The profusion of identical green tents at this spring’s anti-Israel protests struck many as odd. “Why is everybody’s tent the same?,” asked New York mayor Eric Adams. Like others, the mayor suspected “a well-concerted organizing effort” driving the protests. More recent reporting shows a concerted push behind the Gaza protest movement. But it is not as simple as a single organization secretly rallying protesters or buying tents. Instead, the movement’s most determined activists represent a network of loosely linked far-left groups. Some are openly affiliated with well-known progressive nonprofits; others work in the shadows.
The movement also draws on diverse but generous sources of financial backing. Those funding streams may soon be augmented by the federal government. As I chronicled last year in a Manhattan Institute report, “The Big Squeeze: How Biden’s Environmental Justice Agenda Hurts the Economy and the Environment,” the administration’s massive program of environmental justice grants seems designed to prioritize the funding of highly ideological local groups. The Inflation Reduction Act, for example, earmarks $3 billion for “environmental and climate justice block grants” intended for local nonprofits. Today, hundreds of far-left political groups include language about environmental issues and “climate justice” in their mission statements. If just a fraction of planned grants flows to such groups, the effect will be a gusher of new funding for radical causes.
As the Gaza protests spread across U.S. college campuses, many observers noted an eerie uniformity among them. From one campus to the next, protesters operated in disciplined cadres, keeping their faces covered and using identical rote phrases as they refused to talk with reporters. The Atlantic noted the strangeness of seeing elite college students “chanting like automatons.” Students held up keffiyeh scarves or umbrellas to block the view of prying cameras and linked arms to halt the movements of outsiders. At Columbia University and elsewhere, protesters formed “liberated zones,” from which “Zionists” were excluded. Around the edges of the encampments, the more militaristic activists donned helmets and goggles and carried crude weapons, apparently eager to mix it up with police or counter-protesters. We’ve seen these tactics before—notably during the “mostly peaceful” Black Lives Matter protests of 2020, when full-time agitators helped ignite riots, set up a police-free (and violence-plagued) zone in Seattle, and laid nightly siege to Portland, Oregon’s federal courthouse.
In a remarkable work of reporting, Park MacDougald recently traced the tangled roots of organizations backing pro-jihad protests, both on and off campuses. These include Antifa and other networks of anonymous anarchists, along with “various communist and Marxist-Leninist groups, including the Maoist Revolutionary Communist Party, the Party for Socialism and Liberation (PSL), and the International ANSWER coalition,” MacDougald writes. Higher up the food chain, we find groups openly supported by America’s growing class of super-rich tech execs or the anti-capitalist heirs of great fortunes. For example, retired tech mogul Neville Roy Singham, who is married to Code Pink founder Jodie Evans, funds The People’s Forum, a lavish Manhattan resource center for far-left groups. As the Columbia protests intensified, the center urged members to head uptown to “support our students.” Following the money trail of other protest groups, MacDougald finds connections to the Rockefeller Brothers Fund, the Ford Foundation, and—surprising no one—the George Soros-backed Tides Foundation.
Of course, the current wave of anti-Israel protests also involves alliances with pro-Hamas organizations such as Students for Justice in Palestine. Last November, Jonathan Schanzer of the Foundation for Defense of Democracies testified to the House Ways and Means Committee that SJP and similar groups have deep ties to global terrorist organizations, including Hamas.
For many keffiyeh-wearing protestors, however, a recently professed concern for Palestinians is just the latest in a long list of causes they believe justify taking over streets and college quads. In Unherd, Mary Harrington dubs this medley of political beliefs the “omnicause,” writing that “all contemporary radical causes seem somehow to have been absorbed into one.” Today’s leftist activists share an interlocking worldview that sees racism, income inequality, trans intolerance, climate change, alleged police violence, and Israeli-Palestinian conflicts all as products of capitalism and “colonialism.” Therefore, the stated rationale for any individual protest is a stand-in for the real battle: attacking Western society and its institutions.
In the U.S., this type of general-purpose uprising goes back at least to the riots at the 1999 meeting of the World Trade Organization in Seattle. In those protests, mainstream liberal factions—including labor unions and environmentalists—were joined by “black bloc” anarchists and other radicals eager to engage in “direct action” against police. That pattern—relatively moderate demonstrators providing a friendly envelope for hard-core disruptors—formed the template for many later protests: the Occupy Wall Street encampments in 2011, demonstrations following the police shooting of Michael Brown in 2014, 2016’s Standing Rock anti-pipeline movement, and of course, the calamitous summer of 2020.
These uprisings were not entirely spontaneous. In some cases, activists spend months planning mass actions—for example, against economic summits or political conventions—and can recruit street fighters from across the country. In others, an event, such as George Floyd’s death, sparks popular protests involving neophyte demonstrators. Those attract far-left activists, who swoop in to organize and expand the struggle, often tilting it toward more radical action.
That has certainly been the case at the college Gaza-paloozas. At Columbia, the New York Times spotted a woman old enough to be a student’s grandmother in the thick of the action as protesters barricaded that school’s Hamilton Hall. The woman was 63-year-old Lisa Fithian, a lifetime activist, who Portland’s alternative weekly Street Roots approvingly calls “a trainer of mass rebellion.” A counter-protester trying to block the pro-Hamas demonstrators told NBC News, “She was right in the middle of it, instructing them how to better set up the barriers.” Fithian told the Times she’d been invited to train students in protest safety and “general logistics.” She claims to have taken part in almost every major U.S. protest movement going back to the 1999 “Battle in Seattle.”
America’s radical network has plenty of Lisa Fithians, with the time and resources to travel the country educating newcomers about the “logistics” of disruptive protests. And these activists appear to have played key roles in the college occupations. The New York City Police Department says nearly half the demonstrators arrested on the Columbia and City University of New York (CUNY) campuses on April 30 were not affiliated with the schools. One hooded Hamilton Hall occupier—photographed scuffling with a Columbia custodian before getting arrested—turned out to be 40-year-old James Carlson, heir to a large advertising fortune. According to the New York Post, Carlson lives in a $2.3 million Park Slope townhouse and has a long rap sheet. For example, in 2005, he was arrested in San Francisco during the violent “West Coast Anti-Capitalist Mobilization and March Against the G8.” (Those charges were dropped.)
For a quarter-century now, Antifa and other anarchist networks have worked to refine tactics and share lessons following each major action. At Columbia, UCLA, and other schools, authorities found printouts of a “Do-It Yourself Occupation Guide” and similar documents. The young campus radicals are eager to learn from their more experienced elders. And, like the high-achieving students they are, they follow directions carefully. MacDougald asked Kyle Shideler, the director for homeland security and counterterrorism at the Center for Security Policy, about the mystery of the identical tents. There was no need for a central group to distribute hundreds of tents, Shideler said. Instead, “the organizers told [students] to buy a tent, and sent around a Google Doc with a link to that specific tent on Amazon. So they all went out and bought the same tent.”
In other words, America’s radical class has gotten very skilled at recruiting and instructing new activists—even from among the ranks of elite college students with a good deal to lose. How much more could this movement accomplish with hundreds of millions in federal dollars flooding activist groups around the country?
From its first week in office, the Biden administration has trumpeted its goal to funnel more environmental spending toward “disadvantaged communities that have been historically marginalized,” partly by issuing grants to grassroots organizations. Previous environmental justice (EJ) grant programs were small in scope. But, with the passage of the Inflation Reduction Act (IRA) in August 2022, a huge pool of grant money became available. EPA administrator Michael Regan told reporters, “We’re going from tens of thousands of dollars to developing and designing a program that will distribute billions.”
More than a year and a half later, it remains hard to nail down just where the Biden administration’s billions in EJ grants will wind up. Money is being distributed through a confusing variety of programs, and the process of identifying recipients is ongoing. To help outsource the job of sifting through proposals, the EPA last year designated 11 institutions as “Environmental Justice Thriving Communities Grantmakers.” These groups are empowered to make subgrants directly to community organizations, under streamlined EPA oversight. In all, the Biden administration has entrusted these outfits with distributing a staggering $600 million in funding. The money is expected to start flowing this summer.
The EPA’s grantmakers include a number of educational institutions and left-leaning nonprofits. For example, the EPA chose Fordham University as its lead grantmaker in the New York region. Fordham, in turn, lists as partners two nonprofits that oppose immigration enforcement. (One, the New Jersey Alliance for Immigrant Justice, states on its website: “NJAIJ believes in the human right to migrate, regardless of citizenship or political status.”) Neither group claims expertise in environmental issues. Given that the IRA’s eligibility requirements for EJ grants are extremely vague, however, perhaps that’s not a problem. Almost any activity that could help “spur economic opportunity for disadvantaged communities” (in the words of Biden’s EJ executive order) might qualify.
Perhaps the most prominent—and problematic—EPA grantmaker is the Berkeley, California-based Climate Justice Alliance. The CJA is a consortium of mostly far-left activist groups. It describes its mission as working for “regenerative economic solutions and ecological justice—under a framework that challenges capitalism and both white supremacy and hetero-patriarchy.” The group is a vigorous proponent of the omnicause, embracing almost every left-wing concern as a manifestation of climate change. For example, the CJA website proclaims: “The path to climate justice travels through a free Palestine.” MacDougald notes that the Grassroots Global Justice Alliance, one of CJA’s affiliated groups, “organized an illegal anti-Israel protest in the Capitol Rotunda in December at which more than 50 activists were arrested.”
The CJA website also includes a section dedicated to the cause known as Stop Cop City. It refers to an effort to halt the construction of an 85-acre police and firefighter training center outside Atlanta. Rag-tag activists from around the country have gathered around the facility since 2021. They have repeatedly battled with police—sometimes with fireworks and Molotov cocktails—and used bolt cutters to enter the site and torch construction equipment. (CJA’s Stop Cop City page features a cartoon illustration of three childlike activists; one brandishes bolt cutters.) The group also backs a legal defense fund for activists arrested in attacks on the training center or in other protests. For those looking for more inspiration, CJA links to an interview with former Black Panther and self-described revolutionary Angela Davis.
The Alliance is not an ideological outlier in Biden’s EJ coalition. On the contrary, when the White House assembled its White House Environmental Justice Advisory Council (WHEJAC), a panel of outside experts meant to provide “horizon-expanding EJ advice and recommendations,” it chose CJA co-chair Elizabeth Yeampierre to help lead the committee. Like other members of the panel, she sees environmental issues through an ideological, not a scientific, lens. “Climate change is the result of a legacy of extraction, of colonialism, of slavery,” Yeampierre told Yale Environment 360. As a group, radical EJ activists tend not to focus on pragmatic ways to reduce pollution and carbon emissions; for them, the real goal is overturning what they see as an exploitative economic and political system. Since these are the voices the White House chose to help shape its EJ policies, we can assume this worldview will dominate grantmaking decisions.
In February 2023, House Oversight Committee chairman James Comer, along with fellow committee member Pat Fallon, wrote to EPA administrator Regan asking for more information on the EPA’s grant programs. They noted that the EPA’s own studies of EJ grants issued in previous years showed sloppy supervision. According to an EPA report, an earlier version of the program funded projects that did “not logically lead to the desired environmental and/or public health [result].” Without better oversight and more clearly defined goals, the congressmen wrote, the EPA’s EJ grant machine risks becoming simply a “slush fund for far-left organizations.”
Since then, the administration has done little to reassure skeptics. To the contrary, the EPA has put at least one far-left organization—CJA—in charge of distributing $50 million in grant money. No doubt, many of the EPA grants will go to worthwhile projects. But money is fungible. A group that gets a large grant to, say, clean up dirty parks or teach children about recycling will also be able to hire more staff and divert more resources to political action.
With graduation behind them, most of the anti-Israel college protesters have stowed away their keffiyehs and moved on to summer vacations or internships. But the peripatetic activists who helped guide and intensify those uprisings are doubtless already planning their next actions. After all, two political conventions are looming. This fall, the college protests will likely flare up again, though by then perhaps focused on a different facet of the omnicause. And, with hundreds of millions in fresh funding flowing through the activist ecosystem, the groups that quietly nurture extremists—like those who firebombed “Cop City,” or who chant “Intifada Revolution!,” or who block bridges in the name of “climate”—will be more emboldened than ever.
A Slush Fund for Radical Protesters? City Journal (city-journal.org)
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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…

I got the icord knitter by tulip. It says it can handle various yarn and thread weights. My yarn is in another location, but my embroidery thread is available. Box says it is appropriate.
Tried doing a first run with it and ended up like a string of net than a cord, the space is very wide. Are there any uses for the netting cord?? Lol. Should i double up the thread in this case?? Or just stick to thicker yarn?
I know I can knit it with pipe cleaners and wire. But what other techniques and materials can I use?? I've seen beaded cords and have no idea how to add the beads, lol.
Last time I grabbed anything related to knitting was 15 years ago. I know a little crochet and loom knitting.
Im gonna be playing around with this toy recklessly, so all ideas are welcome.

Chapter 29 - The Arcadia
Previous Chapter
Amanda yawned as she walked into the mess, idly scratching her shoulder. The rest of the crew was already assembled, yammering away over the destruction they’d spent much of the day wreaking upon the floating cloud of metal.
Josh nodded to Amanda and handed her a plate. “You look like you just woke up.”
“Took a nap. When it comes time to start doing the analysis at each point, I’m going to be the busiest one here.” Amanda took the plate and wandered over to the serving counter. “Best to catch up on my sleep now. Did I miss anything exciting?”
“Well, Proxima will officially know everything going on here in roughly 28 days.” Ma’et was digging into a plate full of Lasagna as she answered between bites. “Par and I got our full and complete report loaded up on the e-beacon. Every single detail about every new species we’ve met here. We sent it off right after the fireworks. Feathers had a ton of fun reducing big parts of the debris field here into slag.”
Amanda for her part went with Fettuccine with a side of steamed, buttered broccoli. A small part of her wanted to explain that Proxima was already aware of everything going on, but she knew she was forbidden to mention the FTL transmitter hidden in her terminal. And even if they were aware of the actions here, the low bandwidth meant they had almost no real details so the beacon was still wholly necessary. As she took her seat she glanced around at the assembled crew. “Do I even want to know how much of the Captain’s bank account you all went through with this little exercise?”
Alex rolled his eyes as he bit into his own dinner. After chewing and swallowing quickly, he pointed the piece of garlic-buttered bread at Amanda. “First off, they were mostly just railgun rounds. Cheap and easy to replace. We only fired off a handful of flak so we could show her the effects it’d have in zero-g, and how it messes with Radar. And not a single missile. So don’t even start on nickel-and-diming us about this.”
“Wait, Captain.” Trix looked up guiltily at this. “You said not to worry about the cost because you’re rich?”
Amanda snorted at that, and stabbed her fork into the pasta. “Not yet he’s not.”
“Hey. I own an FTL-capable ship. Exactly how many individuals can make the same claim?” Alex shot back defensively.
Amanda took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. She swallowed and responded, “In all of Sol and Proxima? Entire ships owned by a single individual separate from a company? Probably two or three dozen people, in total.” Another forkful of pasta, and she looked down at it briefly then met the Captain’s gaze. “Yes, you still own the ship. But do you need me to remind you how much you still owe Terrafault for the remodel we did for you?”
Alex muttered something under his breath, while Trix looked around in confusion. “Is that good or bad?”
Min swallowed a bite of her own meal and shook her head at Trix. “Ships themselves aren’t difficult to get. There’s tens of thousands of individuals who own their own ships. What’s rare is FTL capability on a privately-owned ship. Ninety-nine point nine nine some odd percent of all FTL capable ships are owned by major corporations or the military. It’s not a thing to just ‘buy’ a Euler cannon. So normally that’s a mark of extreme wealth.”
Trix glanced down at her own plate. The pasta was liberally covered with red flecks of some kind of spice that reminded her of the ‘hot sauce’ from the other day. “So how did the Captain get one then, if he’s not rich?”
Alex smiled innocently. “Blackmail.”
Trix stared at him for several seconds, then turned to Ji. “I can’t actually tell if he’s serious or not.”
“He is. It’s just not nearly as simple as all that.” Ji took a drink of water, then sprinkled some more parmesan on his lasagna. “Give ‘er the full story, Alex. You’ve never been shy about telling it in the past.”
Alex nodded, and wiped his lips with a napkin. “Yeah, well… okay. There’s gonna be some bits here you probably won’t get, on account of being another species.”
“Hasn’t stopped me from understanding you all yet.”
“Fair point. But you guys mate for life. That is very much not standard for Humans.” Trix nodded at this. It was bizarre and honestly kind of horrifying to think about, but she knew that the permanence of her species’ unions was uncommon.
“So what happened is, I grew up with just me and my mother. We don’t have Teffs but Humans still live in colonies with other people because, social species. So just the two of us for my entire childhood. I grew up in a colony station near Velger IV. Didn’t really make friends back then, so mostly it was just me and mom while I grew up. I asked what happened to my dad, but she never would tell me. Just said ‘He left, never came back’ every time I asked. I thought she was upset about it but turns out there was never really any love there.”
“Anyway, when I turned 18, I decided to join up with the Proxima military. Took off to recruitment while Mom went back to work.I had all kinds of grand dreams about becoming a decorated spaceship captain. About rising through the ranks to command a battleship. And it all went absolutely to crap.”
“You are a spaceship captain, though.” Trix pointed out.
“Yup. But not a military one. I made it three months into boot before I realized I couldn’t stand it. I’m pretty bad with extremely rigid structure and zero flexibility, and for some stupid reason as a kid I didn’t realize that meant that wouldn’t mesh well with the Military. After a few months I realized it’d get worse, and that was that. I quit the military but didn’t really know what to do next. My plan was to spend a year or two on Nexus Station while figuring things out. That didn’t last long either.”
Trix continued to eat as she listened, and nodded for him to continue.
“About a month and a half after I left the military, I got a message that there was an accident. My mom had passed away at work. The company sent me a bunch of cash for ‘condolences’ but it didn’t last long. When I realized I was completely and totally alone, I kind of had a little breakdown. It took me a bit to get my shit back together, and when I did that money had ran out. I wasn’t sure what to do next when I got a net message. From Mom.”
“The message was one of those ‘If you’re reading this then I’ve died’ things. In it she laid out the truth. My dad was an exec at the Proxima-Sirius staryards. They met, hooked up, then split. The message made it fairly clear it was just a fling but regardless I knew who my dad was. I worked a bunch of odd jobs and saved up a bit to get fare to transit from Nexus to the P-S Corporate station.”
Trix stared at Alex, trying to imagine the loneliness he’d been through. No matter what, a Teff was family. You could lose one or both parents and still be cared for, comforted, and have plenty of others around you to help you through things. Only a scant handful had ever lost their entire Teff and been entirely alone. To her, it was an unimaginable sort of nightmare.
“Once I was on the station, I found my dad pretty quick. Only he wasn’t just an exec. He was now CEO and co-owner.” Alex smiled, with absolutely zero joy on his face now. “And that opened up a huge can of worms.”
“A huge what?”
“Human expression. Means ‘it caused a ton of trouble’.” Alex nibbled on his garlic bread as he relayed the story. “See, my dad WAS just an exec when he met my mom. But then he got married to the daughter of the owner of the company. That’s how he rose in rank. And the two of them had kids, but each of them favored different kids and there was a big power struggle going on between the two parents and the kids they favored. There was, to say the very least, a ton of drama happening between different executives who saw this as a means to get ahead in the company. And suddenly in the midst of all this drama - boom. I show up.”
“Now, for a very, very long time we’ve had the technology to be able to compare genetics and determine if someone’s actually related or not. So when I show up, the data all shows that yup - that’s my dad. No question there. We get into a meeting, I explain what happened to mom, give him a brief rundown of my life until then, just bringing him up to speed more or less. He asks me to leave for a day and when I come back the next day, there’s several dozen lawyers there. They’re all freaking out about me, about not letting his wife find out he had a kid, quizzing me about every detail of my story. They're asking me why I’m here, what do I want, why didn’t I show up before, really grilling me bad. One of ‘em keeps trying to shove papers my way asking me to sign something but I’m way too freaked out by everything going on. The questioning continues and I’m not thinking straight and eventually I just blurt out without even thinking ‘I’m trying to become a starship captain and I want to explore space!’”
Everyone at the table had heard the story before, but his reaction still managed to get some chuckles out of the crew. Trix couldn’t imagine why. This whole story was just too bizarre from her point of view to even approach humor.
“Eventually we arranged a settlement. Legally, I’m no longer his son. I have about five hundred pieces of paper and countless digital copies of that paper exist out there that say that I am not related to that man at all. I am also under a restraining order to never dock at the Proxima-Sirius Corporate station for any reason. In exchange for all that, I was given full and formal ownership of the Arcadia. Which, at the time, was a mostly-finished FTL-capable yacht designed for rich space tourists. Zero armaments. Particle shielding only. Full of all kinds of fancy amenities that rich people use that most people wouldn’t give a damn about. Worth a very, very small fortune but worth FAR less than an ownership stake in the P-S Shipyards.”
“I think they were expecting me to sell it or something, because when I finally got the ship I started realizing how expensive it is to maintain. Docking costs at stations and planets aren’t free. Maintenance costs aren’t cheap. The Euler Cannon’s core has limited uses before it has to be replaced and that’s EXPENSIVE. And I was a stupid 18 year old so of course I blew a dozen uses of the core on stupid bullshit. Very quickly I’d started to realize how far over my head I actually was.”
“That’s horrible!” Trix exclaimed, suddenly.
“Yeah, it was a real wake-up call. Cores are pricey but I was able to...”
“No, all that stuff with your family!” Trix stood up suddenly. “Your father found out he had a son he abandoned you? JUST LIKE THAT?” She was yelling and she didn’t know why.
Min reached over and put a hand on hers. “Trix, we’re Humans. We live our lives differently.”
“She’s right though.” Josh interjected. “It’s still pretty horrible.”
Alex looked between the two and just sighed. “It is what it is. I can’t change the past and I can’t change that man. In the end, it put me here. So it’s not like I can complain.”
Trix sat down and stared at the plate in front of her. “I just can’t even really wrap my head around it. On Kiveyt, we’re all raised together. If something happens to our family, the Teff is there for us. If anything happens to the Teff then we can join the Teff responsible for us. We aren’t alone, ever. But when you found your dad he just…” She bit down on her lip.
“I mean… I didn’t know him growing up. I don’t know him now. As far as I’m concerned, nothing changed for me.” Alex rocked back and forth slightly on the chair as he spoke. “To get back to the story, I spent a few years doing in-system courier work but that ended up being boring, and didn’t pay for shit. After Josh and Par joined up, we did some tours of particularly nice looking spots for rich tourists which went really well until pirates slipped someone onboard and the ship was nearly scuttled. Took every last penny the three of us had to get her fixed, but the jobs had dried up. We thought we were completely sunk when Terrafault reached out to us.”
Amanda had finished her meal and was casually sipping at a drink as she listened in on the story. “Honestly it was a surprise they didn’t reach out to you sooner. There were active orders to recruit any and all independent pilots we could, and the fact that you owned a ship should have made you the most attractive prospect available.”
“They might have. Honestly back then I was absolutely shit at checking my messages on the ‘net. God only knows what I missed.” Alex mused.
“Why was he an ‘attractive prospect’?” Trix was trying very, very hard to concentrate on the story and NOT think about the horrific way these Humans treated their family.
“Well, at the time Terrafault was being beaten to nearly every decent survey location out there.” Amanda kicked off her shoes with a clatter on the floor. “Our fault really. We grew just a bit too fast and made a fair amount of enemies in the private mineral sector. Apparently some of our competition had bribed a few individuals in the Proxima government. Corporations aren’t allowed to explore freely, we have to actually notify the authorities of our plans. Whenever we’d submit a request to survey a system, by the time we received approval we’d arrive there to find someone else had laid claim to the minerals.”
“That’s the downside to the immense bureaucracy that infests government.“ Alex couldn’t keep the snide note from his voice. “It’s entirely too easy to throw money and weight around in places where nobody can see and end up getting screwed over because of it.”
“ANYWAY. The Captain being an independent pilot meant he can go wherever he wants without having to file the same paperwork a corporation does.” Amanda glared at Alex and kicked one of her shoes over at him. “So we were able to kill two birds with one stone. We continued to submit survey paperwork, but this time for junk systems to force our competition into spending money to find nothing. Meanwhile we fed the Captain the data to good systems, he goes out and does the survey, the claims belong to him and he sells them to us. Win-win.”
Alex made a face back at Amanda. “Since I’m not TECHNICALLY a Terrafault employee, I don’t have to abide by the same rules they do either. Which gives me a hell of a lot more freedom than their pilots.”
“When you put it like that it almost makes them sound like slaves.” Amanda shot back. “You and I both know they enjoy the same freedoms you do.”
“Oh, sure. Freedom to fly whenever the company has filled out the paperwork to fly to, and nowhere else. See, Trix, this is why Corporations are terrible. They restrict what you can or can’t do, where you can or can’t go, all in the name of profits.” Alex gestured around him. “If I was an ‘official’ Terrafault employee do you think we’d be here now? Hell no.”
Amanda’s eyes narrowed as she glared at the Captain. “If not for the corporation and its resources, you’d still be ferrying people thousands of times richer than you around to ooh and ahh at nebulas and ice rings. And that’s BEST CASE scenario, worst case the ship’d be sold and you’d be off doing god knows what with the cash.” She turned to Trix immediately. “What he’s not telling you is that the reason you were able to have all that fun earlier, the reason this ship even HAS weapons in the first place, is because he took out a massive loan from Terrafault in order to properly equip this tub for expeditions like this one. Without us, he’d still be flying an unarmed, unarmored yacht.”
Alex bit his tongue as he recognized the old arguments that Amanda used to rile him up. “That much, at least, is true. After we fixed the Arcadia up and Terrafault contacted us we did a major refit. That’s when we got proper ablative armor, pinpoint shielding, launcher bays, and the Fabber. Though the main gun is military surplus. There was a small colony near Sol that pissed off the bear and got ‘integrated’ for their troubles. The few military ships that escaped were cannibalized for credits, and so we picked up the gatling railcannon on the cheap.”
Trix glanced between Alex and Amanda. “So the Captain’s independent, but works with Terrafault. But he took out a huge loan from you guys to refit the ship. And he works for you to pay it back?”
“Right on the money.” Alex stood up and walked over to the bev dispenser, refilling his cup. “Whenever we do a mission I get sell all mineral claim rights back to Terrafault. They reimburse us for expenses incurred, plus any discoveries we made during the mission. I split the cash with the crew, set aside some for maintenance costs and an emergency fund, and put the rest back into the loan. It’s actually not that bad. We’ve been doing these runs for Terrafault for about two decades now, and at the rate we were going I could have paid off the ship refit in another six or seven years.”
“‘Could have?’” Ma’et glanced over at the Captain. “I thought that was still the plan?”
“Not anymore. Think about it, Ma’et. Remember the huge bonus from finding Guylevo? The money from surveying a habitable planet was nothing compared to what waits for us back home. SIX confirmed first contacts, four of which are peaceful, and one of which is filled with the most incredible people out there.” Alex took a long drink from his cup, and gestured towards Trix. “After this mission, you’ll all have enough money to buy yachts like the Arcadia without blackmail at all!”
Trix shot to her feet and glared over at the Captain. “How can you even joke about that? About being abandoned like that?”
Alex’s mood sobered as he recognized her anger over the story. “I joke about it because what else can I do? As far as he’s concerned, I was just an inconvenience who showed up at the worst possible time. There’s nothing I can do to change that, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.” He set the cup down and walked around the table. “When my mom passed, I didn’t know about any other family. So instead I decided to make a new family.” He gestured to the others here. “Granted, it’s pretty dysfunctional. But I’m pretty happy with things now.”
Trix looked around at the others, then sat back down. “I’m sorry. What you described is just really upsetting. Family is everything back on Kiveyt. We don’t treat it lightly like you humans do out here.”
Josh shook his head, and stood up. “Don’t lump us all in there. Many of us take family just as seriously. Not a single person on this ship would sell off their kid, no matter what the circumstances. Humanity has some pretty shitty members, but we have our good ones too.”
Trix felt her wings droop as she realized she spoke without thinking. “I didn’t mean to… imply you were all like that.”
“You didn’t.” Alex walked over to the door and finished draining the glass, before setting it down on the counter next to the exit. “It’s a fact that there’s good humans and bad ones. In fact, I’m more than a bit worried about what happens when our bad apples find their way to your planet. Keep that in mind when you meet people outside of the crew. Everyone here is good people, but the universe is a pretty cruel place all things considered. There’s no shortage of people who are exactly as bad as Matriarch Kyshe thought we were. Anyway, story’s told and we’re starting the new shift rotation tomorrow. I’m going to get some sleep now. Night gang.”
As he left, Trix slumped down against the table. “Did I upset him?”
Min reached over to lay a sympathetic hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You did nothing wrong. Dealing with the past means dredging up all kinds of memories, both good and bad. It’s something we all deal with.”
“He usually really likes telling that story,” Josh commented. “Especially when it gets to the bit about when we were attacked by pirates. He normally goes into a lot of detail and exaggerates that bit.”
Trix glanced up at that. “I thought that part WAS an exaggeration.”
“Nope. Really happened.” Josh leaned back slightly, putting his fingers on his chin. “Actually, Trix, I think you ARE the reason he’s like that. You were more upset on his behalf than anyone else I’ve seen him tell that story to. That’s not a bad thing,” Josh added quickly. “Being upset for him is a nice gesture.”
“It’s just such a shock.” Trix took a deep breath and sat back up from where she was slumped against the table. “I’d heard other species don’t stay together like we do. Everyone HEARS of that, it’s on the news and they mention it in schools. But knowing it happens then hearing about someone just… abandoned like that?”
“It’s more common than any of us would like.” Josh nodded and stared down into his own drink. “Truth be told the Captain has things a lot easier than most abandoned kids. Not to downplay what happened to him, but most never find their other parent. And for those that do, the other parent usually has major problems of their own. It ends badly for everyone involved.”
“How do you guys deal with that?” Trix glanced around at everyone assembled. “I mean, not you personally but like… Humans.”
Ma’et responded in a quiet voice. “Everyone deals with it their own way. There’s all kinds of circumstances for people. Some people deal with it well. Others not so well. There’s no single set path for us, nothing that tells us all how to handle the tough times. We just do the best we can.”
Min glanced around, the somber mood had spread to the entire group. “You know what can help? Music.” She tugged on Trix’s shoulder. “C’mon, Trix. Let’s go bunk down. I’ll send over a few songs you can listen to.”
—--
The liquid filling the room had a sickly green tint to it, and the Inquisitor’s snout wrinkled in disgust. It waddled forward, to where the Interpreter Sixth was finishing his feast - upon one of his own crew that had displeased him. It was a show of strength, the Inquisitor knew. One it had seen many, many times before. And would see, many times again.
As the Interpreter finished his meal he turned to the intruder upon his ship. “So, Inquisitor. What news have you brought?”
“News from the Holy One. The Star-Thieves have been seen again.” The Inquisitor kept the contempt from its voice. Interpreters always thought themselves to be grander and of more import than they truly were. In the end though they were simply another instrument of the Will of the Heavens. As were all Tanjeeri.
“Hmph.” The Inquisitor lifted himself up on his legs, then let himself fall. “And why do you bear this news? Why is a Voice not here to bring a commandment?”
“I am here because the Holy One has instructed me to be.” A long, thin arm protruded from the Inquisitor’s robe. “I am here because the Thieves have angered the Heavens themselves, and the Holy One has seen it.” A large, red stone rested within the Inquisitor’s palm.
The sight of the stone immediately caused the Interpreter to freeze, as he glared down at the thin, whip-like creature before him. “Is the Holy One calling for a crusade?”
“He would, yes, but we have no knowledge of the Thieves. Are they one or are they many? Where do they reside? We have seen them in the presence of the Smooth ones, and we know they reside in the Dry with the other infidels. And they have gone to the odd ones, and visited their world.” The red stone disappeared back into the robe, and the Inquisitor shook their head. The cowl drifted in the murky water. “The Holy One’s sight is unmatched, but the Thieves cloak themselves in the shadows of the Starlight. We cannot rely on sight alone in our pursuit of them.”
“No sight. And the Void has no currents upon which we can sniff them out.” The Interpreter slowly spun around the room, glancing at the instruments and panels around him. “Where were the Thieves last seen?”
“The Holy One saw them returning to the Dry station where the Smooth ones first saw them. Then they were seen where the Star-Heart was found within the infidels’ ship.” The Inquisitor withdrew an etched tablet.
“Then we simply assault that star again. We crash down upon the Thieves as a wave, and drag them under.”
The Inquisitor shook its head. “The Holy One watched the Thieves as they left the Odd ones’ world. They are swift, and cannot be caught so easily.”
The Interpreter grew silent, croaking softly as he thought. “They left the Odd ones world. They returned to the dry station and the dead ship among the Stars. Would it not stand to reason they’d return to the Odd ones home as well?”
“It would. But the Holy One has seen that we will not move against the Odd ones.”
A long tongue snaked out of the Interpreter’s mouth, as he released a torrent of bubbles into the murky water. “A pity, that. The Odd ones taste so good. Well then our path seems quite clear to me.”
“It does?” The Inquisitor glanced skeptically at the Interpreter. The thought of this bulbous indulgent being able to offer up any insight seemed ludicrous, and it was all that the Inquisitor could do not to laugh derisively at that.
“It does. The Holy One says we cannot catch the Thieves in the open. We cannot move against the Odd ones. We must take the Dry station, then. It is the only option left. We take it and we wait for them to come close…” A claw dragged across the metal floor. “And then we take the Thieves.”
The Inquisitor hesitated at that. “But they may not return to the Dry station, and if they do the Smooth ones have left it already.”
The Interpreter released a short, sharp laugh at this. “Then yours is a fools’ errand! If we cannot catch them at the Odd ones, if we cannot catch them in the open, and we know not where else to look for them, then we must turn to the only place we know they have been. We must take the station! To do anything else would require knowledge we do not possess. Tell me I am wrong!”
The Inquisitor scowled furiously in its hood. The damnable creature had a point. “I will not tell you that you are wrong. Nor will I say that you are right. That is not why I am here. What I will do is relay your response to the Holy One, as is my job. I will return to the Inquisitory. YOU will do nothing more until a Voice returns.” It wished, so greatly, to be able to tell off the disgusting Interpreter but it could not. Its duty was clear. But it took great pleasure in turning around and leaving at that. To leave without being dismissed was a slight, at most, but to a self-important creature like the Interpreter the slight would rankle.
As the Inquisitor left, a page drew near and bent down before the Interpreter. “Your orders, Holy Interpreter?”
Do nothing more? That worm knew NOTHING! He was the Interpreter, and it was his decisiveness and cunning that had granted him this position. “The trap will be set. There is no other course. But we must chase the Thieves into it. Send a small Claw against them, in the system where the Star-Heart was found. We will chase them, and they will flee from us as all do. And when they return to the Dry station, we will be waiting.”
“By your will, Interpreter.”
—--
Trix glanced out the window at the asteroid cluster. From here, it was just a group of shining stars. Unlike other stars, these would occasionally flicker or dim as they’d rotate. But on the screen in front of her their true nature was revealed, as massive chunks of rock floating in space. Chunks of rock which apparently were worth untold amounts of money. “You guys should have brought some of the M’rit out here instead of me.”
“And why would we have done that?” Par replied. The two of them shared the watch shift today, and the digital being’s lack of a physical presence made the bridge feel empty.
“Well that’s where all our mines are, so I assume they’d find these rocks a lot more interesting than I would.” Trix amused herself by spinning around in the Captain’s Chair. She didn’t actually like sitting in it that much, since it wasn’t designed for a winged species - she had to fold her wings around her in a less-than-comfortable manner to sit in it. Still, she had to admit it was nice to look down on all the other consoles.
“Perhaps. But then, you would be back at home tending to the fields. Would you prefer that?”
Trix sighed heavily. “You’re so damn boring to argue with. You always make really great points.”
“I do. Which is why arguing with me is pointless.” Par sent a remote in to hover near Trix. “You were warned that not all of this mission would be enjoyable.”
“I know. Shut up.” Trix stood up and stretched out her wings, then stomped back down to her seat. It was far, far more comfortable - especially now that Ji and Min had redesigned it for her anatomy. “The mission is fine. I just didn’t realize we’d be spending so much time waiting.”
“If you’d like, we could watch the salvage bot.” The main screen changed as Par spoke, and the image of the robot came up on the screen. The bot itself seemed motionless as it perched upon the side of the asteroid. A large pipe jutting out of it was spewing a constant stream of dust into the air. It was fascinating to watch as the glittering minerals sprayed off into the distance.
“I mean it looked great for a while, but it got boring fast. I’ve been spoiled. It’s your fault, you know.” Trix ignored the screen and just tilted the seat back as far as it would go.
“How is it my fault?”
“Not you specifically, Par. Humans' fault. You guys introduced me to all those shows. All that music. All that media. You introduced a poor little farm girl to human culture and now she’s been horribly ruined by it.”
The entire planet had gone bonkers over the Humans’ music. But Trix knew that they hadn’t even scratched the surface. The shows she’d watched and been introduced to since she joined the crew… those were where she’d absolutely gotten hooked.
Par’s remote floated up in front of Trix, waggling a holographic finger admonishingly at her. “I fear for your planet when our libraries become public. You’ve had access to less than a thousandth of all the media we have produced over the centuries, and you’re hopelessly addicted.”
Trix shoved the metal sphere aside. “Yeah well can’t blame us for that. We never really had a chance to develop anything like that stuff.”
Par pulled up a number of images on his displays. “Nonsense. Your civilization had plays and theater, even before the Bunters arrival.”
“Sure. But we never had ANYTHING like your shows and animation!” Trix couldn’t help but grin as she slowly spun in her seat. “I still don’t even understand how anyone could spend all that time drawing the same picture over and over again, but just a little bit differently each time.”
“Well, it’s a job like any other. People do the things they enjoy and that they’re good at.”
“I guess so. Is that what that post-scarcity thing Amanda was talking about means? We’ll have time to do just… whatever? Make drawings? Make music?”
“Not necessarily. Humanity has produced media in multiple forms long before we achieved post-scarcity. To us, cultural distractions like music and video are necessary. For the artists, they’re self-expression. For the consumers, they’re recreation. Both recreation and expression are quite necessary for our species.”
“I guess. We need recreation as well, but we socialize a lot for that.”
“Your society places different emphasis on different types of recreation. That’s natural. You’ve grown on a different planet, with different circumstances. Meaning that even when your society does achieve post-scarcity, there is no guarantee you’ll become just like us. I am sure that you and your people will have your own, unique experience unlike any other.”
“It’s hard to even imagine. Enough stuff being made that anyone can have anything at all without work. Humanity living like that seems so impossible to me.”
The sphere settled down on the console next to Trix. “That is only partially accurate. While it is true that all basic needs are met without requiring labor, luxuries in many forms are still desired in great enough quantities that mass production cannot entirely keep up. Additionally, labor is still an important part of the Human experience, as it can fulfill many needs.”
“Like what? If you can just live without doing anything, why bother working?”
“I’m unsure if your species has a similar drive, but the urge to be useful is strong within many Humans. For some it is important to ‘leave their mark’ on the world, for others they use their workplace to achieve a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. And for others it fulfills needs to socialize with others. It is well-documented that the motivational drive to make accomplishments is a healthy part of the human psyche. Without it, any number of psychological and behavioral issues manifest.”
Trix shook out her wings, and picked at a couple of the feathers that stuck together. “I dunno. We work to live. If we don’t have to work, I’m not sure what we’d do.”
“That’s an issue that your people will likely have to face. When bereft of the need to work, what replaces that part of your life? For a great many Humans the desire to contribute something of value to the world is a difficult impulse to resist. For others, another extremely strong motivator is the desire to succeed amongst one’s peers. I believe this motivation is shared amongst our two people.”
“Yeah. Okay, that part sounds like us. Everyone wants to show off in front of their friends.” Trix closed her eyes and reached out in front of her, grasping at the air where her Aircar’s handlebars would be. “And sure, I could imagine a ton of people wanting to race the challenges if they didn’t have to work. But why would they do OTHER jobs?”
“If you accomplish something, even if that something is incredibly minor, would that not put you as more successful to someone who simply lives accomplishing nothing?”
“Huh. I mean… I guess so.” She opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s still weird to think about.”
“It IS quite premature at this point. Still, if you look at the situation as a whole it is a good problem to have.”
Trix glanced down at the silver ball. “What do you mean by that?”
“Progress is natural. Technology exists to make lives easier. As your species grows more technologically advanced, lives become easier. Post-scarcity is inevitable. Unless something were to happen to your species such as being destroyed from within or without. Or, if your species were to be completely subsumed by another. In that light, wouldn’t reaching post-scarcity and trying to determine how your species handles it be a good problem to have?”
“That’s kind of a bleak way to look at it. ‘Be happy you’re not dead or slaves’ seems kind of macabre.” Trix glanced over at the system display. Still nothing out of the ordinary. “But I guess it’s a valid point.”
“Unfortunately when dealing with planning for the future of an entire species, it’s a point that needs to be addressed. There’s an ancient human theory called the ‘Great Filter’ which was used for an extremely long time to attempt to determine why Humanity hadn’t found intelligent life amongst the stars. The gist of it was that life must be commonplace but intelligent life was rare, and the theory attempted to explain why that may be. Self destruction was among the reasons listed that a species would fail to reach space and make contact, and unfortunately on at least two exoplanets we have discovered that seemed to have happened.”
Par’s sphere floated up and the image on the display shifted to two large images of planets. “In both instances we found evidence of pre-spaceflight worlds that had at one point contained life, but the presence of radioactive isotopes and the damage wrought indicated a society that self-destructed via the use of nuclear armaments. Exact details of the collapse of the two societies are still being investigated by anthropologists but given the thoroughness of the destruction, the specifics may not ever be known.”
A shiver ran up Trix’s back as she stared up at the two screens. Somehow the thought of an entire species perishing all at once touched some deep existential dread within her, and she pressed the command to blank the screen. “Other people wiped themselves out. That’s why you guys thought there wasn’t life outside of your world?”
“That and the lack of any form of radio signals of any meaningful note. Radio was one of our first great technologies. To Humans, it seemed as though any other intellect among the stars would develop radio quite early in their development. As such, we sought out radio waves in the void. Not finding any made us believe that we were alone.” Par hummed idly as he spoke, giving his already musical-voice an unusual undertone.
“Well you’re not alone, so that theory is obviously not correct.”
“Your presence onboard the ship is decisive evidence to that effect, yes.” Par digitally laughed at this, though it was odd. It sounded perfectly natural yet somehow it came across as strangely emotionless to Trix. “I am sure that when knowledge of not just your but all the other species existence here in Perseus becomes widely known a large number of previous theories and thought experiments will end up being adjusted accordingly.”
“Well I’m glad to hear you guys will at least be affected slightly by us.” Trix stood up and spun her chair around, sitting down so her chest was against the narrow backrest. “Sorta feels like you guys are gonna be the ones making US change.”
“And that’s why we need a Prime Directive.” Josh walked into the room, interrupting the conversation. He was carrying an insulated mug giving off steam as he walked in. “Gotta keep our filthy influences from desecrating society too much.”
“I wasn’t calling you guys filthy.” Trix leaned against the chair, glancing up at the time. “You’re twenty minutes early today.”
“Yeah, woke up early and felt restless.” Josh shrugged and took his seat at the XO console. “But as to us being filthy, by and large I think we are. What’d I walk in on anyway?”
“Philosophical meanderings and stream of consciousness discussions regarding post-scarcity, the Great Filter, and the effects that Humanity will have on the Sovalin species as a whole.” Par summed it up rather neatly.
“In other words a boring shift where nothing happened.” Trix was even more concise. “What’s that Prime Direction you talked about?”
“Prime Directive.” Josh pulled up his console and transferred command over to it. He set the mug down on a coaster, and shited around to make himself comfortable. “In one of our works of fiction, space travelers and explorers are bound by law not to interfere with developing species so that their culture and values are unaffected by our own.”
“Thats’ stupid. Why bother with that? If other species are more like you, wouldn’t that make it easier to make friends and stuff?”
“Probably. But then who knows what kinds of amazing things we’d miss out on by not letting another culture flourish?”
“But that’s just it. We don’t have the kinds of amazing things you guys do. What do we have to offer that Humanity would enjoy?”
Josh reached over to the mug, taking a sip of the scalding hot bitter coffee inside. “That’s what we find out together. I’ll tell you this though. The aircar races you guys do will DEFINITELY be a hit back in Proxima. We’ve done many similar things but for whatever reason we never got into trying to fly a gauntlet like that.”
Trix sat up straighter at that. “Wait, really?”
(Continued in Comments)

The Lazarus Pit Girlies will not survive this one

Xûr, Agent of the Nine

A peddler of strange curios, Xûr's motives are not his own. He bows to his distant masters, the Nine.

Location

Arcadian Valley, Nessus

Exotic Weapons

Name	Type	Column 1	Column 2	Column 3	Column 4
SUROS Regime	Kinetic Auto Rifle
Hawkmoon	Kinetic Hand Cannon	Chambered Compensator	Eye of the Storm	Heavy Grip

Note: Fixed perks on weapons are not displayed

Exotic Armor

Name	Type	MOB	RES	REC	DIS	INT	STR	Total	Cost
Graviton Forfeit	Hunter Helmet	15	2	18	10	22	2	69	23 Legendary Shards
Actium War Rig	Titan Chest Armor	12	11	13	6	22	6	70	23 Legendary Shards
Karnstein Armlets	Warlock Gauntlets	14	3	18	18	12	2	67	23 Legendary Shards

Exotic Ciphers

Name	Description
Xenology	Complete Vanguard or Exotic playlist activities, or win matches in Crucible or Gambit. Extra progress is awarded for more challenging activities and for succeeding with clanmates.

Engrams

Name	Description	Cost
Exotic Engram	An engram with a predestined outcome. Contains a new Exotic if any of the possible rewards remain to be collected. Preview contents for possible rewards.	97 Legendary Shards

Legendary Weapons

Name	Type	Column 1	Column 2	Column 3	Column 4	Masterwork
Interference VI	Heavy Grenade Launcher	Linear Compensator // Smart Drift Control	Alloy Casing // High-Explosive Ordnance	Clown Cartridge	Threat Detector	Tier 2: Velocity
Far Future	Energy Sniper Rifle	Extended Barrel // Full Bore	Accurized Rounds // Tactical Mag	Surplus	Opening Shot	Tier 2: Stability
Annual Skate	Energy Hand Cannon	Fastdraw HCS // TrueSight HCS	Appended Mag // Tactical Mag	Slideshot	Opening Shot	Tier 2: Handling
Legal Action II	Kinetic Pulse Rifle	Corkscrew Rifling // Polygonal Rifling	Tactical Mag // Extended Mag	Surplus	Frenzy	Tier 2: Range
Recurrent Impact	Heavy Machine Gun	Corkscrew Rifling // Fluted Barrel	Steady Rounds // Alloy Magazine	Genesis	Firing Line	Tier 2: Reload Speed
Disparity	Kinetic Pulse Rifle	Extended Barrel // Fluted Barrel	Accurized Rounds // Appended Mag	Pugilist	Headstone	Tier 2: Handling
Last Man Standing	Energy Shotgun	Barrel Shroud // Corkscrew Rifling	Assault Mag // Extended Mag	Threat Detector	Swashbuckler	Tier 2: Reload Speed

Note: Fixed perks on weapons are not displayed

Legendary Armor

Name	Type	MOB	RES	REC	DIS	INT	STR	Total	Cost
Substitutional Alloy Gauntlets	Titan Gauntlets	2	18	10	11	2	18	61	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Plate	Titan Chest Armor	2	10	22	12	10	10	66	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Mark	Titan Mark	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Helm	Titan Helmet	10	2	22	19	2	10	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Greaves	Titan Leg Armor	6	20	7	6	16	12	67	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Gloves	Warlock Gauntlets	14	17	2	10	12	10	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Robes	Warlock Chest Armor	2	22	10	15	14	2	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Bond	Warlock Bond	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Hood	Warlock Helmet	22	2	10	15	10	6	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Boots	Warlock Leg Armor	18	2	10	14	6	10	60	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Grips	Hunter Gauntlets	2	2	30	15	10	6	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Vest	Hunter Chest Armor	6	10	14	2	22	10	64	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Cloak	Hunter Cloak	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Mask	Hunter Helmet	14	17	2	2	23	7	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Strides	Hunter Leg Armor	10	16	6	7	10	14	63	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer

What's a Xûr?
Xûr, Agent of the Nine, is a strange vendor who randomly appears in a Public Sector on one of the Worlds. Xûr sells Exotic equipment and only takes Legendary Shards in exchange for them.
TL;DR: He's the Santa Claus of Destiny and every weekend is Christmas. Sometimes he brings you what you want, sometimes he brings you coal. Mostly it's coal.
When does Xûr visit?
Xûr visits every Friday at 17:00 UTC and departs at Weekly Reset (Tuesday 17:00 UTC). If you would like to see all the live conversions of Time Zones, please follow this link here.
Sort comments by New to join the conversation!
^{Never forget what has been lost. While the API protests have concluded, Reddit remains hostile to its users as their IPO looms in the horizon. More information can be found here.}

Xûr, Agent of the Nine

A peddler of strange curios, Xûr's motives are not his own. He bows to his distant masters, the Nine.

Location

Arcadian Valley, Nessus

Exotic Weapons

Name	Type	Column 1	Column 2	Column 3	Column 4
SUROS Regime	Kinetic Auto Rifle
Hawkmoon	Kinetic Hand Cannon	Chambered Compensator	Eye of the Storm	Heavy Grip

Note: Fixed perks on weapons are not displayed

Exotic Armor

Name	Type	MOB	RES	REC	DIS	INT	STR	Total	Cost
Graviton Forfeit	Hunter Helmet	15	2	18	10	22	2	69	23 Legendary Shards
Actium War Rig	Titan Chest Armor	12	11	13	6	22	6	70	23 Legendary Shards
Karnstein Armlets	Warlock Gauntlets	14	3	18	18	12	2	67	23 Legendary Shards

Exotic Ciphers

Name	Description
Xenology	Complete Vanguard or Exotic playlist activities, or win matches in Crucible or Gambit. Extra progress is awarded for more challenging activities and for succeeding with clanmates.

Engrams

Name	Description	Cost
Exotic Engram	An engram with a predestined outcome. Contains a new Exotic if any of the possible rewards remain to be collected. Preview contents for possible rewards.	97 Legendary Shards

Legendary Weapons

Name	Type	Column 1	Column 2	Column 3	Column 4	Masterwork
Interference VI	Heavy Grenade Launcher	Linear Compensator // Smart Drift Control	Alloy Casing // High-Explosive Ordnance	Clown Cartridge	Threat Detector	Tier 2: Velocity
Far Future	Energy Sniper Rifle	Extended Barrel // Full Bore	Accurized Rounds // Tactical Mag	Surplus	Opening Shot	Tier 2: Stability
Annual Skate	Energy Hand Cannon	Fastdraw HCS // TrueSight HCS	Appended Mag // Tactical Mag	Slideshot	Opening Shot	Tier 2: Handling
Legal Action II	Kinetic Pulse Rifle	Corkscrew Rifling // Polygonal Rifling	Tactical Mag // Extended Mag	Surplus	Frenzy	Tier 2: Range
Recurrent Impact	Heavy Machine Gun	Corkscrew Rifling // Fluted Barrel	Steady Rounds // Alloy Magazine	Genesis	Firing Line	Tier 2: Reload Speed
Disparity	Kinetic Pulse Rifle	Extended Barrel // Fluted Barrel	Accurized Rounds // Appended Mag	Pugilist	Headstone	Tier 2: Handling
Last Man Standing	Energy Shotgun	Barrel Shroud // Corkscrew Rifling	Assault Mag // Extended Mag	Threat Detector	Swashbuckler	Tier 2: Reload Speed

Note: Fixed perks on weapons are not displayed

Legendary Armor

Name	Type	MOB	RES	REC	DIS	INT	STR	Total	Cost
Substitutional Alloy Gauntlets	Titan Gauntlets	2	18	10	11	2	18	61	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Plate	Titan Chest Armor	2	10	22	12	10	10	66	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Mark	Titan Mark	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Helm	Titan Helmet	10	2	22	19	2	10	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Greaves	Titan Leg Armor	6	20	7	6	16	12	67	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Gloves	Warlock Gauntlets	14	17	2	10	12	10	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Robes	Warlock Chest Armor	2	22	10	15	14	2	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Bond	Warlock Bond	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Hood	Warlock Helmet	22	2	10	15	10	6	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Boots	Warlock Leg Armor	18	2	10	14	6	10	60	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Grips	Hunter Gauntlets	2	2	30	15	10	6	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Vest	Hunter Chest Armor	6	10	14	2	22	10	64	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Cloak	Hunter Cloak	0	0	0	0	0	0	0	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Mask	Hunter Helmet	14	17	2	2	23	7	65	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer
Substitutional Alloy Strides	Hunter Leg Armor	10	16	6	7	10	14	63	50 Legendary Shards & 1000 Glimmer

What's a Xûr?
Xûr, Agent of the Nine, is a strange vendor who randomly appears in a Public Sector on one of the Worlds. Xûr sells Exotic equipment and only takes Legendary Shards in exchange for them.
TL;DR: He's the Santa Claus of Destiny and every weekend is Christmas. Sometimes he brings you what you want, sometimes he brings you coal. Mostly it's coal.
When does Xûr visit?
Xûr visits every Friday at 17:00 UTC and departs at Weekly Reset (Tuesday 17:00 UTC). If you would like to see all the live conversions of Time Zones, please follow this link here.
Sort comments by New to join the conversation!
^{Never forget what has been lost. While the API protests have concluded, Reddit remains hostile to its users as their IPO looms in the horizon. More information can be found here.}

Everyone who used this bow for a while will encounter the glitch that it will just stop working and there are many fixes online for that like unequip your hood and equip it again, switching arrows,wait 1 hour,go to bed, Hotkey gray cowl of Nocturnal, savequit etc. but every fix has one thing in common the bow works like intended BUT only for 30 seconds.
Why does it break? I thought the bow has a special enchantment that you can’t recharge and after awhile you will just have a unenchanted (not working) Bow of Shadows in your inventory
This is why I uninstalled the creation continued my game and saved installed the creation did the quest again Picked up the bow Never used it Duped it with a new duplication glitch because the follower duplication don’t work on the Bow of Shadows
And then the Bow worked like intended even after the 30 seconds and if the Bow will stop working then I just pick a new one from my not used duped ones I thought I finally found a permanent fix for us console players but then I fast traveled to Riften (or infront of rifton) or any other mayor city except whiterun and the bow just stoped working again even if I picked one I duped and not used once
The Wiki says: The weapon does not have any enchantment assigned and the effects are only applied from spell's conditions. This may cause the effects stop working.
But i think that the bug is bonded to your character and you have only so and so much uses before it breaks if that makes sense because my fix should in theory 100% work

Alright so everytime i’m just about to enter falkreath it crashes my game right as i get through the gate. i put the mihail mods with just mihail for my thumbs sake and this is the exact order my stuff is in, please help.
USSEP
Simple workaround framework
skyrim extended cut saints and seducers
racecompatability for skyrim
environs master plugin
campfire complete camping system
ugh mods manager cap
complete archery overhaul
effective blocking
thieves guild rewards overhaul
survival mode settings
guide to finding creation club
dawnguard as a vampire
no sun damage for vampires
tk interfave overhaul
swf2 tailor swf
tk skin dawnbreaker flavour
enemy health indicators
dialogue interface reshaped
a quality world map
fishing map markers
updated mine markers
cheat room
moon path to elsweyr
the gray cowl of nocturnal
dawn dramatic atmospheres
fantasia landscapes
fantasy forest overhaul
divergence cube maps
dawn waters w/ natural waterfalls
rainbows over waterfalls
patch rainbows over waterfalls & natural waterfalls
embers xd
dawn waters + embers xd patch
flora additions water plants
mari’s realistic grass field
environs aio
lampposts of skyrim
hearth fire upgrade bundle
the library of parthurnax
granite hill
cities of the north aio bundle 1k
jk’s skyrim aio
jk’s interiors aio
humble riches whiterun no jk’s
realistic boat bobbing
missives
treasure maps journal
lvx magicks more books please
the skyrim bestiary
codex of skyrim
radzig longsword
believable weapons sheathed great swords
divergence believable weapons patch
wooden shield dark souls 3
immersive citizens
relationship dialogue overhaul
realistic conversations
alternate start
wearable lanterns
wear multiple rings
weapons on back aio
hooded dawnguard helmet
cloaks of skyrim
cloaks of skyrim survival mode patch
skyrim outfitters face coverings
eisen platte armor unp version
jewelry gem extraction
get more gems
rich merchants of skyrim
exit combat power
pristine vanilla movement
realistic impacts
amazing follower tweaks
dapper deliveries a courier overhaul
animal series aio
mihails avian of skyrim
dangerous bees mihail
crocodiles mihail
ograts mihail
serpents mihail
furpot the kitty & house cats mihail
mourning souls mihail
mimics mihail
giant cephalopods mihail
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I was really young at the time, probably like six or something, when I moved into Haigen Oaks. I lived in an apartment in the room on the top left end. Well for my age, the room was huge, Including mine and my brother’s room. We shared rooms at the time. But even when we shared rooms, I was still afraid of the dark. I always thought that if the lights were off something would get me, so my parents always left them on until I fell asleep. But of course nothing got me. Weeks later I experienced strange things. Like for instance I would see in my peripheral vision that the bathroom light would cut on. And I know it would because I could shape everything in there, but as soon as I look over the light would be off. Most times I ask my brother if he’s been in there, but he would say. Those times I would be terrified.
It started to thunder one night, and I was completely scared. I mean at my age I was scared of everything. I woke my brother up and he got scared too. We ran as fast as we could to our parents room and started to bang on the door. I decided to look back and thought I saw something standing there in the hallway. But quickly disappeared. I caught myself, and continued to bang on the door. Eventually our parents opened it and we rushed inside and jumped under the cover on their bed. My dad turned the tv on and we all eventually went to sleep.
The next day was pretty fun. Our parents bought us floaties so we could go to the community pool. I couldn’t swim then so I just floated around. My dad sometimes would throw me around in the pool. It was fun.We eventually got inside by dark and changed into our pajamas. When I went to bed the light wasn’t on, so I had to go to sleep scared. I woke up, but not in the morning. It was in the middle of the night. I tried to go back to sleep but it felt like something or someone tapped my hand. I turned over to see nothing. But with my left peripheral vision I know I saw something looming over me with a large shape. It looked like it had a cult robe on with the hood over. But as I turned back over, it was gone. To this day I don’t know what or who it was and if it was the same one I saw in that hallway.

In a story otherwise about the ownership issue, there was this tidbit.
“Edwards was surrounded by a tight-knit team, one with such strong chemistry that it decided as a group that no player would appear on TNT’s “Inside the NBA” postgame show after their victory in Game 4 in Dallas, team sources told The Athletic. The decision was a sign of support for Gobert and Towns, who were the subject of derisive and seemingly personal criticism from panelist and Golden State forward Draymond Green..”
Good.
https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/5531453/2024/05/31/timberwolves-tim-connelly-karl-anthony-town-offseason/?source=user_shared_article Timberwolves' offseason questions: Ownership fight, Tim Connelly and a looming bill

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV
I shall conclude with the events of May 1st, 2021.
A month prior to the events of Liverpool, we were eyeing an auspicious man at a contemporary art gallery. He stood with proud hands on his hips, basking in the glow of his achievement. And rightly so.
“We were slow,” I said. “The world kissed oblivion, and it would’ve blindly met its end. All of these people… They have no idea.”
“Mr Hull did what had to be done,” Fernsby replied. “He continues to keep the darkness at bay.”
“For now,” I huffed.
“Don’t you understand?” Fernsby asked. “Others are fighting the black realm. You’re not alone.”
“He’s not splintered,” I whispered.
“Neither am I,” Fernsby said. “Yet, I fight beside you. I saved your life.”
“I… There must be more people like me,” I said.
“You may well be the last of your kind, Kane. Have you considered that?” She asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“And have you considered that the way of the Guard was never the only way?” She continued. “United, humanity can defeat the darkness.”
On that night in Liverpool, as I stared at the abandoned Ford Ranger, I doubted Fernsby's words. Humans had taken her and Benny. The people of Earth would never be united.
I saw the tyre tracks on the tarmac. Scorched rubber from several large vehicles. I needed only my instincts as a soldier to piece together the puzzle.
The white convoy had found us. Dozen Minus. The ruthless men had been stalking us since the mountain. We already knew that. And when I took my eyes off Fernsby and Benny, they finally struck. Finally stole the last two things I loved.
Do they simply want to lure me into their lair? I wondered.
It didn’t matter. I gladly walked into the jaws of the lion, confident in my ability to face foes of flesh, rather than apocalyptic beings. But men are just as capable of leaving the world in ruins.
It took a week to find them. The headquarters of Dozen Minus stood boldly at the edge of Birmingham, against a backdrop of skyscrapers and garish neon adverts. A grotesque monolith lost in a sea of seemingly uglier things. But this government agency, hidden in plain sight, was the ugliest of them all.
DM: Government Affairs
That was marked on the plaque before the glass eyesore. The minds of Dozen Minus kept their cards close to their chest, of course. They may not have hidden, but they also did not openly display what they were. Still, it baffled me that politicians did not even attempt to hide the evil that they were funding. Men with lined pockets truly do not fear a thing.
I sensed the two men behind me before I heard the click of the gun’s safety lock.
“Unclip the holster,” A man bluntly ordered.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been held at gunpoint — it wasn’t even the hundredth time. I calmly complied, loosening my belt and letting my holstered pistol smack into the ground. Two armed, uniformed guards appeared, and one retrieved my discarded firearm, whilst the other kept his gun locked onto me. The man in charge looked no older than a teenager. A frightened, clueless boy, fumbling with the weapon’s safety catch.“Do you need some help with the child lock?” I asked.
“Move, Kane Foster,” He ordered.
I could’ve snapped the two oafs like twigs, but they were playing my game. And I would happily play whatever game they wanted in return for the safety of Fernsby and Benny. The two security guards led me across a sparse car park. As we neared the entrance, I subtly surveyed my surroundings, searching for exit points and attempting to scope the size of the building.
“Move,” The armed man repeated, directing me with the nozzle of the weapon.
I nodded, stepping through the automatic front doors.
The building’s interior felt like any other corporate hellhole. A large lobby with a twenty-foot-high ceiling, soulless branding on the far wall, and suited workers strolling past the front desk. It was a bland front, but one that worked perfectly. The business might as well have been an insignificant Wall Street hedge fund. It was an aesthetic too dull to warrant even a second glance from any outsider.
Nothing to see here, The décor said. Move along.
The two captors led me to the lifts, and I caught the gaze of the occasional wide-eyed worker — seemingly terrified to see a gun-wielding security guard. Some employees must have been oblivious to the awful depths of Dozen Minus.
“Floor B13,” The armed guard said, as we entered the lift.
“Clearance required,” A robotic voice answered.
“Liam Henley,” He replied.
A pause.
“Accepted,” The robotic voice said.
The lift doors closed, and we descended into the building’s undercarriage.
“No questions, Foster?” The second guard asked me, raising an eyebrow.
“Quiet, Shaw,” Henley barked.
“Are they alive?” I asked.
Neither guard replied. Henley simply eyed me in the pearlescent surface of the lift doors, his multi-coloured reflection surreally vicious and visceral.
The lift doors opened after ten lifetimes, and we walked into an obscenely-spacious underground city. Floor B13 had a ceiling that must’ve been a hundred metres above our heads.
“Kane Foster,” A voice boomed. “Is that right?”
I twisted my head to the left, and my eyes met those of a large man. Broad in stature, but not rotund. He had a presence. A physicality that was beyond toughness. The figure seemed unnatural. Brutish in a way one could hardly call human. He was accompanied by several guards in the same uniforms as Henley and Shaw.
“I’ll take that,” The man said, snatching my weapon from Henley.
“Where are they?” I immediately barked.
He smiled. “Introductions, Kane. My name is Stefan Blom, and I am the director of Dozen Minus. A government-funded agency that, unlike you, has legal jurisdiction in the other reality.”
“The black realm,” I said.
Blom grinned. “The black realm… Interesting. Is that what members of the Guard once called it?”
“That isn’t the proper procedure of information exchanges, Blom. I’m going to need to see my friends,” I firmly said.
The director nodded. “Yes, corporal. Of course. We are on the same side, after all. You fought for your country, and I… Well, I fight for all countries on behalf of all governments.”
“A war is not righteous because powerful men say so,” I said.
“No war is righteous, Kane Foster. And no thinking thing wants war. Not even the hell-hounds which spill through cracks in our reality. We seek the fullest lives possible, and we will do whatever we must to achieve that,” Blom said. “Right. Your friends. Come.”
Led by Stefan Blom and his guards, I passed machinery built for giants. Equipment beyond my knowledge. And I started to ponder the ways in which I would tear the Swedish director limb from limb if he were to reveal that anything had happened to my friends. However, I was baffled to find myself facing Fernsby and Benny — they were trapped in a windowed, sound-proofed room with a locked door.
“You see them, but they don't see you,” Blom explained as I hurried to the glass, pressing my hands against it. “I was never going to kill them. I’m not a cruel man, Foster. Just an ambitious one.”
I eyed the frightened woman and Labrador. “What will it take to free them?”
“You. That’s all. Slot neatly into my jigsaw, Kane Foster,” Blom said. “If you do, I can give you the world.”
The director shooed his guards away, and they uncertainly left us alone. I had no doubt that Blom could hold his own in a fist fight, but he wasn’t driven by emotion as fierce as mine.
“What jigsaw?” I asked.
“Follow me, and I’ll show you,” The director urged, motioning with his fingers as he continued walking.
I walked with the secretive man, stilling my strong desire to snap his neck. My gut was twisting — churning like butter. And my instincts were trying to tell me something. Something I didn’t understand. But the feeling was powerful enough to push me forwards. I involuntarily followed the Swedish mastermind through two metallic double doors, pulled forwards by an invisible rope.
“Do you feel it?” Blom asked, pressing his hands against a final set of doors.
Filled with trepidation, I refused to answer. I simply watched as the doorway opened.
We walked across a peach-coloured glass floor of tiles that spanned dozens and dozens of metres. The room, at first glance, was filled only with computer screens and control panels that lined the walls. But it took less than a moment for me to understand what my gut had attempted to tell me.
The tiles were not peach-coloured. They were transparent. Beneath our feet, there lay human flesh.
Not only that, but the flesh of living humans. Flesh knitted like a rich tapestry of malevolence. Hundreds upon hundreds of humans were sown together, forming a writhing sea of squirming bodies. They seemed heavily sedated. Mouths frothed, and eyes lolled listlessly, as their heads rocked and swayed. It created a tidal wave.
I finally understood the magnetised energy that had drawn Whitlock to me so many years earlier. I was connected to each of the people below my feet. The mutilated, half-conscious, half-living people.
“Splintered souls,” Director Blom confirmed.
My fists clenched, and I lurched towards the man, but he quickly back-stepped and drew my firearm.
“We didn’t know that the Order of the Guard survived,” He said, levelling the nozzle at my head. “What happened to Whitlock?”
I didn’t answer.
“Dead? I see,” The director sighed. “That wasn’t what we wanted.”
“What have you done to these people?” I asked.
The man frowned. “We weren’t going to learn about the Guard from Whitlock, and we learnt that he wasn’t the only one of his kind. We found you. Found those like you.”
“How?” I asked.
Blom smiled. “Through darkness, of course. Splintered souls are always drawn to dark things. And we developed ways of detecting it… Why do you think you first moved to that island? It’s an irresistible pull. A connection between you and the… black realm, did you call it?”
“But what do you hope to learn from them?” I breathlessly asked. “What you’ve done to them isn’t human.”
“They aren’t human, Foster… You aren’t human,” Blom said. “And it is for the greater good. The founders of the Guard knew how to banish darkness from our world… Why on Earth would they keep it a secret?”
I didn’t answer.
“You don’t know? I’ll tell you why. They did it for the same reason that any man or woman does anything. Control,” He snarled. “And I don’t begrudge your ancestors for that, Kane. I would do the same.”
“You are doing the same,” I corrected.
Blom grunted. “The Guard is dead. You are no longer the most powerful force on Earth. That is why the darkness spreads. But Dozen Minus can fill that gap. We deserve to wield that strength. We deserve to be the ones entrusted with the control of the black realm… We may even do greater things than the Guard did.”
“When men like you talk of greatness, you mean something else,” I replied.
“What do you know, footsoldier?” Blom spat. “If we truly wish to win the war, we must do more than shoo away the darkness. It always returns. We must fight. We must manipulate it. Use it for our own benefit. Create a realm twice as powerful as the black one.”
“You don’t understand what lies in that place,” I whispered. “There is no controlling it… The darkness rules all men. And it will treat you no differently.”
As the fiendish man eyeballed me, I recognised the shadowy mist in his eyes. I realised the realm had already claimed him. I had seen the reddened cloud above the Dozen Minus headquarters, just as I saw it behind his unfeeling eyes. He was innately a cruel man, of course. The black realm had not done that to him. He was a mortal abomination without empathy. But soulless husks are prime shells for beings of the black realm. Puppets who easily bend to the will of horrors.
Some other force was at play.
“I want you to teach me, Kane,” The man hissed, pointing at the fleshy sea beneath our feet. “These splintered souls hold power, but you? You understand that power. Help me to recognise the darkness…”
“If you truly wish to defeat it, then let these people go,” I said. “Let my friends go, and keep me. That is my deal.”
Blom smiled, but it was an impatient smile — I could sense the burgeoning fury itching to seep from his trembling lips.
“You are not negotiating with me, Kane Foster. Is that what you thought? No. This is about you accepting the facts of your situation. I will show you the doorway between worlds. And you will help me to coax darkness from it,” He whispered. “Three-hundred splintered souls have not baited the being, but one guard of Earth? You will suffice. I feel it already. Do you? It hungers for you, Kane. It will emerge when it sees your face… And then we will capture it.”
“You’re wrong, Blom,” I cautioned, shaking my head. “Give me the gun, and let me handle this. You don't have any power over that realm.”
The director’s finger furiously tightened on the trigger. “You truly are a member of the Guard, aren’t you, Kane Foster? Clinging to the final strand of a dead cult’s control. But you will be the last guard, Kane Foster. And when you’ve given me what I want, you will join the souls below.”
A scream sounded from the room beyond the chamber of splintered souls. A piercing sound that coursed through my veins, tearing my very sense of self in two. I knew the voice. Knew the cry of pain.
It was Evie.
Blom nodded his head, smiling as he began to walk across the room. And I found myself following. It may have been that instinctive pull. It may simply have been my determination to find Evie.
“What does it say to you, Kane?” Blom asked, no longer bothering to aim the weapon at my face. “It says such beautiful things to me. It foolishly tells me how to defeat it… You, Kane. That’s all it wants. You.”
The doors opened without Blom raising a finger. Prized apart by some external, non-physical force. And we entered a final room, far bigger than any of the others. It was a room of dirt, rocks, and darkness — encaged by tall walls, and filled with dozens of scientists. As we walked inside, I knew the entire building must’ve been built around the anomaly in the centre. An unnatural emergence that had likely driven Dozen Minus to claim the land around it.
A gaping wound in the wall between worlds.
The blackened hole was fifty metres in diameter, hovering above the ground. It vibrated with a frequency I did not understand, even with the Oath’s insight. I had witnessed horrors beyond imagination for three years of my life, but I had never seen the doorways through which they came. It was a window into a realm that had no earthly business existing.
“We wanted to disturb the ground as little as possible,” The director explained.
“You shouldn’t have toyed with this, Blom,” I warned.
“It senses you, Kane… It is glad I brought you here… And soon, we’ll have it in our grasp,” Blom whispered, leading me through a crowd of silent scientists who watched with twisting heads.
“What do you mean, Blom?” I asked, numbly walking forwards. “What’s in there?”
“Don’t worry,” He said, ignoring my question. “I will free the woman and the dog. But you will soon join the others, and I will finally take the reins to the black realm. I will rule the–”
A deep bellow interrupted the director. The scientists started murmuring in panic, as if the frightening sound had finally awoken what little humanity remained in their brainwashed hearts.
“He is here!” Blom cackled jubilantly.
The bellow morphed into a high-pitched whine, returning to that piercing scream. My wife’s scream. A sound of such ferocity that everybody in the room winced in pain.
“Kane…” Evie’s voice shrieked. “You let me die, Kane… You are no man…”
I shook uncontrollably, unable to silence her voice, even with hands pressed firmly against my ears.
“They gave me all I ever wanted… Gave me what you did not give… I am happy here…” She hissed, unleashing a gust of wind that knocked dozens of people to the floor.
The computer screens darkened. The building’s power had been obliterated by an enormous wave of motion. And, fully untethered from a long trance, the Dozen Minus workers began to run towards the doors. But their joined revelation came far too late.
Black spirals of matter, or some otherworldly substance from the black realm, fired towards the fleeing scientists, coiling around their bodies and flinging them into the hovering doorway.
I didn’t hesitate. I lunged towards Stefan Blom, who simply lay on the floor, simultaneously marvelling at the vicious hole and fearing it. He barely flinched when I plucked my firearm from his loose grip and levelled it at his head.
“So beautiful…” He whispered.
I aimed my pistol at his transfixed body. But he didn’t show interest in me. He simply watched the doorway’s dark arms sweeping screaming scientists from the ground. In my moment of distraction, I saw one of the creature’s hopeful appendages detect me. It spiralled through the air like a growing strand of DNA.
Reflexively, I raised my weapon and shot the demonic being. The cobalt seared the black realm’s limb, and the entire doorway recoiled in agony, shrinking ever-so-slightly.
“No!” Blom screamed, the pitch of his voice matching that of the screeching abyss.
And then a droplet of blackness fell, like a speck of blood, from the retreating limb. As it hit the ground, it blossomed into a fully-formed person.
Evie.
“Kane… Stop… Please…” She whispered. “Don’t hurt my home. Come with me.”
I shook my head, shakily aiming the firearm at my undead wife — the thing pretending to be my undead wife. Tears filled my eye sockets, blurring my vision.
“You’re not her…” I whispered hoarsely.
“I am her…” She whispered, outstretching a hand with a tantalising smile on her face — a smile so nearly like the one I used to know. “Just take my hand, Kane… Please…”
I hesitantly started to press the trigger, and Evie moved at a speed faster than I could process. Her form morphed, and she became an ungodly being. Taller than the doorway which floated behind her form. She loomed over me with a body constructed of jutting flesh, like the bark of a burnt oak tree. And her pupils blazed like stars from a universe that fostered death, not life.
The giant pursed its lips and exhaled, expelling a wind that swam not with locusts or other biblical visions of the apocalypse, but needles. Thousands of slender, metallic needles, approaching at great speed.
Shielding myself with my thick trench coat, I turned on my heel and pounced to the ground, dropping my weapon as I did so. I could feel the many pangs of minuscule blades slicing into my back, and I realised I was only saved from certain death by my thick clothing. But I still bled profusely — I could feel the dampness of my stinging skin.
The needles, propelled by some inhuman force, glued me to the ground. In a desperate bid to defeat the evil, I futilely reached for the weapon just beyond my fingertips. Against the wall of the room, I saw the shadow of the unholy demon which was towering behind me. An ever-growing spectre that took measured steps towards my floored body.
“And with your death, we shall have this world,” A voice of inhuman timbre hissed.
My face was slowly buried into the dirt by needles. And a vaguely human shadow lengthened along the wall as the creature neared me — a thing twenty or thirty times my size and a thousand times my strength. I could feel breath, neither hot nor cold, against the nape of my neck as the thing, neither living nor dead, leaned closer. It was basking in the pleasure of playing with its meal.
“I will take–”
A single gunshot silenced it.
The horrifying thing hissed in fury, and I felt the needles loosen from my coat. As my face lifted from the dirt, I caught a glimpse of a familiar sight, confirmed by rapid, padding footsteps. A flash of golden fur obscured my vision as a shape flitted above me. What followed was another piercing wail of agony from the blackened realm.
The needles finally clattered to the floor, fully releasing me, and I jumped to my feet. Lucinda Fernsby stood in the open doorway. Her gun was in hand. And when I turned my head to face the doorway to the black realm, I saw Benny standing between me and the deformed, deteriorating version of Evie Foster. Her bark-like flesh rapidly disintegrated into the shrinking, sealing abyss. The darkness retreated to the blackened realm, desperate to escape the cobalt-plated canines of the growling Labrador.
We watched as the being vanished into the doorway, which finally sealed with an explosion of silence. Not a peep. Its disappearance was as subtle and unsettling as the appearance of dark things in our realm.
“Let’s go!” Fernsby cried.
There would be time to lovingly reunite with my dear friends later. We returned to the chamber of splintered souls, and I fired several rounds at consoles. Sparks flew into the air, and the sound of dying machinery filled me with joy. The writhing bodies beneath us started to slow.
“We have to free them!” I yelled.
Fernsby stopped in her tracks, turning to me with round eyes. “KANE!”
I looked behind me to see what had caught her attention.
In the entrance to the room of the closed doorway, a hobbling, bleeding, rage-fuelled Stefan Blom stood.
“You will suffer as I have suffered, Kane Foster,” He snarled, limping to a surviving console and grabbing a microphone. “19874-11. Activate cleansing.”
“Director Stefan Blom confirmed. Cleansing authorised,” An artificial voice announced.
In a deplorable display, flames enveloped the souls below the glass tiles. Their bodies began to squirm again. Silently — as if they were aware of their deaths, but too psychologically and physically bludgeoned to do a darn thing about it. They simply moved as one united, sewn mattress of skin. Soundlessly burning alive, but also painfully.
“No!” I screamed.
Fernsby started to drag me towards the exit, and Benny followed.
The glass floor cracked, and fire escaped upwards, consuming the room. The inferno illuminated the deranged, grinning face of Stefan Blom at the far side of the room. But my friend pulled me through the doors, and we ran through the facility. I found my legs moving of their own accord, and my gun firing at Dozen Minus soldiers without me consciously pulling the trigger.
I only regained some semblance of consciousness hours later. I suddenly became aware of the road running past us. Fernsby in the driver’s seat of my Ford Ranger. Benny sitting in the footwell, chin resting on my lap.
“He killed them all…” I whispered.
“I know, Kane,” Fernsby replied softly.
But my response surprised the two of us.
“You were right,” I told her. “You saved me again. You and Benny. Two non-splintered souls.”
Fernsby smiled and nodded. “It doesn’t take a miracle to kill darkness, Kane. It takes courage. Sacrifice.”
I will likely die as the last human with this gift, but not all is lost. We do not need splintered souls to push the darkness back to the realm beyond our world. We just need those who are willing to face it.
We are the last guards of Earth.
dominiceagle

imo brecilien cape needs rework. it doesnt synergize wel with like 90% of the helmets.
Hunter hood → you get a bonus shield and dont use defensives
Guardian helmet → again you have a shield + an extra shield?
soldier helmet/cleric cowl → even worse
cultist cowl → you force your enemy to not hit anyway. why need a shield
merc hood → you lower their attack stats wel ye gear to have a shield then
royal helmet → they are stunned
demon helmet → theyr silenced so they cant deal that much dmg anyway
cleanse → wel you get anti stuns while you just did anti stun
boop → you knock em away, would be great to have shield while they arent near you, /s
helmet of valofiend cowl → you purge their buffs so they deal less dmg (situational, since if you cleanse boots its nice)
Hellion hood → you stealth yourself
Almost any pvp helmet doesnt synergize with brec cape (except for purity cowl/specter hood)

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I’m really curious, I am just finishing up my first course on a 4 hedle loom and moving on to my second class. I’m planning my first big project and I am struck by the lack of variety in yarn outside of 8/2 weight and lighter weight. Maybe I’m spoilt coming from knitting and spinning but the monopoly mayville and brassard seem to have is buck wild to me. I’m curious is this just my perception or if I’m missing something. What is everyone’s favorite “fatter” yarns to weave with?

I basically have everything planned out already but still a gigantic work in progress, not super fleshed out and way too focused on world building so, I'm simply going to copy my rough draft here 😬 :
In the depths of Altar's Forest, two scouts walked, their hushed snickering echoing among the ancient trees.
"Who exactly are we looking for again?" the younger scout, Darak, asked with a smirk. "The king's brother? I don't get it. Isn't he a Lysandric descendant? Can't he locate him immediately?"
The other scout, grizzled and scarred from battles long past, shook his head slowly. "No. This one's smart. He knows the extent of Lysandric capabilities—where they begin and where they end. He’s far beyond Mittfolde. Likely at the edge of Angeltwine."
Darak looked back, a frown creasing his forehead. "Probably? You mean we don’t even know for sure?"
"This man rode with the king once. He and his brothers were valiant, honorable, and skillful warriors. What do you think will happen if we cross his path? We are to remain out of sight and not engage."
Darak scoffed, arrogance lacing his voice. "Please, I’m sure he’s not that tough. Those stories are from a long time ago—"
The seasoned scout cut him off sharply, pressing a dagger against Darak’s throat with lethal precision. "Now you listen to me, Darak. This is nothing like your other missions. You've been blessed with Lysandric essence—that's the only reason you're here. You can feel the ground and travel through the roots. You can see with the trees' eyes and locate those with Rift aura. You've been blessed. But Azariah, the Fallen Star, has more blessings than you."
Darak swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation sinking in as the blade's cold edge pressed against his skin.
"I’m going to retract my blade now" the scout continued, his voice a deadly whisper. "If we encounter the fugitive, you will not engage. I will not allow you to turn this mission into a suicide run."
The blade lifted, and Darak nodded, his bravado stripped away. "I’m sorry. I understand now."
The scout sheathed his curved dagger, his eyes never leaving Darak’s. "The Holy Order of Folde has marked Azariah as the one to usher in the Collapse. It’s rumored he tore open the sky ten years ago."
Darak scratched his patchy beard, sighing heavily. "I know. I remember seeing Azariah with his brothers. I was still working with my father when they were brought in. Who would've thought that they had brought in such danger..."
"I don’t believe Azariah was aware himself," the scout mused. "He was a shy boy, gifted with strange powers. But I am living proof of his might. I was General Irving of Procella, Pride’s Hand. Azariah humbled me when he took my leg, right arm, and burned half my face. I do believe he spared me. For reasons unknown..."
Irving revealed his scarred features, his blind eye glinting in the dim forest light. "One man stripped me of all titles in an instant where thousands failed in decades of war. His blackened soul snatcher, Father's Song, along with his twin daggers and shield, wielding magic from the Other Realm that he can summon and banish at will, combined with his grit, determination, and bloodthirst, I know he could have killed me. But those eyes. Those glaring white eyes... For now, the King and his armies can fend him off. But he is bound to grow stronger."
They continued their promenade, shadows lurking and drawing closer as they advanced towards Angeltwine. Darak had used an essence barrier to shield them from the Fomorlians lurking about. But the forest grew darker with every step, only the Lysandric Crystals emerging from the earth glowing faintly in the deepening gloom.
"Do you have the Adam Pass?" Irving questioned the young scout.
Darak put his hands together and separated them briefly to reveal a mark floating in midair, pulsing with his essence.
Irving nodded. "You know, Azariah is one of the few who can exit and enter Angeltwine freely. Not even the King can do so. I really do wonder about the boy sometimes. He disappeared after murdering Ezekiel, came back years later, and barely aged at all. He seemed very angry... vengeful even. I sometimes wish for a second shot at him." Energy briefly radiated around Irving, just enough for Darak to notice but purposefully ignore.
The more they advanced, the darker the forest grew. More and more crystals appeared, their luminescence intensifying with Irving’s exclamations.
Something was off, thought Darak.
Darak gazed at Irving with wild concern, sensing a madness in the old man, almost as if he longed to see Azariah again, perhaps to praise him. "Irv? What do you think of Azariah?"
Irving looked down, then up with his remaining eye, a flicker of something unspoken passing across his face. "He’s here."
Darak gasped, turning to flee, but was halted by a towering figure with long white hair, pointed elvish ears, and clear green eyes. The man loomed over Darak, who instinctively pressed his hands together to summon his essence, only for it to evaporate in an instant as the man stopped him with a mere touch of his index finger.
"Why are you here, General Irving?" Another man asked from the treetops, his voice a silken menace.
Irving laughed, discarding his robe to reveal a monstrous, bulging form. "I've come for my due, Captain. You surely owe me this!"
As the robe fell to the forest floor, Irving's body swelled grotesquely. The white-haired man grabbed Darak and leapt to a nearby tree with inhuman strength.
"Azar," he said, "Make it quick."
Azariah’s descent was as silent as death itself, his clear white eyes cold and calculating under his hood. The shadows seemingly bending around him and his Rift aura. The air grew colder, the oppressive silence of the forest intensifying.
Irving’s monstrous form shifted, muscles bulging grotesquely as he watched Azariah approach. Darak, still held in the grip of the white-haired man, trembled. His essence, once a reliable shield, had evaporated like mist before the white-haired man's touch. Could he be a guardian of Angeltwine, Darak thought.
"Azariah," Irving rumbled, his voice distorted by his transformation, "it’s been a long time. You still haven't aged, you spoiled brat!"
Azariah regarded him with a detached curiosity, as if inspecting an insect. "Irving," he replied, his voice smooth and eerily calm. "I thought I left you in a more... manageable state. You were ugly then, but now this is just embarrassing to see. You let the mages experiment on your body, didn't you? Such a proud warrior you were, now this... abomination. "
Irving chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the forest. "You owe me, Azariah. You left me with more than scars."
Azariah’s eyes flickered with a hint of something—pity, perhaps, or regret. "I left you alive. That was a gift."
Azariah's gaze shifted to the young scout. "A child of Lysandric essence, and yet you send him to his death. How very like you, Irving. It's almost nostalgic."
Darak, sensing the tension, stammered, "This man kidnapped me, I don't know where I am!"
Azariah's stern glare sent a shiver down Darak’s spine. "No need for the lies. I know exactly why this rodent is here."
With a flick of his wrist, Azariah summoned a shimmering blade from thin air. The weapon hummed with mystical energy, its edge impossibly sharp. "I have no quarrel with you, boy," he said softly.
Irving snarled, stepping forward. "Don't you dare ignore me, Azariah. Leaving me alive was an insult!"
Azariah’s eyes narrowed, the temperature plummeting further.
In a blur of motion, Azariah moved. His blade sang through the air, slicing cleanly through the monstrous figure's arm. The severed limb fell to the forest floor, blood spurting from the stump. The figure howled in pain.
Irving, clutching his wound, glared at Azariah with murderous intent. His painful scream faded, and he slowly started grinning deviously once more. The wound was already healing, and his arm was growing back.
Azariah’s expression remained impassive, as if it was expected of Irving's new body.
Half of Irving's body was gigantic, hairy, with clawed hands and feet, sharp teeth, and his blind eye had a cat-like slit. His "human" half was beginning to die. The experimentation the mages put him through and the contact with the Lysandric Crystals were igniting the transformation.
"Sil," Azar addressed the white-haired man. "I doubt he can be reasoned with any longer."
Sil, or Sylvaeth as his full name was, put another finger up and froze Darak in his place. "I believe I may be able to separate the two forms." Sylvaeth summoned a grey scepter with aura pulsating from the endpoint.
Irving's human half was beginning to cry and scream, begging for help, not wanting to die this way. The monstrous half was laughing at Irving, seemingly wishing to attack him for his pathetic demeanor.
Sil locked in and chanted in a foreign language. " Sa nayar, Ot! " and the enchantment struck Irving, pulling the two forms apart. Irving's mangled body was lunged to Azar's feet. He grabbed him and threw him to Sil. Sil grabbed Irving using his aura and brought him to the tree branch with Darak and himself.
"Now, you may dismantle the monster to your liking."
The tussle had attracted the Fomorlians, demonic creatures that lurked in the forest and fed off the Lysandric Crystals' light. They started howling and spectating the battle.
Azariah turned to face the creature that had detached from Irving. Another arm and leg grew from the remaining side. It started cracking its limbs, neck, and let out a large exhale.
"Azariah, it's a pleasure to meet you." The body started to slim down into a more athletic, feminine humanoid figure. Dark fur, clawed hands, akin to a vampiric werewolf with two faces.
"I was wondering who they had conjured up in Irving's body. Belphie, twin Goddess of the Succubi."
She let out an evil, lustful laugh. "Oh Azar, your bloodlust is making me horny."
Azariah’s white eyes glinted with a mixture of disdain and readiness. "Belphie, you're no more than an expensive whore. "
Belphie’s twin faces twisted into a mocking smile. "Come then, Fallen Star. Let us see if you can handle a goddess."
I'm at a loss

So, I'm simply going to copy my rough draft here 😬 :
In the depths of Altar's Forest, two scouts walked, their hushed snickering echoing among the ancient trees.
"Who exactly are we looking for again?" the younger scout, Darak, asked with a smirk. "The king's brother? I don't get it. Isn't he a Lysandric descendant? Can't he locate him immediately?"
The other scout, grizzled and scarred from battles long past, shook his head slowly. "No. This one's smart. He knows the extent of Lysandric capabilities—where they begin and where they end. He’s far beyond Mittfolde. Likely at the edge of Angeltwine."
Darak looked back, a frown creasing his forehead. "Probably? You mean we don’t even know for sure?"
"This man rode with the king once. He and his brothers were valiant, honorable, and skillful warriors. What do you think will happen if we cross his path? We are to remain out of sight and not engage."
Darak scoffed, arrogance lacing his voice. "Please, I’m sure he’s not that tough. Those stories are from a long time ago—"
The seasoned scout cut him off sharply, pressing a dagger against Darak’s throat with lethal precision. "Now you listen to me, Darak. This is nothing like your other missions. You've been blessed with Lysandric essence—that's the only reason you're here. You can feel the ground and travel through the roots. You can see with the trees' eyes and locate those with Rift aura. You've been blessed. But Azariah, the Fallen Star, has more blessings than you."
Darak swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation sinking in as the blade's cold edge pressed against his skin.
"I’m going to retract my blade now" the scout continued, his voice a deadly whisper. "If we encounter the fugitive, you will not engage. I will not allow you to turn this mission into a suicide run."
The blade lifted, and Darak nodded, his bravado stripped away. "I’m sorry. I understand now."
The scout sheathed his curved dagger, his eyes never leaving Darak’s. "The Holy Order of Folde has marked Azariah as the one to usher in the Collapse. It’s rumored he tore open the sky ten years ago."
Darak scratched his patchy beard, sighing heavily. "I know. I remember seeing Azariah with his brothers. I was still working with my father when they were brought in. Who would've thought that they had brought in such danger..."
"I don’t believe Azariah was aware himself," the scout mused. "He was a shy boy, gifted with strange powers. But I am living proof of his might. I was General Irving of Procella, Pride’s Hand. Azariah humbled me when he took my leg, right arm, and burned half my face. I do believe he spared me. For reasons unknown..."
Irving revealed his scarred features, his blind eye glinting in the dim forest light. "One man stripped me of all titles in an instant where thousands failed in decades of war. His blackened soul snatcher, Father's Song, along with his twin daggers and shield, wielding magic from the Other Realm that he can summon and banish at will, combined with his grit, determination, and bloodthirst, I know he could have killed me. But those eyes. Those glaring white eyes... For now, the King and his armies can fend him off. But he is bound to grow stronger."
They continued their promenade, shadows lurking and drawing closer as they advanced towards Angeltwine. Darak had used an essence barrier to shield them from the Fomorlians lurking about. But the forest grew darker with every step, only the Lysandric Crystals emerging from the earth glowing faintly in the deepening gloom.
"Do you have the Adam Pass?" Irving questioned the young scout.
Darak put his hands together and separated them briefly to reveal a mark floating in midair, pulsing with his essence.
Irving nodded. "You know, Azariah is one of the few who can exit and enter Angeltwine freely. Not even the King can do so. I really do wonder about the boy sometimes. He disappeared after murdering Ezekiel, came back years later, and barely aged at all. He seemed very angry... vengeful even. I sometimes wish for a second shot at him." Energy briefly radiated around Irving, just enough for Darak to notice but purposefully ignore.
The more they advanced, the darker the forest grew. More and more crystals appeared, their luminescence intensifying with Irving’s exclamations.
Something was off, thought Darak.
Darak gazed at Irving with wild concern, sensing a madness in the old man, almost as if he longed to see Azariah again, perhaps to praise him. "Irv? What do you think of Azariah?"
Irving looked down, then up with his remaining eye, a flicker of something unspoken passing across his face. "He’s here."
Darak gasped, turning to flee, but was halted by a towering figure with long white hair, pointed elvish ears, and clear green eyes. The man loomed over Darak, who instinctively pressed his hands together to summon his essence, only for it to evaporate in an instant as the man stopped him with a mere touch of his index finger.
"Why are you here, General Irving?" Another man asked from the treetops, his voice a silken menace.
Irving laughed, discarding his robe to reveal a monstrous, bulging form. "I've come for my due, Captain. You surely owe me this!"
As the robe fell to the forest floor, Irving's body swelled grotesquely. The white-haired man grabbed Darak and leapt to a nearby tree with inhuman strength.
"Azar," he said, "Make it quick."
Azariah’s descent was as silent as death itself, his clear white eyes cold and calculating under his hood. The shadows seemingly bending around him and his Rift aura. The air grew colder, the oppressive silence of the forest intensifying.
Irving’s monstrous form shifted, muscles bulging grotesquely as he watched Azariah approach. Darak, still held in the grip of the white-haired man, trembled. His essence, once a reliable shield, had evaporated like mist before the white-haired man's touch. Could he be a guardian of Angeltwine, Darak thought.
"Azariah," Irving rumbled, his voice distorted by his transformation, "it’s been a long time. You still haven't aged, you spoiled brat!"
Azariah regarded him with a detached curiosity, as if inspecting an insect. "Irving," he replied, his voice smooth and eerily calm. "I thought I left you in a more... manageable state. You were ugly then, but now this is just embarrassing to see. You let the mages experiment on your body, didn't you? Such a proud warrior you were, now this... abomination. "
Irving chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the forest. "You owe me, Azariah. You left me with more than scars."
Azariah’s eyes flickered with a hint of something—pity, perhaps, or regret. "I left you alive. That was a gift."
Azariah's gaze shifted to the young scout. "A child of Lysandric essence, and yet you send him to his death. How very like you, Irving. It's almost nostalgic."
Darak, sensing the tension, stammered, "This man kidnapped me, I don't know where I am!"
Azariah's stern glare sent a shiver down Darak’s spine. "No need for the lies. I know exactly why this rodent is here."
With a flick of his wrist, Azariah summoned a shimmering blade from thin air. The weapon hummed with mystical energy, its edge impossibly sharp. "I have no quarrel with you, boy," he said softly.
Irving snarled, stepping forward. "Don't you dare ignore me, Azariah. Leaving me alive was an insult!"
Azariah’s eyes narrowed, the temperature plummeting further.
In a blur of motion, Azariah moved. His blade sang through the air, slicing cleanly through the monstrous figure's arm. The severed limb fell to the forest floor, blood spurting from the stump. The figure howled in pain.
Irving, clutching his wound, glared at Azariah with murderous intent. His painful scream faded, and he slowly started grinning deviously once more. The wound was already healing, and his arm was growing back.
Azariah’s expression remained impassive, as if it was expected of Irving's new body.
Half of Irving's body was gigantic, hairy, with clawed hands and feet, sharp teeth, and his blind eye had a cat-like slit. His "human" half was beginning to die. The experimentation the mages put him through and the contact with the Lysandric Crystals were igniting the transformation.
"Sil," Azar addressed the white-haired man. "I doubt he can be reasoned with any longer."
Sil, or Sylvaeth as his full name was, put another finger up and froze Darak in his place. "I believe I may be able to separate the two forms." Sylvaeth summoned a grey scepter with aura pulsating from the endpoint.
Irving's human half was beginning to cry and scream, begging for help, not wanting to die this way. The monstrous half was laughing at Irving, seemingly wishing to attack him for his pathetic demeanor.
Sil locked in and chanted in a foreign language. " Sa nayar, Ot! " and the enchantment struck Irving, pulling the two forms apart. Irving's mangled body was lunged to Azar's feet. He grabbed him and threw him to Sil. Sil grabbed Irving using his aura and brought him to the tree branch with Darak and himself.
"Now, you may dismantle the monster to your liking."
The tussle had attracted the Fomorlians, demonic creatures that lurked in the forest and fed off the Lysandric Crystals' light. They started howling and spectating the battle.
Azariah turned to face the creature that had detached from Irving. Another arm and leg grew from the remaining side. It started cracking its limbs, neck, and let out a large exhale.
"Azariah, it's a pleasure to meet you." The body started to slim down into a more athletic, feminine humanoid figure. Dark fur, clawed hands, akin to a vampiric werewolf with two faces.
"I was wondering who they had conjured up in Irving's body. Belphie, twin Goddess of the Succubi."
She let out an evil, lustful laugh. "Oh Azar, your bloodlust is making me horny."
Azariah’s white eyes glinted with a mixture of disdain and readiness. "Belphie, you're no more than an expensive whore. "
Belphie’s twin faces twisted into a mocking smile. "Come then, Fallen Star. Let us see if you can handle a goddess."
I'm at a loss, feel free to comment or DM

Chapter 5
The days that followed passed in a blood-soaked haze for Aria. The Curse of the Crimson Abyss had sunk its barbed hooks deep into her mind, her soul, until she could no longer distinguish her own thoughts from the whispering hunger of Khor'zul.
She moved through the crumbling streets of Ravensgate like a wraith, cloaked in shadow and reeking of the grave. The Mark of the Maw throbbed on her chest, a live coal embedded in her flesh. It pulsed in time with the dark rites and blood offerings of the cult, each fresh sacrifice sending a shuddering wave of ecstasy and revulsion through Aria's branded soul.
She knew, with a numb sort of horror, that the cult was preparing for something... something immense and terrible. A ritual that would rend the very fabric of reality, allowing the full might of the Blood Pits to come pouring into the mortal world in a deluge of carnage and madness.
And Aria, the Chosen of Khor'zul, would be the vector for this annihilation.
She tried to fight it, in those rare moments of lucidity when the blood-fog lifted from her mind. She clawed at the Mark, until her nails cracked and her flesh was slick with her own blood. She whispered desperate prayers to gods she had long ago abandoned, begging for deliverance, for absolution.
But it was no use. The Curse was too strong, Khor'zul's hold on her too complete. She was a puppet dancing on strings of blood and shadow, and her every twitch and shudder only drew the moment of the final ritual closer.
Aria's only solace, bitter and tainted though it was, lay in the fact that she would not face this descent into damnation alone. For Liam, her once-dearest friend, had been appointed as her guardian, her gaoler. He was to prepare her, body and mind, for her role in the great rite.
Under his watchful eye, Aria was bathed in the blood of innocents, anointed with the ashes of desecrated graves. She was forced to consume the flesh of the sacrificed, to drink deep of the ichor that pulsed in Khor'zul's veins. With each dark sacrament, she felt herself slipping further and further from the light, sinking ever deeper into the crimson abyss that yawned within her.
And yet, even in the depths of her debasement, Aria clung to a single, stubborn shard of hope. For she had seen, in the moments when Liam thought her insensate with the blood-trance, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. A hesitation, a tremor in his hands as he painted the glyphs of sacrifice upon her skin.
It was a slender thread, gossamer-thin and stained with the blood of betrayal. But it was all Aria had left. And so, in the depths of her hellish metamorphosis, she nurtured that thread, fed it with whispers and glimpses of the boy Liam had once been. The friend who had shared his secrets and dreams with her, who had wept on her shoulder when his father passed, who had sworn, with all the fierce conviction of youth, that he would always stand by her side.
Aria prayed, to whatever dark gods might be listening, that somewhere within the blood-soaked husk Liam had become, some ember of that boy still lived. For if she could kindle that ember, fan it to life with the breath of their shared past... then perhaps, just perhaps, she might have a chance of breaking free.
Before the Crimson Abyss claimed her, and the world, forever.
Chapter 6 - Preparing for the Ritual
The night of the final ritual arrived, cloaked in a miasma of dread and anticipation. Aria, her body anointed and her mind drowning in the blood-trance, was led by a procession of chanting cultists into the heart of the Great Mausoleum at the center of Greyman's Hollow.
This ancient place, with its soaring vaults and shadow-draped crypts, had long pulsed with a power both eldritch and malevolent to those with eyes to see. It was here, the whispers said, that the veil between worlds grew thin, where the Blood Pits pressed close against the skin of reality, yearning to break through in a gout of carnage.
And tonight, with the crimson moon hanging swollen and gibbous in the sky, that thinning would reach its apex. The Crimson Abyss would place its chosen vessel, pour the essence of its dread lord into mortal flesh to walk the earth and drown the world in a libation of blood to slake a dark god's thirst.
Aria, numb and detached, barely registered the journey through the labyrinthine crypts. Her blood-painted skin seemed to hum and throb to the tempo of the cultists' chant, an atonal droning that reverberated in her hollowed marrow, her curse-scarred soul. She was vaguely aware of Liam's presence at her side, his hand on her elbow both guide and gaoler.
The procession wound ever downward, into the stygian depths where the bones of centuries slumbered in their stone wombs. The air grew thick and stifling, reeking of must and moldering parchment and the copper tang of ancient blood. They passed through vaults where the cracked shelves slouched beneath the weight of grimoires bound in human skin, where shriveled relics pulsed with a phosphor glow in bell jars filmed with grave-dust.
And then, at last, they emerged into a cavernous chamber that Aria knew, with a dull, dream-like horror, would be the site of the ritual. Of her dark apotheosis.
The crypt was a shadowed, vaulted expanse, its crumbling walls carved with writhing bas-reliefs depicting scenes of slaughter and debasement, of figures both human and horribly other locked in a savage bacchanal of blood-drenched ecstasy. At the chamber's heart squatted a massive stone sarcophagus, its lid graven with a figure that made Aria's curse-addled mind recoil. It was a hulking, anthropoid shape, but horribly elongated, with far too many limbs that jutted at twisted angles. A gaping, fang-filled maw split the figure's head like an axe-wound, and where eyes should have been, only dark, weeping sockets stared out from the pitted stone.
It was Khor'zul, ancient and implacable, the Blood God of the Crimson Abyss. And tonight, Aria would take the eldritch essence of this horror into herself, become one with the devouring dark.
The cultists formed a circle around the sarcophagus, their painted faces skull-like in the guttering light of their blood-hued candles. They swayed and droned, the air shivering with the eldritch resonance of their chant.
And then, like a nightmare made flesh, the avatar emerged from the curdled shadows. Robed and cowled, with only the crimson gleam of its eyes hinting at the horror that pulsed beneath its dark vestments. In one gnarled hand, it clutched a blade of pitted black stone that seemed to devour the light, leaving only a wound-like afterimage pulsing in the gloom.
"The hour is come," the avatar intoned, its voice a razor-edged whisper that sliced into Aria's mind, drew beads of icy sweat from her curse-branded flesh. "The Crimson Moon hangs gravid and sanguine, ready to birth a new era of blood and shadow. And the vessel, anointed and athirst, shall drink deep of the Abyssal Ichor and open the way for He Who Devours."
The avatar's cowled head swiveled toward Aria, pinning her with that daemon-bright gaze. "Step forward, Chosen of Khor'zul. Bare your breast to the altar-blade, let the Sanguine Scion take root in your hollowed flesh."
Aria, her will subsumed beneath the curse-spawned tide of blood-rapture, found herself moving forward as if in a dream, her bare feet whispering against the clammy, lichen-crusted flagstones. The circle of chanters parted to let her pass, their voices rising in a shuddering crescendo.
She reached the sarcophagus, the stone lip cold and rough beneath her palms as she braced herself against it. In the polished obsidian of the altar-blade, she glimpsed her reflection - skin pale as parchment, eyes pits of shadow, the Mark of the Maw livid and pulsing on her breast.
Then the avatar loomed over her, the blade poised above her heart like the fang of some colossal viper. The chanting spiraled higher, an atonal shriek that flayed the air, and Aria found herself slipping away, the curse greedily dragging her down into a yawning abyss where crimson tides pounded against shoals of shattered souls...
Aria felt the black kiss of the blade on her flesh, a cold so intense it burned. Felt her blood welling up to anoint the altar-stone. The chant hammered the air, the avatar's eyes blazed like the pits of hell, and Aria surrendered herself to the ravening dark--
A voice. Cutting through the sanguine din like a shaft of light piercing the Stygian gloom. A voice achingly familiar, and echoing with a desperate, defiant humanity.
"No!" Liam cried. "Aria, Aria, come back... this isn't you, this isn't us