For people who don't have enough blood in them, so that they can have more blood in them!" -NoRefunds, wandering kobold trader
"Usually made by those who are not serviced by the guilds and do not have the necessary expertise or available raw materials to make healing potions, satchets of this dark red paste are far more likely to be found in orc, goblinoid, and kobold tribes than civilized areas." Archaic Alchemy of the Six Nations, chapter 7
You regain 1d4+1 hit points when you eat this paste or apply it directly to a wound. This takes an action.
Salve "There has been a great deal of arguments regarding Salve. Some claim it is merely another means of applying a healing potion, but be wary. Salve is not regulated by the guild, so there are no laws protecting its quality. Use at your own risk." -Archaic Alchemy of the Six Nations, chapter 2
As an action, one dose of Salve can be swallowed or applied to the skin. The creature that receives it gains benefits according to the following list.
Fake Salve: pain is relieved, but receive no actual benefits.
Fowl Salve: gain 2d4+2 temporary HP. At the end of 1 minute take 2d4 poison damage and lose any remaining temporary HP.
Mediocre salve: regain 1 HP and 2d4 temp HP. At the end of 1 minute if any temp HP from this salve remains, lose the temp HP and regain the same amount of HP.
Quality salve: regain 2d4+2 HP.
Exquisite salve: regain 2d8 + 2 hit points, cease to be poisoned, and becured of up to one non-magical disease.
Unidentified salve: can be identified by using it, or by a creature proficient in alchemist's supplies making a successful DC 15 Intelligence (Alchemist's tools) check as part of a short rest. When identified, roll a D20 and compare it to the following table. 1 fake Salve 2-3 fowl Salve 4-10 mediocre salve 11-19 quality Salve 20 exquisite Salve
DM note: the range of Salve quality in the setting is worse than indicated by the table. The fact that most sellers will not intentionally sell fake or fowl Salve to the heavily armed, notoriously violent adventurers skews the table in their favor.
submitted by pauseglitched to dndnext [link] [comments]
With alchemy being a major theme, I brainstormed a bunch of things for more advanced versions of adventuring gear for the guilds or criminals to sell, or the party to loot off their corpses. Elemental resistance and vulnerabilities will play a part in the homebrew enemies.
I am looking for feedback on
•how much to charge for the items. •Any recommendations on changes to damage or DCs. •wording changes for clarity.
(Some Ideas are more thought out than others)
Here we go.
This sticky, adhesive fluid ignites when exposed to air. As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action you can throw this flask up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. Make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the alchemist's fire as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 1d4 fire damage at the start of each of its turns. A creature can end this damage by using its action to make a DC 10 Dexterity check to extinguish the flames.
War Fire (flask)
This alchemically enhanced adhesive fluid ignites when exposed to air. A vial held in hand may be thrown up to 20 ft. replacing an attack made as part of the attack action on your turn shattering on impact. Make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the alchemist's fire as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 2d4 fire damage at the start of each of its turns. A creature can end this damage by using its action to make a DC 12 Dexterity check to extinguish the flames. Hit or miss, the liquid ignites a square 15 ft on a side of the ground centered on the target. Creatures who enter an ignited area for the first time on a turn or start their turn there take 2d4 fire damage. A square 5 foot section of ignited area can be extinguished as an action.
Dragons breath (Canister) This volatile concoction is illegal to carry into most cities. Typically stored in a magically reinforced container, militaries and criminal master alchemists are the only source, neither of which are likely to give up their secrets. As an action you can speak the command word and throw the canister up to 30 ft where it shatters in a conflagration. Everyone in a 15 ft radius must make a DC 16 Dex save taking 6d4 fire damage on a failure and are ignited. Objects not worn or carried automatically fail this save. Ignited creatures take 6d4 fire damage at the start of each of their turns. A creature may use an action to attempt to put out the fire on themselves or others with a DC 16 Dexterity Check. Creatures who succeed on their saving throw take half damage and are not ignited.
Barbed Caltrops
As with caltrops, but the damage is 1d4 piercing and the caltrops stick to those who fail their saving throw dealing 1 point of piercing damage for every 5 feet of movement spent. The caltrops can be removed as an action and they must be removed before recovering HP in order to regain movement speed.
Footbane caltrop bag
This magic bag contains 20 caltrops. When the command word is spoken, the caltops spring out of the bag to a location within 15 ft of the caster and spread themselves out over a 10-ft square area. They continue to move around that area until another command word is spoken to return them to the bag, an hour passes, or five creatures fail their saving throw against them as they become too spread out to be effective. Any caltrops not returned to the bag within 1 hour become non-magical. The constant movement of the caltrops make them impossible to hide, however, it also means that moving at half speed does not let a creature avoid having to make the save. If caltrops are lost or left behind they can be replaced by filling the bag with 20 non-magical caltrops and leaving them in the bag for 8 hours.
As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action, you can splash the contents of this vial onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw the vial up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. In either case, make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the acid as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 2d6 acid damage.
Elemental vial As with acid Vial, but dealing fire, frost, poison, lightning, or thunder damage.
Clinging acid As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action, you can splash the contents of this vial onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw the vial up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. In either case, make a ranged Attack against a creature or object, treating the acid as an improvised weapon. On a hit, the target takes 3d6 acid damage. At the end of each of the creatures' turns it takes a number of D6s of acid damage one less than the previous instance. (If it took 3d6 last time it takes 2d6 this time.) A creature may take the use an object action to reduce the next instance of this damage on themselves or an ally within 5 ft by 1d6. A creature proficient with alchemy tools may use the tools as part of the use an object action to reduce the next instance of damage damage by 2d6 instead.
Dragon's Bile [Flavor text] As with clinging acid but the starting damage is 5d6, creatures have disadvantage on saving throws to maintain concentration and while taking the ongoing damage, and the action now requires a DC 15 dexterity check to succeed. (alchemy tool proficiency applies)
As an action, or replacing an attack as part of the attack action, you can splash the contents of this flask onto a creature within 5 feet of you or throw it up to 20 feet, shattering it on impact. In either case, make a ranged attack against a target creature, treating the holy water as an improvised weapon. If the target is a fiend or undead, it takes 2d6 radiant damage.
Sacred oil As an action you can apply this oil to a melee or ranged weapon. For 1 minute, attacks made with the weapon are considered magical and deal an additional 1d6 radiant damage to fiends or undead. This oil smells abhorrent to fiends. Once opened, and for one hour after it is applied to a weapon, fiends within 100 feet of the open vial or weapon will not suffer the surprised condition.
Tears of the Saints/Blood of the Martyrs [Flavor text] As an action, you speak a command phrase (usually a prayer of censure) and throw the reliquary up to 30 feet away from you. The souls of the wronged cry out for vengeance and each undead (for tears) or Fiend (for blood) within 30 feet of the target location, that can see or hear, takes 2d6 radiant damage and must make a DC 15 Wisdom saving throw. If the creature fails its saving throw, and its CR is 1 or less it is destroyed (undead) or banished to its home plane (fiends). A creature above CR 1 that fails it's save is turned for 1 minute or until it takes any damage.
A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from the target location as it can, and it can't willingly move to a space within 30 feet of it. The creature also can't take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there's nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action.
Bloodmush! "For people who don't have enough blood in them, so that they can have more blood in them!" -NoRefunds, wandering kobold trader
"Usually made by those who are not serviced by the guilds and do not have the necessary expertise or available raw materials to make healing potions, satchets of this dark red paste are far more likely to be found in orc, goblinoid, and kobold tribes than civilized areas." Archaic Alchemy of the Six Nations, chapter 7
You regain 1d4+1 hit points when you eat this paste or apply it directly to a wound. This takes an action.
As an action, one dose of Salve can be swallowed or applied to the skin. The creature that receives it gains benefits according to the following list.
Fake Salve: pain is relieved, but receive no actual benefits.
Fowl Salve: gain 2d4+2 temporary HP. At the end of 1 minute take 2d4 poison damage and lose any remaining temporary HP.
Mediocre salve: regain 1 HP and 2d4 temp HP. At the end of 1 minute if any temp HP from this salve remains, lose the temp HP and regain the same amount of HP.
Quality salve: regain 2d4+2 HP.
Exquisite salve: regain 2d8 + 2 hit points, cease to be poisoned, and becured of up to one non-magical disease.
Unidentified salve: can be identified by using it, or by a creature proficient in alchemist's supplies making a successful DC 15 Intelligence (Alchemist's tools) check as part of a short rest. When identified, roll a D20 and compare it to the following table. 1 fake Salve 2-3 fowl Salve 4-10 mediocre salve 11-19 quality Salve 20 exquisite Salve
DM note: the range of Salve quality in the setting is worse than indicated by the table. The fact that most sellers will not intentionally sell fake or fowl Salve to the heavily armed, notoriously violent adventurers skews the table in their favor.