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Mike marveled at the beauty of the inner city. He was familiar with Kael architecture and had even seen some up close at the university, but it was far grander here than on Earth, and it was far grander in person than in the videos and pictures he'd seen. The buildings were a hybrid of Gothic and expressionist architecture built with classical aesthetics.
Mosaics, statues, and murals were everywhere, but despite the grand buildings and beautiful decorations, Mike couldn’t keep his eyes off the ground. Even the streets are beautiful.
The ground he and Dreki walked was like a freshly cooled lava flow paved by slates of colored glass that softly glowed in the dimming light of the evening sun.
As they walked, Mike was woken from his trance by the scent of meat cooking.
Dreki smiled and said, “Smells good. You hungry?”
Mike nodded.
Dreki grinned and led Mike around the corner to a food cart. Mike salivated as the flames licked and sputtered at fat dripping from hunks of what looked like octopus turning on spits. The aroma of meat and spices was intoxicating. Dreki ordered them octopus skewers. As he handed Mike his skewer, Dreki said, “You’re never going to be able to eat earth octopus again.”
Mike chuckled. “I’ve never had it in the first place; I grew up in the mountains thousands of miles from the ocean.”
Dreki looked incredulous. “Did you not have rivers?”
Mike shrugged his shoulders, “Not with octopi.”
Dreki raised his free hand in exasperation. “Whatever. Either way, you’ll be disappointed by the rubbery trash humans call an octopus after eating this.”
Mike took a bite of the meat and groaned in pleasure. It tasted like a beefier version of bacon. Mike wolfed down his skewer in the blink of an eye and exclaimed, “That was fucking good!”
Dreki gave him a “Mhhhmh” with his still mouth full.
Dreki finished his food and led Mike off the main road onto a footpath flanked by wispy trees with dark blue leaves.
Eventually, the pair entered the back garden of a building that looked like a melted cathedral. Dreki led him through an open gate into a well-lit waiting room and held out his arm. “Hand me your bag; I’ll take it to your room. I’ll come get you after.”
Mike slipped his bag from his shoulders and handed it to Dreki. As the herculean Kael was leaving, he turned and said, “Try not to scream when they brand you; it’s an ill omen.”
Mike drummed his fingers on the armrests of the chair in the sea foam green waiting room, which was decorated with pictures of duels and exotic plants in white and blue ceramic pots. He was pretty sure that more than one of the photographs was of Dreki’s father.
Mike was anxious. Getting branded would suck, and getting an AR implant would involve someone sticking a drill through his skull. And without his gargantuan minder, Mike felt almost naked. He knew that he would probably be fine, but this was the home of the enemy. Without any weapons, he stood little chance against any Kael worth their salt in a fight.
Mike chided himself for the thought. Why does everything have to revolve around violence? Is there no world where you can just get along with them?
Mike frowned. No. I hate them. Despite his barely contained rage, Mike felt nauseous as blood-soaked memories bombarded his mind.
He doubted that he could kill again, even if it meant dying.
Dreki’s not so bad; maybe out here, more of them are like him than Ocidea.
Mike’s melancholy was interrupted when the tall door at the far end of the room opened. A short, for a Kaelman, nurse wearing pea green scrubs walked out, locked eyes with him, and shouted, “Mike Anderson!”
Mike followed the short Kael nurse into a cream-colored operating room. In the center an instrument table hovered next to an operating table. Besides the operating table stood a middle-aged Kael with tusks intricately inlaid with silver in triangular patterns. His white lab coat had Chief Surgeon Athocill emblazoned over the right breast pocket.
The Chief Surgeon stared off into space, engrossed in AR. The nurse who brought him in pointed to the operating table. Mike sat down.
A slender Kaelwoman in scrubs and a lab coat identifying her as the assistant surgeon walked in and started arranging the tools.
She glanced at Mike and said, “Take off your shirt.”
Mike pulled the black T-shirt he was wearing over his head and set it on the table next to him.
Without looking away from his work, the Chief Surgeon tossed Mike a leather strap and said, “Brand him.”
The short nurse pulled a heat stamp from its case and rolled the numbers to their correct positions. Mike put the leather strap in his mouth and grabbed onto the table.
Dreki’s warning rang through his head*.*
The Nurse carefully placed the print plate just below Mike’s collarbone and pushed it down. The heat stamp's coils flashed white. Mike bit down on the leather strap as hard as he could, and his knuckles popped as he gripped the edges of the operating table as hard as he could. Tendrils of smoke billowed off Mike’s chest as his flesh was seared, and the acrid smell of burnt hair and torched flesh wafted through the room.
Mike stifled a groan as the nurse peeled the superheated steel off his chest. The Nurse set the smoking stamp back in its case to cool and picked up a small jar of viscous blue fluid and a brush. The nurse opened the jar, dipped the brush in the blue goop, and painted it over Mike’s still-smoking burn. Mike jolted at the freezing touch of the brush. His ribs and abdomen rose and fell rapidly as he took short, shallow breaths as the freezing cold shocked his nervous system.
The nurse put the brush away and closed the jar. “Done”
Mike let the leather strap drop from his mouth and put on a straight face as he externally disguised the pain. Showing weakness was not an option, even if every fiber of his being commanded him to scream.
The assistant took hold of Mike’s arm and spoke. “Make a fist and squeeze.”
Mike did as she asked. It was a good distraction from the pain. His knuckles turned white, and the veins in his forearm bulged after a few seconds of pressure.
“You’ll feel a tiny pinch.”
The assistant jabbed the needle into the crook of his arm.
Mike’s head immediately felt heavy, and his whole body tingled. He tried to stay upright, to no avail. His vision grayed out as his head plopped onto the table with a thud.
The surgeon looked to his assistant and asked, “Is he out?”
“Yes.” She answered.
“Let us begin.”
The assistant used a small metal tool to pull Mike's right eyelid open. The chief surgeon plunged a gold needle into the depths of Mike’s right eye.
The surgeon carefully pulled the needle from the human’s eye and set the syringe back down on the floating instrument table.
“Targeting chip in place. Next stage.”
The nurse began rummaging around a drawer in the back of the room, and the chief surgeon plucked a gleaming silver drill from the instrument table.
The drill in the surgeon's hand whirred as he plunged it into Mike’s skull. After just a few seconds, the drill bored through Mike's skull. The surgeon pulled the drill out of the human's head and angled the bit down into a small metal dish that was in the extended arms of the assistant. The chief surgeon hit a button on the drill with his thumb.
A bloody, dime-sized piece of Mike’s skull dropped to the bottom of the metal dish with a clang.
He set the drill back down on the instrument table and held out his hand. “Drone.”
The nurse put an insect-like metal contraption that resembled a whip scorpion in the surgeon’s hand. The chief surgeon's eyes glazed as he entered his AR and took control of the drone. It popped out of his hand and burrowed itself into the hole in Mike's skull.
Inside his AR, he brought the drone to the occipital lobe of Mike’s brain.
“Deploying lattice.”
The arachnid-like drone injected small metal spikes with spools of minuscule wire attached—anchor points—into Mike’s brain. After just a minute's work, the surgeon had crafted a web of wires across Mike's brain. He brought the drone back to the center of Mike’s brain and planted one final anchor spike. A reel inside one of the claw-like appendages at the front of the drone spun, cinching the lattice of wires down to the last anchor point. The surgeon brought the drone around again, ensuring that the web of copper was completely taught against the human’s brain. He brought the drone back out and smiled ever so slightly as the blood and cerebrospinal fluid-soaked drone hopped back into his gloved hand.
Chief Surgeon Athocill smiled and jovially said, “Patch him up.” He was pleased with his performance today. This was the first human to get an advanced AR package, and the procedure went flawlessly. The assistant grabbed a quarter-sized piece of flesh-colored putty and carefully placed the small piece of skull onto it. She placed the putty over the hole in Mike’s head, and it took to life, bonding the fragment of bone back into place and sealing the surface wound.
The surgeon removed his gloves and began typing on a holoprojection. “All systems are operational. I’m linking him to the military network now.”
The assistant pulled the instrument table to her side and plucked a syringe filled with neon green fluid. She said, “I’m waking him up now,” as she plunged the needle into Mike’s arm.
Mike’s eyes flew open, and he grit his teeth against the pain. Tears seeped from his stinging and blood-filling right eye. Every heartbeat brought a jolt of crippling pain to his head. And worst of all was the searing pain from the brand on his chest and the aching cold that barely disguised it. Mike sat up with a grunt. Pain shot through his chest when he brought his hand to his head and felt the hardened disc of putty on his temple.
The surgeon addressed Mike with a soothing tone. “On the count of three, I’m going to activate your AR. It will feel like your head is on fire for a few seconds, but it will only last a few seconds. One… Two… Three!”
Mike nearly collapsed with the pain, but he managed to limit his response to a grunt. Light flashed before his eyes, and Kaelic text appeared in the center of his vision. The doctor asked, “What do you see.”
Mike answered, “AR active. And below that, it says setup wizard.” Despite his best efforts, pain was evident in his voice.
“Ok, Mike, I want you to think, ‘open setup wizard.’”
Mike blinked a few times. “Nothing happened.”
The surgeon said, “Think it in Kaelic.”
Mike’s brow furrowed in concentration. He was fluent in Kaelic, but not to the point where he could think in the language at will.
“Ok, I got it. It says setting menu at the top, and there are a ton of things here. Do you want me to read them off?”
“No. Can you scroll down?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You should be able to get the hang of this pretty quickly; it's very intuitive. You’ll see that there are a few HUD profiles that you can pick from. I’d recommend you start from profile two and then customize it as you see fit.”
Mike nodded as he selected profile two.
“OK, now think clear.”
Mike did as the surgeon asked. His vision was now cleared.
The surgeon smiled. “Feel free to fiddle with the settings, just think clear if it gets cluttered, and reset if you make a dog’s breakfast of it. You’ll have a headache for the next few days, and you may start having more vivid dreams, but other than that, you’ll barely notice the change. Just take it easy for the next few days, and don’t itch at your brand or your eye.”

I'm running two different CoS campaigns. I've had two successive near-TPKs at the Wizard of Wines. I don't see Argynvostholt being easier, nor Berez, and they can't get into Krezk. That leaves killing the Hags (doable, but they don't have a reason to go there - should I have given one?), farming Werewolves (which is a non-starter), massacring Vistani with van Richten (which... I could see them doing, but logically Strahd would kick their asses for trying it), going murderhobo, and infiltrating Strahd's castle for experience/loot. Neither party opted to do the last thing, which I think was smart.
These are 5-6 man parties, level four (in one case because they skipped about half of Vallaki, in the other because six people just don't get enough experience to hit 5 before going there), not completely stupid people. They get overwhelmed by the hordes of Needle Blights and Druids trying to take the encounter outside.
Should I ignore the bit about reinforcements leaving the building? Or, should I have had the one Druid with the Gulthias Staff do something other than what the book says (hide, run away when cornered)? Is that common knowledge? I just don't see how this (35 Needle Blights, 24 Twig Blights, 2 Vine Blights, 3 Druids) is a realistic fight, even spread across four waves with two rounds of lead-time before the Needle Blights take action.

(Hi! This is the first time I've posted a long text about the society of keys. I hope you like it. It about Edward and Erin. I know long texts don't usually work here. But I made this from the heart and I wanted to share it with you. Without further ado, let's get started!)
Out of Continuity: Lair of the Society of Keys
The basement/clinic was completely silent, only disturbed by the occasional beeping of one of the Medical Teams. Suddenly the 5 members of the society entered, all carrying Erin, who was in a very weak state of health, black marks came out of her mouth, and spread across her skin.
Elizabeth: Leave her on the bed, carefully…
They gently placed her on her bed, while they hooked her up to monitors to view her vital signs. Which were at worryingly low levels. The 5 members left all their keys on top of Edward's desk. Next to a small black device similar to a wristwatch.
Eechiro: Damn, what did they inject herwith?
Eric: No idea, that guy came out of nowhere, although he left this syringe behind.
Elizabeth: We have more important issues right now. Her signs are stable but they are declining at a worrying speed, we have to find a way to cure her...
Edward moves away a little to lean against one of the laboratory counters. His mind was still racing, Erin's voice began to hit his psyche. Repeating her name over and over again. Until his mind decided to take him to THAT night. He could feel like Erin was hugging him...
"Please…"
His pupils shrank, turning into small black dots. His arms had the reflex of trying to hug the air in front of him. The only thing that could bring him back to reality was Eechiro's clicking noises. Which was in front of him, trying to get his attention, while he repeated his name.
“Edward! Edward! Richter!” Eechiro gave up and returned to the rest of the society, who were surrounding Erin “Nothing! "He's like in Shock, I can't get him out of there!"
Edelgard: “Leave it, we have to do something soon! If we don't find a way to cure her, she's going to die."
Those last words gave Edward the boost he needed, without saying a single word. He approached his desk and took 5 keys next to the strange clock. After this, he began to leave the basement. While he put the watch on his wrist.
“We have to make a plan to get into his base, Edward, do you have any ideas…?” Eric noticed that Edward was leaving the basement, and after a quick glance he also saw that he had taken the keys. “Get him, it’s trying to leave the house!”
The four members of the society followed Edward who walked determinedly towards the door to leave the society base. Just a few meters away, Elizabeth and Eechiro began to pull his arms. While Edelgard held him by the back of the neck.
Eechiro: “You're not leaving!”
Edward quickly crouched and performed a roundhouse kick to knock down the three who were trying to pin him down. Eric placed himself between Edward and the door to prevent him from leaving.
Eric: “Edward, No! We need a plan!" He said as he held on to the door frame to prevent Edward from pushing him.
“ERIC, I KNOW YOU HAVE GOOD INTENTION. BUT I ASK YOU TO GET OUT OF THE WAY” Edward said as he looked at the floor. Eric remained immovable in place.
“I can't do that Edward, I know you're angry. But going like this is…” Eric didn't finish his sentence, because Edward put his hand on his shoulder, after which he made eye contact with him. Eric looked closely into the eyes of forensic. It wasn't the look of someone angry, but of someone scared and determined. For the first time, he could see a look on Edward that wasn't one of indifference. But of absolute concern. After which, the young diver take his decision, getting out of the way. Edward just nodded his head and walked out the door. When Elizabeth, Edelgard and Eechiro stood up they went directly to face Eric.
Eechiro: “What did you do Eric? You went crazy. He ran away and take the keys!”
Elizabeth: “He didn't take everything… he lefts Erin's key. Although Eechiro is right, what were you thinking? Did you let him go alone to face an army? What were you thinking?”
Eric: “You didn't see it… that look was relentless. I'm afraid of what will happen..."
Edelgard: “If you were afraid, why did you let him go?”
Eric: “I'm not afraid for Edward... I'm afraid for whoever decides to stand in his way. Although that is secondary now, We have to make sure we keep her alive.... Come on, let's get moving!”
Universe 18-24-53: Lair of the Steelwater.
Edward arrived at the outskirts of a bar, from outside he could see multiple men sitting at the tables. Most of them had baseball bats or brass knuckles. At the centre table there were four men playing poker. After a few seconds of thinking, he decided to go inside.
“Look and cry gentlemen, I have Full House,” said a man as he slammed the table hard. Another responded to him, as he revealed his cards, “Very interesting, but…”
"What!? An R-Royal straight!? “That's impossible, you bastard,” said the first, while he looked at his partner's letters in astonishment. The lucky gangster was about to say something, until suddenly, Edward grabbed his sleeve, causing multiple hidden cards to fall out.
The gangster was surprised by the presence of Edward standing next to them. "Where the hell did it come from?" Wait… you cheated!?” The gangster replied, now addressing his partner.
“O-Of course not… and also who the hell is this blue-haired?” Said the other man who was still sitting. A dead silence was maintained until multiple windows were heard breaking. When Edward turned around he saw a man at another table, with the bat in his hand. He had dropped his beer on the floor in shock. “Idiots! That blue-haired is one of those multiverse travellers! The Forensic Killer! You let the enemy in!
"What!?" The Full House man lunged at Edward, who simply dodged him. Placing his leg to cause the gangster to fall to the ground, the man's forehead collided with one of the wooden chairs. The other men launched themselves at Edward, who limited himself to Dodge, and responded to them with the furniture of the place. He attacked them with chairs, plates. Even with the same poker cards. “Why don't you die!?” It was probably the phrase that was repeated the most in that fight.
When there were only two men left, they both decided to distance themselves from Edward, and tried to go to the back of the bar. Quickly, Edward took out a pair of sharp metal scissors from his pocket and threw them hard, aiming for the head of one of the men. Which remained nailed to the wall next to the door, while his companion managed to escape. Edward followed at a fast pace, but without running, maintaining unwavering composure. Which only generated more fear in the man who ran.
Edward followed the man to some underground warehouses. The contrast with the bar was clear, while the first looked like a stereotypical 80s movie, this was more like an apocalypse bunker. The man continued running down the long hallway, until he reached a huge room at the end. Due to the distance he had managed to get from the coroner. He had time to activate the Security system. Edward saw three huge metal doors close between him and the man. At this, Edward said nothing. He just approached and tapped the metal plate in front of him, after which he took out of his pocket one of the keys that he had taken from the base. It had a drawing of a dragon. And small burn marks. Edward took the key and inserted it into a small slot in the device on his wrist, suddenly a flash of orange light invaded the tunnel…
On the other side of the door the Gangster is celebrating — “Let's see how you get through that, Four Eyes!” Until he felt 2 presence behind him “What the hell are you doing?” The man turned around to see his boss, a man in a beige suit, with his hair combed back with gel. Next to him was a woman with red hair and green eyes. She dressed in a trench coat, shirt and black pants.
"Boss! Miss Octavia! “He is the coroner, he is here, and he has eliminated everyone in the bar!” The man said as his legs trembled. The boss hardly flinched. While the woman only managed to murmur a phrase, “I was already wondering when we would see each other again, Edward.”
The man guided his boss and the redhead to a screen, which showed the security camera in the hallway. “You don't need to worry anyway, there are three metal doors between him and us. Look… there is no way he can pass- WHAT?”
The three of them were stunned. The metal on the doors was melting. Edward, dressed in a black and orange kimono, shooting a burst of fire. Making a circle to melt the door. The boss rushed towards his minion, holding him by the shoulders. “You told me he was the coroner, not the arsonist!”
“He's the coroner, I don't have the slightest idea how he's throwing fire.” The boss released his minion and approached the redhead. “Listen to me, Octavia. You told me that if he eliminated one of those crazy people, The Guardians would fulfil a wish of mine. But you didn't tell me that they would come to try to destroy me.” The woman broke her silence and said, “Calm down, Tragliatore. Our pact still stands. The guardians will fulfil your greatest wish. You have my word as a Detective” The redhead said as she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Boss! He already went through 2 of the doors! Look” The henchman shouted at his boss, while he pointed at the door that was turning increasingly reddish. The boss removed Octavia's hand from his shoulder. “Quickly, you lazy bunch, everyone pointing at the door.” all the soldiers pointed directly towards the door. “I want anyone who walks through that door with more holes than a damn sieve.”
Multiple men stood at a safe distance from the melting door. Everyone was waiting for what was about to happen. The sound of the flame on the other side of the door invaded the environment, until suddenly... Brain. Causing chills to almost all the people present there. A yellow glow could be seen from under the door that was melting…
The silence was interrupted by the sudden ejection of the door, which was thrown directly towards the soldiers in front. A large amount of smoke came out of the hole that was left. And a couple of yellow dots lit up. Edward ran out of the smoke, wearing a black trench coat, the inside of which shone bright yellow. In his face there was a pair of Goggles, also yellow, which emitted an intense light.
"There is! “Shoot him!” He shouted loudly, as Octavia dragged him towards a door to get him away from the shooting. The henchmen fired volleys of bullets at Edward, who was blocking the shots with Edelgard's trench coat.
Edward tackled one of the men and took cover behind some wooden boxes. He took the gun from the anklet, knocked out the guard next to him and took his gun from him. To start responding to shots. Taking advantage of the lens aiming system. After several minutes, Edward realized that he needed to increase speed... He removed the key that was inserted into the device. Which had the symbol of a Sniper sight, I inserted another one that had the symbol of skates.
After this, he threw his pistol into the air, while a green light enveloped him. The gangsters were perplexed, watching as the gun transformed into a UZI with neon green markings. They were even more perplexed, when Edward jumped out from behind the box... Dressed in a black one-piece suit, with silver lines. In large white letters it was written "Ritcher" and a number 3 in large.
Edward caught the UZI out of the air, and it clicked on his heels. The white soles began to glow, and he levitated a few centimetres from the floor. The next thing the gangsters saw was this blue-haired boy attacking them while he fired with the UZI.
“Quickly, Tragliatore. Over here!” She told Octavia to the mafia leader, As she dragged him through one of the doors, and she kept crouched down so as not to be seen.
Edward continued to dodge bullets while he in turn returned fire. He quickly positioned himself in the centre of the room, and began to spin on its axis at high speed, while he continued shooting with the UZI and one of the gangsters' weapons. Generating a storm of bullets, which filled the room. When he stopped, Edward realized that he had made holes in all the walls, covers and enemies in the place. He began to walk towards the hallway that Tragliatore left down. With all the calm in the world, he removed the key from the device, and placed a different one with the symbol of an Oxygen mask and a Sickle.
“Come in! Come in! Quick!" Octavia shouted at Tragliatore, while holding the door of a small laboratory, which had a small window with a curtain, inside was another of the henchmen, dressed in a white coat. After entering, Octavia's attention was quickly caught by a shelf with some books. Tragliatore watched as his protector began to search the bookshelf. “What's happening, boss? I heard a lot of gunshots and-” Quickly, the scientist's words were interrupted by the screams of their leader. “That doesn't matter now! We are under attack, scan the bunker. I want to see how many of my men are still alive!” The henchman typed something on a nearby computer. While Tragliatore was still confused by what Octavia was doing. He was about to ask her, when his employee's surprised moan distracted him. “Bo-boss, there are only four living beings left in the Building…” Tragliatore raised his hands to his face, passing them all over his face, while he let out a long sigh through his mouth.
“Okay, okay, it's manageable, it's manageable… Octavia, we need a plan, can you think of it… Octavia!?” The gangster was surprised when he saw the red-haired girl, with a book from which a white glow came out. And a white circle surrounded her. “I'm sorry, boy, but our deal is going to have to end here…” When Tragliatore tried to stop her, he realized that he couldn't get through the circle. “This was not what was agreed upon, you said that The Guardians were going to fulfil my wish…” Octavia tore the pages from the book, and held them up. “I told you that they were going to grant your wish…” He released her leaves, which began to orbit around her. “If you survived…” Tragliatore was about to reply, until his minion shouted at him, with a tone of perennial terror in his voice. "MISTER! “She's coming down the hallway, she's coming this way.” Tragliatore's shock was evident in his eyes. And when he turned around to look to Octavia for a solution, he saw that she had disappeared, and the circle on the floor was on fire.
The scientist quickly approached Tragliatore, holding him by the shoulders, his body aligned with the door. On the other side of which footsteps could be heard in the distance. “What do we do now, boss? There are only the two of us left, I don't want to die! My notes are still on the table, if he finds out that I designed that poison, I don't know what he'll do to me!” Tragliatore quickly slapped the soldier away from him. “We're not going to give up, listen this is what we're going to-”
Before Tragliatore could finish the sentence, a metal sickle came flying through the door window. The sickle hit the scientist directly and stuck into the wall. Blood began to drip from the inert body. Tragliatore recoiled in shock, blood had splattered on his face.
The bottom of the Sickle opened and a small stream of water came out, which floated forming a hand. Which I grab the sickle and take it out of the wall. Causing the man to fall to the floor, Tragliatore watched in shock as his hand stopped in front of the door and slammed hard against the handle. Causing the door to open.
Edward entered through the door, dressed in a black jacket with grey sleeves, accompanied by black neoprene pants. The footsteps of his boots broke the silence of the room like thunder in the night. His face was covered by a hood, accompanied by a black oxygen mask. Tragliatore tried to pull the gun from him, but was quickly restrained by Edward. Which he held against the wall.
“What the fuck do you want? If you're going to kill me, do it now! Tragliatore tried to say with the most threatening tone he could. Edward remained silent, taking one of his scissors out of his pocket, beginning to run it across the neck of his mafia leader. "Wait! Wait! You want money? “I can give you money.” At the offer, Edward stuck the scissors into Tragliatore's leg. Causing blood to flow out, along with a gasp of pain “Uh… Okay, Okay, no money. What do you want?"
Edward took out the syringe with a black liquid from his pocket. And he shook it in front of him. "The poison? Do you want to know how the poison is made? Why do you think I would tell you?” Tragliatore said, finishing his sentence by spitting at Edward. Which was Stoic, took another scissors from his pocket, and stuck it in Tragliatore's hand. Leaving it nailed to the wall. The scream of pain was even louder. “Ugh! In the table! In the notebook on the table!” Edward alone tragliatore, letting the scissors support him. While he went towards what he had come for. He took the leather-bound notebook, and opened it to the page that was marked with a red ribbon. On the same page, the process with which the poison had been made was detailed.
After seeing this, Edward began to walk towards the exit door. A white glow enveloped him and his clothes returned to his usual trench coat. Tragliatore couldn't contain his frustration and shouted at Edward, “Really? You entered my base, you killed all my staff, that's why? All this for that Bea-” Before he could finish the sentence, Edward turned on his heel. Throwing a pair of scissors directly at Tragliatore's forehead. The scissors remained stuck in the wall. Leaving a hole in Tragliatore's face. “DON'T INSULT HER AGAIN, NEVER!" After this, Edward adjusts his bangs, and begins to walk out of the underground base. Willing to achieve it.
Out of Continuity: Lair of the Key Society / One week later…
Erin woke up on the morgue gurney, her eyes slowly opening as her senses began to return. She looked around her, recognizing the medical equipment and monitors that were still beeping softly. She sat up on the bed with some effort, and her gaze fell on Edward, who was sitting next to her.
Edward was completely disheveled, with deep circles under his eyes that marked his tired face. He tapped his foot on the floor at high speed, clearly nervous. Next to him, the table was littered with empty coffee cups and a stopwatch
"Edward?" Erin asked in a weak voice. Edward looked up quickly, his eyes filled with a mix of surprise and relief. Realizing that he hadn't imagined the sound of Erin's voice, he jumped up and hugged her with all of her strength.
"Are you OK!" he exclaimed, her words filled with her emotion. Edward moved away from her a little, holding Erin's face with her hands under her cheeks.
"Yeah...I'm fine," Erin responded, still a little disoriented. She noticed the black marks under Edward's eyes and frowned in concern. "My God...Edward, are your eyes okay?"
Edward couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "You wake up from a coma, and the first thing you ask me is if I'm okay?" After that, Edward hugged her again, resting her jaw on top of her head. Erin just enjoyed the hug, feeling the warmth and security that she gave her.
Suddenly, she felt drops falling on her head. Erin looked up and saw the tears falling from Edward's eyes. "Edward? What's wrong?" she asked in a soft voice.
Edward grabbed her chin again and brought her face closer to his, causing Erin to blush. "What's going on?" Edward moved forward, planting a kiss on Erin's lips. The shock to Erin's mind was brutal, but she soon began to enjoy it. After several minutes, Edward broke the kiss and looked at Erin with a look he'd never had before. "That's what happens," Edward said softly, hugging her again. "I Love you"

Titan: Solar Axe styled after iron banner axe: heavy attack is based on location. If you're in the air it's a heavy slam and on the ground it's a spin. When you guard a ward protects the user (does work with strongholds) and base the stats on crown splitter but increase impact to like 90 and can max to 100 when fully upgraded.
Hunter: strand bowstaff (like arcstrider) very high ammo count with a somewhat low impact. Light attack is a spinning whirl that hits extremely fast, heavy attack is an uppercut leading to a midair spin finishing with a slam. Guarding is similar to arc staff block but not as strong of course.
Warlock: mage staff using element of super (they are space wizards after all) light attack is a small bolt of chosen element and the heavy attack launches a storm of that element that lingers for a short time (like the exotic arc sword from destiny 1) and when you use your jump it extends the distance you can go while consuming ammo the farther you go. Guarding provides a ward bubble that surrounds the user.
All blocks consume heavy attack energy like it currently does.
I hope bungie sees this I would absolutely use these and I don't feel like it'll be too powerful. What do you guys think?

tl;dr: Could Braccus Rex be a demonic host of Chaos, God of Demons? It would help explain the continuity of the series and how one could exist simultaneously as both the eighth God following the age of the Eternals, and the primordial being, Chaos, who predates the existence of the Seven.
As he lays dying beneath the Church of the Seven, the Immaculate necromancer and healer, Thelyron Hashnitor, admits to the Source Hunters,
"I have summoned King Braccus… Braccus Rex from the tales of old. He lives. The mad Source King, the Lord of Chaos… I have… *whispers* awakened him. I have done a terrible thing. I’ve raised a mad king from beyond the grave. I imagined, so very foolishly, that I’d be able to extract an ancient secret from him, but with a simple flash of his arcane magic, I was… I was finished. [...] He was resurrected. Revived. The king lives, but not as the man he once was. He retains the mark of death upon him like a festering wound. The last of the Source Kings he was, and the tyrant who nearly condemned Rivellon to oblivion. He began the War of Wars, marching brother against brother against friend until every land and home burned with death. It was during this dark time that your order, the Source Hunters, was formed. Braccus was defeated, and Source was outlawed from the land. Braccus was a dangerous monster, but he achieved things no man or mortal could have dreamed of. But what he has become… his powers have all returned… and I cannot stop him. My failures… my failures are so many. [...] You can defeat the unholiness I have raised, Source Hunter. You can save the countless innocents that will perish under the Source King’s mad fist. I pray -no I believe- you can reverse my failures…"
In his monologue, not only does Thelyron outright refer to Braccus Rex as the Lord of Chaos, he calls the Source King 'unholy' and 'mad' and 'from the tales of old', implying that the Source King is significantly older than 4 AR. While he notes that Braccus is a monster, he insinuates that he has become something more and that ancient powers have been awakened. But he is not the only necromancer and healer to say so. Tarquin also makes repeated references to Braccus as a 'mad king' and a ‘vile creature’, and tells the Godwoken that he seeks Anathema to clean up an 'unholy' mess, claiming the fabled Godslayer sword is the only thing that can eradicate him. Madness and unholiness are both terms frequently attributed to demons and those whose minds who have been lost to madness, hate, paranoia, and hallucination through demonic influence.
There are other signs that point to demonic possession. Braccus is frequently described as a kind-hearted individual during the early years of his reign. We learn from Cassandra that Braccus Rex used to be a kind ruler before becoming a rabid tyrant, and that his descent into madness was swift. Cranley Huwbert, acclaimed historian of Rivellon, writes that Braccus was once 'a fine human being and noble ruler' however 'greed overtook him and he became corrupted'. While Cranley is not the most reliable author, Braccus Rex could have very well been human, granted immortality as Amadia’s lover or through possession by Chaos, and not an Eternal. The statue of Braccus on Fort Joy bears a striking resemblance to the human god Rhalic, who is depicted in the Portrait of Rhalic at the Cathedral of Arx. Despite the fable in the Tapestry of Time, it is not very likely that the corruption of Source itself caused him to go mad, otherwise we would have seen many other Sourcerers who have continued to use Source during this time also lose their sanity.
But Thelyron is not the only one who calls Braccus Rex, ‘the Lord of Chaos’.
Cassandra, the twin sister of Braccus Rex, tells the Source Hunter,
"You, a frail mortal, laid low the Eternal Crown of Braccus Rex? How sinfully inglorious... yes, how humiliating for the so-called Lord of Chaos to find himself run through by a slave to age and order."
Here, she refers to Braccus Rex as an immortal king with an Eternal Crown. Yet, shortly after his descent into madness, Braccus develops a fear of death to the point of paranoia. She describes him gaining sudden power, and with it, a terrible fear of death that hounds him ceaselessly night and day. Now, he seeks to break the soul-forge that he and Cassandra formed when they were still children. Braccus feared if Cassandra were to die, he would also die. So, he transforms her into an undead lich to break their soul-forge which grants them both immortality. In Braccus Rex: A Portrait of Evil, Volume 3, it is written that Braccus created the soul-forge with Cassandra so he may also live forever, but this is not actually true. So, it is heavily implied that Braccus had already achieved a form of immortality before the breaking of the soul-forge. We learn from the powerful archdemon demon, Adrahmalihk, that demons are immortal (in a manner similar to the Eternals), and have the ability to possess or influence more than one host.
There seem to be various types and degrees to demonic possession, and if a demon is particularly powerful, their souls may also be "split apart" and imbedded within other objects or entities. Some form of possession seems likely to have occurred with Braccus. As we know from Thaddeus that the Chaos Demon roamed the world in various forms: the Lord of Chaos, the Demon of Lies, the Damned One, and now Damian. So far, he believes that Chaos has not yet reach his full potential in any of these champions, and the true Lord of Chaos has yet to be freed. So, even if Braccus is one of the many hosts for the Lord of Chaos throughout history, his is not the final form of the Demon God. This final form of Chaos will most likely occur within Damian.
As a Master of the Source and the Void, Braccus Rex is also extremely powerful, and is described by Leandra, the leader of the Immaculates, as being the forefather of their cause: the original Immaculate. He has vast forgotten knowledge and access to abilities no one else is capable of. For example, he is sought after for his knowledge of soul forging. He even teaches Dallis, the Eternal, the secret to becoming a Dragon Knight, allowing her to transform at will. For some reason, he is also the only being capable of sniffing out the Aeteran like a ‘Source bloodhound’, a plan which necessitates the necromancer, Tarquin, to resurrect him back from the dead. Not even the Seven Gods were able to find the Aeteran once Aetera and the Eternal King were exiled. Possessing great intelligence, he crafts insidiously evil tools such as purging wands, phylactery jars, and Source collars to enslave other Sourcerers and seize further power. Before his second death at the hands of the Godwoken, he is powerful enough to call upon the God King as an ally (seemingly without being Sworn), summon the Void itself into the Tomb of Lucian, and unleash the Kraken from its depths. Cunning and cruel, he has fiendish objectives, and mentions his goal to turn the realm of Rivellon into Hell. Upon his first resurrection, he tells the Undead who had formerly served as his court, “First their cities and their children shall burn! Sigils of terror and torment will blight the land! Oceans of fire will flow, and the earth shall take the guise of Hell!”. His primary form of magic is fire, often associated with the Demonic race. He is capable of instantly incinerating powerful magisters from the inside out, so even Dallis’s white Magisters fear and avoid him.
Clearly, Braccus Rex is a very ancient, powerful being. But much of his history has been lost to time. The War of Wars that Thelyron mentions could be referring to the Wizard Wars. This apocalyptic war is said by the scholar of lost history, Thaddeus, to have made Lucian’s Great War seem like a skirmish between a peasant and an ogre over the last bit of sausage. It is a war in which everything began, the incipience of a grand conflict involving the Chaos Demon that continually tears Rivellon apart. Following the timeline, the Wizard Wars succeeds the War of the Eternals, started by the scholar, Fane, when he discovers the truth of the Veil. We know this because the wizard race was created by Amadia shortly after the Eternal War. Theyron's description of Braccus as the 'Last Source King' may be in reference to Braccus being the eighth and final Lord who, somewhere around this time, desired the Source. Meaning, sometime after the Seven Lords usurp the Eternal King, Braccus could have risen up to assume the mantle of King in the power vacuum that followed. Or, it could mean that Braccus was the last in a dynasty of many Source Kings - a time in which Thaddeaus says the race of wizards ruled the land - before his instigation of the War of Wars: the Wizard Wars. The latter seems more likely.
Indeed, there is strong evidence to suggest that an eighth lord, the Lord of Chaos, was not complicit (or even present) in the Seven’s coup against the Eternal King. When the Godwoken speak with Aetera about the War of Eternals, she specifically mentions only the Seven Lords rebelled against the Eternal King. When she blames Fane for his role in the War, she asserts that he made a mistake “the moment he spoke to the Seven Lords”. There is no mention of an eighth lord in the conversation between Aetera and Fane, so it can be surmised that no eighth was present at this time. During the war, Aetera crafted a purging device known as the Aeteran to aid the Eternal King. However, before the end of the war, the Seven found out about her treachery, and as punishment, sealed Aetera in a tomb for all eternity. Neither Aetera nor the Eternal King had the opportunity to use the weapon before the war’s end, but Aetera managed to hide it within the crypts before her punishment, so the Seven would not find it. When the Godwoken elf eats Void-tainted fish in Wrecker’s Cave, they access memories of the God King moments before he is thrown into the Void. The Demon God, the Lord of Chaos is still not present. But once the Eternal King and the rest of the Eternal race are sealed away in the Void, a brief time of peace seems to follow (although any turmoil may have simply been written out). It is possible that the Seven's siphoning of Source directly from the Veil may have led to the eventual release of the Void dragon, creating the necessity for other methods to harvest Source while also defending the realm from the Void. But at some point, in The Seven Gods, it is said that the Gods were still young when they decided that each of them should have their own race. Thus, the creation of races in Rivellon occurs. Centuries pass as the new races settle across the continent. They serve their dual purpose as Source vats for the Gods and as protectors of the realm from external threats. Sometime after the overthrow of the Eternal King, it is said that Amadia has a dalliance with one of the Seven’s mortal creations, a wizard, whom she grants eternal life. It is unclear how she accomplishes this or how much truth there is to the claim. Furthermore, this wizard and his demi-god off-spring are unnamed in the text (although these demi-gods may have ended up as the Guardians of the Godbox). However, Thaddeus mentions that very early on in Rivellonian history, it was the race of wizards who ruled the lands. It is not known when Braccus Rex, a wizard King of unparalleled power, first came to rule Rivellon, but I’ll assume it to be somewhere around this time, around the height of wizard superiority, before the start of the Wizard Wars.
We know that at some point during his reign, the Source is corrupted, Braccus goes mad, and triggers the War of Wars. These years mark what are known as the Lost Centuries. In Braccus Rex: A Portrait of Evil, it is revealed that his tyrannical rule lasted for ‘many decades’ which aligns with Thaddeus’s knowledge that the War of Wizards occurred for over a century. The Order of the Source Hunters: A Brief History states that Braccus instigated a great war that would have completely ‘undone Rivellon if not for the Council of Seven’ – which we know from Thaddeaus was founded with the intent of resisting Lord Chaos. A new order of elite warriors, known as the Source Hunters, was conceived by the Council with the sole purpose of eradicating Braccus Rex, and after his downfall, the objective shifted to ridding the world of Source. So, the ancient Order of Source Hunters led to Braccus’s first death, but precisely when this occurred is not known. However, with the corruption of Source, we also learn that the original Source Hunters removed all mention of themselves and their involvements in history from the Tapestry of Time. This act could explain why so much information surrounding Braccus has been lost in history.

https://preview.redd.it/tidxeh6wkf1d1.jpg?width=791&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bbd006a050e025e7738c322cbd9c3bf2bc04e537
https://preview.redd.it/4qnsqi6wkf1d1.jpg?width=791&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2b4859215cf4539f9310348f1744a546ee056b48
The redactions are for privacy and security. This is the 4th version of my resume that I've written in the last month or so. I have gotten zero jobs as of late.

So I'm wanting to make a character that is as resistant to Saving Throws as humanely possible for a one-shot I'm playing. In thinking out the options, I've realized the choices are pretty complicated and the nuance between choices is arising in exactly what saves I want to be good at. So far what I have cooking is:

• Peace Cleric/War Wizard Multiclass, as War Wizard lets you use Arcane Deflection to add +4 to a made Saving Throw on reaction, and Peace Cleric gives 1d4 via Bless and an additional 1d4 via Emboldening Bond. Afterwards, could either level Artificer for Flash of Genius, or Paladin for Aura of Protection as a 9th-10th level build.
  
• Satyr, getting Advantage on all spell based Saving Throws.
  
• Resilience in whatever ASI I have that needs the +1 (probably Dex, if I'm going ArtificeWizard?)
  

Other than, I'm thinking what else I can do to just be 'tanky' as fuck to Saving Throws. Any suggestions?

Slaves to Darkness make visual sense. It's the old Warriors of Chaos aesthetic; you've got tyrannical dark knights who rule the wastes, calling on hordes of shirtless barbarians and mutated war-beasts to roam ahead of their legions. Lots of baroque, hellish ornamentation on brutal, hard lines, lots of barbarian warrior and foreign tyrant cues. It's all quite coherent, even when you put wildly different subsets against each other; Varanguard and Fellriders are very dissimilar, but even in isolation you can still see the links.
Maggotkin of Nurgle make visual sense. Everything is bloated and decayed and infested. Lots of round shapes, which makes the collapsed hollows or spiked growths stand out all the more. The armour is also rounded, with oddly-placed holes to suggest deformity. The war-beasts are all insects or molluscs, with fat abdomens and wriggling feelers. It's all very European apocalypse, the pestilential knights and plague victims shambling out of hell. The most divergent designs are the Rotmire Creed, who are a Warcry warband, and even they share the same spiked growths, ragged hoods, and plague-veils.
Hedonites of Slaanesh make visual sense. Everything is lithe and flowing and ostentatious. They have a very Orientalist vibe, taking cues from Western portrayals of "exotic" and "decadent" cultures like Persia, Greece, India, the Byzantines, the Arab caliphates, etc. From the armoured warriors to the near-naked archers to the giant cow-men, you'll find the same rich ornaments, elegant silks, and prominent plumage. The only things that stand out too oddly are the Hellstriders, and that's because they are ass old and barely part of the range.
Blades of Khorne make visual sense. They're pretty boring, but they make sense. Everything is muscular and hard, sharp and violent. They are a very straightforward rendition of the same Slaves to Darkness aesthetic, but more overtly macho and angrier. Chaos Warriors are here, but have bare arms and bulging muscles and angrier helmets and more axes. Marauders are here, but with bigger muscles and more spikes. Claws of Karanak diverge a bit from this, taking on more of a "barbarian reivemercenary" vibe, like the Roman image of the Visigoths, or mountain-dwelling bandit tribes, but they still fit in overall.
Disciples of Tzeentch don't make visual sense. Their core infantry all has a clear theme; the Tzaangors are buff satyrs with antelope horns, bird-heads, and faux-Grecian arms, armour, and loincloths. The Kairic Acolytes keep up the faux-Grecian armaments and dress, tossing in theatre masks, scrolls, eagle pets, and ridiculously sculpted muscles. There's a lot of overlap here, for better or worse, which gives a clear theme of... sinister bird cultist Greeks? Which works, honestly – setting aside the incredible workout routines on display, that's a visual language which evokes philosophers, knowledge-seekers, ancient occultism, and so on.
Except the instant you leave those kits behind, it falls apart.
Their non-Tzaangor heroes follow the Blades of Khorne approach, being essentially Slaves to Darkness characters with minor bird accessories, which results in a totally different style. A Curseling is an old Chaos Lord of Tzeentch. A Magister is an old Chaos Sorcerer of Tzeentch. The Gaunt Summoner is the same but with some feather decorations (good effort, I guess?), long robes, and a mutant head covered in eyes. They don't look like they're even part of the same army as Kairic Acolytes, much less their direct leaders. The Ogroid Thaumaturge ties in with Tzaangors reasonably well, until you get to his crude-looking staff and the fact that Ogroids are now firmly part of Slaves to Darkness. The Magister on Disc does better than most, but that's because he's just a Tzaangor Shaman with a breastplate, a mutant human head covered in eyes (interesting theme, shame it's found nowhere else in this army), and a random Gloomspite hood.
Their Warcry warband adds another, also totally divergent aesthetic. The Jade Obelisk ditch the vaguely Greek look entirely for a vaguely Mayan or druidic style, with thick, hooded robes over the whole body, laced with metal studs for an exotic coat-of-plates. They've got a heavy segmented cuirass and faulds, and a wildly different style of weapons, masks, and ornamentation. They're not spindly and fragile like the MagisteSummoner, or sculpted and buff like the Acolytes. The only commonality with the whole faction is a few bird-themed decorations and their bird-daemon familiar. Warcry warbands often stand out, that's fine, but these guys look nothing alike – it's as though the designers aren't sure what Tzeentch's shared language really is.
Meanwhile, the faction's daemons consist of exactly one evil robed wizard-bird with extra eyes on its head and book-staff (damn, hitting lots of buttons at once!). It's joined by... multi-armed blob-goblins, smaller flaming blob goblins, flaming mushroom monsters, and flying manta rays.
The Disciples of Tzeentch look like a mishmash of two, three, or even four factions with totally different visual approaches to Tzeentch's general themes. Are they spindly wizard-nerds with robes and loads of eyes? Are they buff Greek warrior-philosophers and beastmen? Are they armoured Chaos Warriors with feathers and extra arms? Are they shapeless blobs of tentacles and fire? What's the visual narrative meant to be, here?
I don't get it. This isn't a problem created by mix-matching old ranges, all of their mortal stuff is new and AoS-specific. Why are they like this? Why are they the only ones like this?

Disclaimer: I'm not new to paranormal/spiritual experiences, but I'm extremely self taught. I'm looking for honest feedback and I'm aware that there are gaps in my exposure to many concepts.
Thank you for even opening this post! I tend to info dump and end with huge posts. I'm going to avoid that the best I can, but I'll probably fail. (P.s. I failed)
TLDR: Scroll down to the ">>>"
I'm 35 and I've just started using object to focus my intuition.
I was driving home the other day and saw a brown deck of cards flash in my minds eye. It was sitting on the 2nd lowest shelf of a store. I asked Google to take me to the nearest store that sold tarot cards and I found an oracle deck sitting in that spot. My wife had given me a tarot deck about a month ago, and they really matched. My readings have been extremely successful. I'm still trying to get used to not rejecting what I intuitively know.
The same type of calling happened for my first quartz crystals. Long story, but I've started feeling static across the backs of my hands when I'm around something powerful. To the point that I can start driving and follow it where I'm being called.
I randomly saw a finger length white crystal in a transparent brown cylinder. I was able to locate the store at the mall by my house, but I had a really hard time walking into the store. I walked in and was greeted by a nice staff member, but things felt wrong. I followed the static in my right hand until it moved over a hurt quartz laser wand (I learned what it was because of the sticker on it).
The store was full of sharply cut crystals and this one was just hurting. It was like it was screaming to me. I picked it up and promised that I wouldn't put it back. I went to buy it and the staff member took out something and moved to "cleanse" it. I recoiled and pulled the crystal away. I felt the crystals feelings and it was like it said it would be willing to cleanse the staff member, but that it rejected their empty efforts. Of course, I didn't say that to them.
I explained that I would do my own cleansing, which they really looked at me like I was nuts. I thought this was odd because it's a legitimate crystal/spiritual/psychic store and people probably have their own preferences. I can't be the first one to say I'd like to do the cleansing personally.
I wish I could post a photo of the crystal and His brother.

.>.>

My main reason for posting this is because I just got called into a thrift store where I walked up to a crystal ball. It was $4.99 and when I held my hand over it, it was like licking a 9V battery. My hand has never felt that intense of a reaction.
The crystal ball looks like glass with gold leaf/foil on the inside. There is a base that appears to be made of ceramic and has the initials "JI" (ji) pressed into the bottom of it. I bought it, but now I have no clue what to do with it. So far, I've intuitively known what to do with most things through my life, but this one feels foreign to me. Maybe because it feels so powerful/vocal.
To clarify, I don't feel afraid or threatened and "cautious" doesn't really cover it. It's more like I'm walking on ground that I don't know how to respect. Is there anything I should be aware of when working with an object like this? In the past, anything that I've connected with has always been chill with me just explaining my intentions and going from there.
Again, thank you for reading! Any thoughts about this will be considered deeply.

I play with my two sons, each of them in turn (we only have two computers).
So we found our first fortress, but we didn't have the Flametal to make a catapult. My youngest son and I decided to dig up this column floating in the lava.
Everything was going well, the pillar was close, I was throwing cobalt bombs and guarding, my son was mining metal. When the pillar almost sank into the lava, I told my son to get out to the shore. A particularly large influx of enemies has just appeared.
And the son said that he was overloaded, turned awkwardly and fell into the lava!
Oh, there were so many emotions! After two more of his deaths, we finally returned his belongings and the precious metal.
We made a battering ram and a catapult. Organized an outpost in front of the fortress.
We destroyed the gate with a catapult and were able to look inside. We saw that there were spawners and realized that they needed to be destroyed. My son was the gunner, I shot. We managed to destroy one spawner.
Then I played with my eldest son. He's a mage. He is a more experienced player, but it didn't help much to avoid mistakes. The son started shooting from a catapult and sent his protective staff to the fortress! A magician without a protective bubble is a disaster! I laughed so much!!
We had to return to the mistlands to collect Yggdrasil wood for a new protective staff.
Later, we returned to the capture of the fortress. Son ran into the half-captured fortress and said that he would destroy the second spawner himself. Meanwhile, I shot a little more from the catapult. We completed the capture at night in a thunderstorm. It was very dark. We ran around the fortress and in rare flashes of lightning tried to see those countless treasures that we tried so hard to get. But there was NOTHING in the fortress! With our careless catapult damage, my youngest son and I destroyed everything inside.
We found the second fortress. An outpost was built again (earthen walls, a protective dome, a portal). Son tried using a battering ram. In general, we did not immediately see that it needed to be filled with firewood and used it as a large cart, just ramming the gate. It turned out badly. More precisely, it did not work at all.
Then there was a very big enemy attack. We had to retreat and fight for a very long time, recapturing our outpost. Because the hastily constructed earthen walls were not perfect. Mobs were able to climb them.
In the end, we dealt with the ram. Filled it with wood. I tried to ram the gate backwards! I saw it shoot, but not like that! The son took ram, turned him around and the case got off the ground.
When the gate was destroyed, I was a little further away, killing mobs. And the son did not have time to put a magic bubble on himself and died.
The gate was open. The crowds mobs poured out of there as if from hell! The portal was destroyed. I shouted to my son that I was retreating! That damn Guldan poured his green shit right inside our earthen walls!
I ran, flashing my heels, taking these hordes with me so that my son could take his body.
When he cleaned himself up, he was able to climb a high column, from where he led his magic fire. He was even able to destroy one spawner inside the fortress.
We have recaptured the outpost, restored the portal and the protective dome. We returned to the base to sleep. The next day we took the fortress! Two treasure chests were waiting for us inside. It was a victory!
The son made a new magic weapon and immediately wanted to try it in action.
When it came to the troll-staff, I said, let's go outside the base. Just an intuition). There was one case. I gave the Destroyer to my youngest son and at the same time said: just don't use it in the house. I hadn't even finished speaking when he struck! All the furniture, chests, jewelry, everything fell to the floor! Including the Hot Tub, which, to put in place, you need to disassemble the wall! Mom, I'm sorry - that's all my son could say guiltily.
So, my son and I went out the gate of the base and he called the troll. We saw that he was aggressive towards everyone! And I realized that it was very prudent not to summon him at the base! As we stood there with our mouths open, the troll killed several wolves before they killed him. The perimeter of our base is guarded by 2 * wolves, lox, and now Asksvins. So far we have managed to tame 1* Asksven.
I was playing alone late at night, the kids were already asleep. I returned to our captured fortress to install a new gate. I moved the portal and the protective dome inside the fortress. And I also saw that we had not opened the hiding place in the central tower! I already knew how to handle a battering ram, and carefully destroyed the barrier. Inside there was another chest with new gems, Vegvisir and parts for bells!
I like the process of conquering a new biome. We are in no hurry to kill the boss. We will improve our equipment. I'm looking forward to starting to build a new base out of new materials. So many decorative elements, I'm thrilled!

With spellcasters like wizards and sorcerers, does having a quarter staff equip do anything other then what it says in the description, as in does it give them better dice rolls or a little extra damage to your spells. Or is it just a means of melee attacking and the extra spells and bonus’ that some of them have?

Hey everyone! Random Appalachian here. I just wanted to check back in with you all and provide some updates, as well as some exciting, if personal, news. I have to type this quick, as my work break ends soon, so pardon any typos, grammatical errors, or weirdly structured sentences.
For those of you who don’t know, I’m a park ranger in real life, and work at a wildlife reserve in Ohio. We’ve been having some issues with vandalism in our northern woods for a few months, and despite our best attempts, haven’t been able to find the culprit. It’s been immensely frustrating, especially when more paint has shown up on more trails, ranging from slashes, lines, and crosses, to dots and even letters. Normally we wouldn’t get too bent out of shape over a few trees being painted, but it’s well over 60 at this point, and widespread throughout the forest. None of the official people who help us maintain the trails in that area say they are responsible, and yet many of the markings seem to be blazes for trails. However the markings are at times absurdly close together, or in abstract places that make no logical sense. One “trail” is no more than perhaps 30 yards long and runs right along a massive clearing in a semi-circle, within plain sight of the clearing, and goes to nowhere; it goes into the woods, and pops back out into the clearing only 30-ish yards away. Most of our established trails that have been painted already have well-made trail markings of our own, and the trails are well-blazed. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to why these things are there at all. I don’t think it’s anything sinister, though the painter has left his/her paint cans in the woods before, so at the very least, they’re a litterbug. There is the concern about potential poaching, which can be a problem in our area. Sure, deer and turkey are commonplace in my rural community, but they are only that way because of conservation and game laws that keep populations intact. Local hunters play a big part in conservation, and if someone starts taking more than their fair share through poaching, that means less for everyone else, and upsets the balance of things. The sad thing is, unlike legal hunters who often hunt for meat for their families, (food is expensive nowadays) poachers usually do it for trophies, antlers, or ‘fans’ from the turkey tail-feathers. But our painter has yet to take any game to our knowledge. We’ve found no gut piles, blood, or discarded gear anywhere. So, if he’s not poaching . . . what on earth does he want?
Then a few weeks ago, we did find a camera inside our central perimeter.
To put this into perspective, we have roughly 10,000 acres to our little reserve. Only 1/3 is fenced in, containing our exotic animals for our tours, and our buildings that we use to operate. Offices, mechanical garages, barns, and storage sheds, that sort of thing. Usually if we have trespassing issues, it's in the northern woods, which is open to the public for walking/biking trails. Sometimes in the southern prairie reserve we get some wanderers, but it's pretty open, so people tend to shy away from it. But our interior, the central area, most of which is fenced in, is sacred ground for us. We have a children’s camp in there for kids to learn about nature, we have our animal barns, and even some staff housing. For people to walk around in there would be like a stranger walking through your bedroom at night, while you’re in the shower.
Not cool. Not cool at all.
One of our ecology survey teams found the camera in a lesser-used section a mile or so north of the children’s camp. Naturally, they assumed it was one of ours, until one of the staff innocently asked another ranger why we’d put a camera by that lake. When the ranger told her that we didn’t have any cameras there, it began to sink in.
We either have two trespassers, or the painter has decided to move his game further into our land.
I’m hoping it’s the former, that I’m overthinking things, but after all, the mystery painter had to have seen a few of the trail cameras we put up in the north to catch him. Could he be doing this as a form of tit-for-tat? I don’t know, but it’s got us rangers frustrated, and our ecology team is spooked. It was fun and games in the unpopulated north, but now he’s getting close to our people, our guests, and our animals. This is serious now. We removed the camera, but there’s not really much we can do without more patrols, more cameras, and more rangers. With our budget already restricted, the last part just isn’t possible.
My foray into trail cameras yielded no results as to a culprit. In fact, the day I came in early to pull them out of the field, it seemed nothing went right. Only two came off the tree, as I forgot the keys for the locks for the other two. I couldn’t find the last one at first, and darkness fell before I could locate it, so that I was wandering around in the northern district in the blackness searching for it. Inadvertently this helped me find the camera in the end; I saw the red light flash as it took my picture and was able to retrieve the SD card. It was in my long return trek to the patrol truck that I discovered the marks on a remote trail I hadn’t walked yet. A capital O and a capital N were scrawled in various places, with dots over the letters. I took German in university, so I know they aren’t grammatical marks from that language, known as umlauts (pronounced as “oomlout” for my fellow English speakers; for all my German speakers, if I spelled that wrong, I apologize). I’d left my phone in the truck (stupid rookie move for a seasoned ranger, I know) so I couldn’t take any photos, and didn’t want to follow the trail too far in the pitch dark. I had a flashlight with spare batteries, as well as my gun (I’m not a complete moron after all) but I didn’t have time to do much exploring, since I had other duties in the park that were waiting on me. I had some VIP’s that were coming in late, and had to be escorted, which meant I had to clamber back to my truck, swatting at mosquitos the whole way. Nothing on the cameras showed any definitive proof, though we might have a lead on a guy with a bow case on his back. Could be nothing though; it’s not illegal to wear camo or carry things, and it could very well have been a camera case, a backpack, or an empty bow case.
In any event, we rangers are working on a strategy for changing up our patrol routes and putting more cameras in the field, as well as checking in on the children’s camp frequently throughout the night. So far, this mystery person hasn’t actually hurt anything that we know of, but even if this is just local kids having a prank, it’s not funny anymore.
Anyway, on to the other news. For the aforementioned reasons, as well as others, I’ve been super swamped this past month, and so writing on the third book in the Barron County trilogy has been slow. I wanted to release it at the beginning of June, but at this rate, I’m going to have to push that back to late June, possibly early July. I hate to think I’ve disappointed you all, but it’s just not ready yet. That, and I’ve been busy with something else . . . something big.
I’m getting married next week.
It’s been a long time coming, but my fiancé and I are super excited. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and have been best friends since forever. We’ve both been running like chickens with our heads cut off to get everything ready, and naturally, we’re both exhausted/somewhat nervous. Our honeymoon will require some flying, and since my fiancé has never been on a plane before, that’s a point of nervousness for her. I’m sure she’ll be fine once we’re in the air, but until then, she’s a bundle of nerves.
All that is to say, I am working on the story, it’s just taking a bit. I cannot wait to get back into the swing of things for all of you and thank you again for your supreme patience in this. You guys and gals are great, and entertaining you all is a massive privilege. Stay tuned for the third installment of the Barron County trilogy, and the epic conclusion of Hannah Brun’s journey into the unknown! Until next time.

Round 1, Pick 5 - Joe Alt, OT, Notre Dame:
NFL: Head coach Jim Harbaugh is set on building an offensive bully and that starts with the offensive line. Alt comes in as a polished tackle who’ll step in and immediately boost the unit and protect Justin Herbert.
CBS Sports: B. He is the best in this class, but now he has to make the transition to right tackle for Jim Harbaugh. That can be tough to do. But taking a lineman makes sense, I just might have taken J.C. Latham as a better fit.
ESPN: Chargers general manager Joe Hortiz said they would stick to the process of picking the best player available, a strategy he learned from 26 years in the Baltimore Ravens personnel department that won him two Super Bowls. Selecting Alt on Thursday night supports this theory. The Chargers currently employ only four receivers -- none of whom has a season over 800 yards in the NFL -- and passed on taking the second-best receiver in the class. The Chargers are returning four of their five offensive line starters from last season and signed center Bradley Bozeman in free agency, but stuck to their strategy despite much bigger needs on the roster.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: His Skyrim character is Thad: The High King of Skyrim.
Round 2, Pick 34 - Ladd McConkey, WR, Georgia:
NFL: Our second pick, second receiver and first trade of the night. The Patriots slide back a few spots, and the Chargers get a receiver who should be thrust right into the mix. Although McConkey had injury issues at Georgia, if he's able to stay healthy, he could be Justin Herbert's favorite target in due time. With great route-running skills and impressive separation ability, McConkey could be an 80-catch player one day.
CBS Sports: A. Crafty, athletic, polished WR who can win on the boundary and in the slot. Releases are great. Route-running nuance also there. Deceptive speed and YAC skills.
ESPN: After trading Keenan Allen and releasing Mike Williams, the Chargers came into the draft with just four receivers on the roster. None among that receiving group of Joshua Palmer, Quentin Johnston, Derius Davis and Simi Fehoko had ever topped 800 yards in an NFL season. Since Herbert entered the league in 2020, he has always had a coterie of reliable pass-catchers, including players like running back Austin Ekeler and tight end Gerald Everett, who both left in free agency. McConkey, the Chargers hope, gives Herbert another player he can count on in the passing offense after many key departures.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Cannot stand The Office save for Scott’s Tots.
Round 3, Pick 69 - Junior Colson, LB, Michigan:
NFL: If there was one player I would have bet would follow Jim Harbaugh to the Chargers, it would have been Mike Sainristil or Colson. The latter was the emotional heartbeat of a championship Michigan defense, as Colson is a full-tilt competitor who brings his all to every game and every practice. He's a tackling machine whose coverage limitations were likely what caused him to fall out of the top 50 picks.
CBS Sports: B. Ties to Jim Harbaugh and addresses a need at off-ball LB. Best tackling linebacker in the class by a wide margin. Flashed some coverage chops in 2023 but not a speciality. I didn’t see premier range or speed to the football. Beats blocks with decent regularly and ball skills must show up more in NFL. Very young.
ESPN: This was a position of need for the Chargers and Colson, who was a second-team Big Ten selection and led the team with 95 tackles last season, will bring necessary competition to a mostly unproven group. Both of the Chargers' starting outside linebackers in 2023 won't be back next season, as Kenneth Murray Jr. signed with the Tennessee Titans in free agency and Eric Kendricks was released in March. Linebackers Daiyan Henley (51 defensive snaps in 2023) and Nick Niemann (238 defensive snaps in 2023) are the Chargers' lone returning linebackers from last season, but they also signed Denzel Perryman and Troy Dye.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: We all know what pick this is so make with the ‘nice’ jokes.
Round 4, Pick 105 - Justin Eboigbe, DT, Alabama:
NFL: Jim Harbaugh keeps beefing up both fronts. Eboigbe played well in Bama's Rose Bowl loss to Harbaugh's Wolverines, so this pick isn't a shock. The Chargers are adding toughness in Eboigbe, assuming his health improves. He had a breakout season in 2023.
CBS Sports: C+. Classic Nick Saban defensive lineman. Two-gapping extraordinaire with thick, powerful frame. Good first-step quickness but won’t be a calling card to win as a pass rusher consistently in the NFL. Not a pass-rush move type. Higher floor than upside. Limited role.
ESPN: The Chargers begin Day 3 by filling another of the team's most significant needs. L.A. is set at outside linebacker on their defensive line with Khalil Mack, Joey Bosa and Tuli Tuipulotu, but they are largely unproven in the interior. Some of the Chargers' best interior defenders from last season, defensive tackle Sebastian Joseph-Day and defensive tackle Austin Johnson, won't be back in 2024. Eboigbe, 6-foot-4, 275 pounds, was a first-team All-SEC selection last season, finishing with a caterer-high seven sacks.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Has been known to run around banging coconuts together simulating a horse.
Round 5, Pick 137 - Tarheeb Still, CB, Maryland:
NFL: The first tape I watched of Still, coincidentally, was against Michigan -- and he looked good. Jim Harbaugh clearly agreed, although Still's lack of elite speed or size might make him more of a candidate to kick inside as a nickel.
CBS Sports: C+. Chippy, fluid CB who wants to come up and hit people. Super-smooth hips. Doesn’t have the length or pure speed to be lockdown type but gets the most out of his athletic skill set. Won’t follow routes perfectly at the next level. Can be too grabby in man. Infectious energy on the field. Just lacks premier traits.
ESPN: The Chargers' pass defense was abysmal last season, allowing 249.6 yards per game, which ranked 30th in the NFL. So they had to address their secondary in the draft. Still, who is 6-foot and 189 pounds, ran a 4.52 in the 40-yard dash at the combine and finished with five interceptions last season, which tied for sixth in the FBS. He has lined up primarily outside (77% of his snaps came from out wide), but he can also play in the slot.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: His favorite operating system is Windows XP.
Round 5, Pick 140 - Cam Hart, CB, Notre Dame:
NFL: The Chargers double up on long DBs to help combat the AFC West's playmakers. Hart has a strong athletic profile, and he has the perfect makeup to be a special teams coverage standout as well.
CBS Sports: B-. Old-school, long outside CB. Huge with extreme length. Moves well for his size but probably won’t be able to stay with quick separators in the NFL on a regular basis. Last-resort grabbing gets him into trouble during the route. Speed is average and didn’t make many plays on the ball but not tested often. Maybe move to safety?
ESPN: Cornerback is the first position where the Chargers have drafted multiple players so far, proving that the group was one Hortiz knew needed improvement and competition. Cornerback may also be Hortiz's favorite position. He told reporters that he "never feels full at corner. That is a position that you never stop chasing," he said. The Chargers now have six cornerbacks on the active roster, including the 6-3, 202-pound Hart.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Takes three to five business days to reply to an email.
Round 6, Pick 181 - Kimani Vidal, RB, Troy:
NFL: I'm a bit surprised the Chargers didn't take a back before this, but Vidal has a chance to join the RB rotation for Jim Harbaugh. Vidal's profile reads similarly to Blake Corum, so it's easy to see why Harbaugh might view him favorably.
CBS Sports: A. This is a future feature back. Stocky, well-built frame. Between the tackles experience and can blend slashing and multi-cut style together. Elusive, sets up blockers well and has effortless power through contact at times. Not a true burner.
ESPN: Since the Jim Harbaugh era began in February, the theme for the Chargers has been on running the football. Vidal gives them depth at a position that will be one of the most important on the team. Considering the talent in the Chargers' running back room, which includes J.K. Dobbins and Gus Edwards, Vidal likely projects to be mainly a special teams contributor in his first year. Vidal set the Troy career (4,010), single-season (1,661), and single-game (248) rushing records, and his great-uncle is Baseball Hall of Famer Hank Aaron.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Spreads his love of Frito Pie eaten out of the little bag, like God intended.
Round 7, Pick 225 - Brenden Rice, WR, USC:
NFL: Jerry Rice's son and Caleb Williams' go-to guy figured to go a few rounds higher than this, but it's possible scouts felt there was more development needed in his game. With the Chargers, there are WR jobs open for Rice to make the roster early on.
CBS Sports: B+. Downfield specimen with quality size. Didn’t test amazingly but was a vertical weapon for Caleb Williams at USC. Stiff routes and only glimmers of YAC but has the power to run through some tackles. Fun fit with Justin Herbert. Son of NFL legend Jerry Rice.
ESPN: Only four receivers were on the Chargers roster before the draft, so drafting a second receiver seemed inevitable. Rice, 6-3, 208 pounds, is the son of Pro Football Hall of Fame receiver Jerry Rice. He played his final two seasons for the Trojans, where he was the primary deep target for No. 1 pick Caleb Williams. Rice led the team with a 14.6 air yards per target average in 2023, and 7 of his 12 TD receptions were on vertical routes -- tied for the sixth-most in the FBS.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: After adjusting the other picks & removing outliers he regresses to 1st overall.
Round 7, Pick 253 - Cornelius Johnson, WR, Michigan:
NFL: Another Michigan player for Jim Harbaugh. Johnson rarely was featured in Michigan's run-heavy system, but he made his mark as a blocker and occasional big-play receiver. His hands are inconsistent, but Johnson could find footing in L.A.
CBS Sports: C+. Sizable receiver who can deceive CBs with his long-striding speed when given a runaway. Inflexible movements will keep him from getting open on regular basis or winning against press. Ball skills are good in traffic.
ESPN: The more, the merrier in the Chargers receiving room. Johnson is their third pick at receiver, and for good reason. Johnson is also a familiar face, playing under Jim Harbaugh at the University of Michigan and the many other Michigan coaches on the Chargers staff. Johnson, 6-foot-3, 212 pounds, was a four-year starter at receiver and had 119 receptions since the start of 2021, the sixth most in the Big Ten. Johnson mainly played out wide in his career, with 84% of his snaps over the last three seasons coming lined up on the outside.
NFL Absolutely Not Fake News: Upset with the rising price of cheese and cheese related goods.

1330 Terran Front Fleet Time
On the Turinika homeworld, the first signs of unrest began to manifest like a wave, The broadcast of the most esteemed Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata, Taratanti of the roost Kazatalak, openly performing the act of Kavsa had been met with shock. The last Taratanti who had voluntarily performed Kavsa had done so in protest of the treatment of the Kulorn caste, nearly two thousand years prior. It was an ancient rite, one that signified rejection of the greatest shame. Even more shocking than the act itself was the evidence that had followed it. Visuals of species, brought into the Conclave, not as migrant workers as had been believed, but as slaves, was met with an almost immediate attempt at censorship. This attempt failed spectacularly, mostly due to those who had been tasked to censor the information not only refusing to follow the command, but openly declaring that they had been ordered to do so. A situation that was already, as the humans would say, out of hand, spiraled completely out of control. Within only twenty minutes of the ending of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s broadcast entire cities entered a state of absolute anarchy. Two planetary capitals were stormed and taken by the furious civilian population, demanding the location of those who had been enslaved. The Turinika Armada, which even then was in the middle of a training session meant to prepare the fleet to withstand the Terran Front’s assault, began to cease operations. Within the hour, the entire armada would be recalled to the turnika homeworld. Those who did not take to the streets simply stopped whatever work they were doing and went to their homes to be around their brood. Images of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata with his stripped wings spread wide in front of the human fleet commander were on every news fed of the Conclave, as was the sound of his thunderous voice, and the wails of despair from a turinika female that couldn’t be seen. Close ups of the human fleet commander’s face were shown, with analysts remarking on the shock, horror, and sympathy. Since the outbreak of the Seventh Orion War, the female human known as Simmons had been reported to have made several threats towards the turinika, she had quickly become seen as a warmonger, ready to take revenge against the turinika for refusing to go to war and violate their principles of pacifism. Now the images of her lunging forward to stop the violation of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s plumage, the agonized expression of her face, and the true reason for her threats against the turinika were rapidly reversing her image. On far flung deep core mining stations and agricultural stations, on deep space stations dedicated to material processing, and in other areas hidden from the sight of the normal turinikan population, overseers and taskmasters felt their hearts run cold at the knowledge that very soon, their part to play in the willful enslavement of another species would be known to the wider Conclave. As the data package transmitted alongside the broadcast were fully decompressed and the scale of the Conclave’s government’s involvement was revealed, the entirety of the Conclave itself was teetering on the verge of absolute pandemonium. The image of a member of the kolra species, from the look of it barely a hatchling, quickly was becoming the face of the entire incident. The picture was absolutely damning, and the sight of the image had sent any who saw it instantly into contorting and painful displays of shame. The young kolra was sprawled on it’s stomach, looking to the one taking it’s picture with eyes that had no life in them. It’s shell covered it’s back, and despite the age of the kolra it was already dulled and scuffed. The foot pressing down on the shell was unmistakably familiar to those who saw it, the clawed feet of a turinika. Within the hour, billions of winged figures stood in streets, the normally soft spoken and passive species demanding action, demanding justice, on the hundred worlds of the Turinika Conclave. The bulk of the Taratanti caste, most of whom had been left in the dark of the truth of the situation, quickly went public with their own declaration of outrage, and the eyes of the entire species turned inwards to the mountainous homeworld of their species.
Hakuri Watanabe looked down at his helmet before putting it on his bed, the stylized SEVEN seeming to stare at him. He sat down in his chair and picked up a small cloth from his buffing kit. No one knocked on his door, in fact, mostly he and the rest of his squad were left alone before a major operation. They were just given their time, time to mentally prepare. Some of his squad would go over their mission briefing, some, like him, would spend their time doing something to relax themselves. Hakuri always found that taking care of his suit calmed him considerably. Granted he could simply turn it over to the squads armorers to be tended to and they would do as good of a job as he could, but he preferred it to be done by his own hand. The symbol of a triangle was on his form fitting shirt, the symbol of his special operations command unit. He was known as a Myrmidon, but the official title of his unit was Section Three. He knew this, his superiors knew this, and as far as Hakuri knew, most of the Terran Front was aware of his unit’s existence, but past that, they knew very little about what he actually did. As far as his mother knew, Hakuri was a pencil pusher onboard the TFS Berlin, the troop mothership that all of his letters were sent from. He thought about writing her, but then again, he only liked to do that when he returned from a mission, not when he was expecting to go to one. If he tried to write her when he was waiting, he would just get anxious, and homesick. That wouldn’t do when he was dropping into a combat zone. That wouldn’t do at all. Hakuri instead started to buff his helmet, waiting for the word to come down which meant they were prepared to jump. A glance at the clock made him pause in his circular rotations. The clock said 1330. Operation Naked Sun was about to begin.
Tika was on his side, Kzia standing at the end of the medical bed that had been adjusted for his turinikan physiology. He felt cold in more ways than one. For his people, clothing was more of a decoration than a necessity, but without his protective plumage he felt the cold stabbing him through to his hollow bones. His diplomatic access was already gone, his privilege access revoked. He heard the broadcast for a preparation to jump, but he wasn’t truly listening. There was no question in his mind he had made the right decision. There was no question at all. One of the humans, a nurse, came to his side and gently laid a heavy blanket over him. The human’s hand lingered on his trembling body for a few moments before it was removed, and Tika glanced in their direction. The female was one of the ones who had responded first to the call for medical service for him, had heard what had happened and why. Tika had gotten very used to being glared at on this ship. He was hated, and he knew it. He knew he had deserved it. He was a party to the vral’s enslavement of the humans, the chua, and far too many others. When he had come to Thermopylae station, he had not even given that fact a single thought. He was born into power, being of the Taratanti. He belonged to the most powerful species and government in the entire quadrant of the galaxy. His people, while mighty, did not seek to use it. To him, they had simply been above it all. When the vral had approached him with the offer to sell captured species at first TIka had wanted to reject it out of hand, but a few had told him to go through with the sale. Such was the nature of this galaxy, or so he had believed. The weak were at the whims of the strong, and one’s place in the galaxy was determined only by the power they could wield. The turinika were not nearly the first to have taken a species and used it for slave labor, and while Tika did not approve of the deal, he had not fought it either. As he looked back to the wall, he remembered what the humans had taught him these last days. When he had arrived in Thermopylae he had assumed he would find the chua species to have been at the very least regulated to a subservient role, if not outright enslaved. Finding them sharing power was a curiosity. He had expected to be treated with all the honor and dignity that his station demanded, that the power of his government demanded. Fleet Marshal Simmons had disabused him of that, and had left him humiliated and shamed. As he had laid in the dark as Simmons had declared the Seventh Orion War, covered in his own filth, feeling as if at any moment he was going to be killed he knew true fear and horrific uncertainty for the first time in his life. He had never faced these emotions, these sensations before. He had always been in power. He had stood with the full might of the Turinika Conclave behind him. He had never known anything other than the superior position. Now, as he lay in the hospital bed, staring at the wall, he was ashamed of how arrogant, how blind, and how short sighted he had been. After he had risen from his own filth, he had desperately tried to convince his leadership of the strength of the Terran Front, how it matched or eclipsed their own. The Conclave was not the unchallenged power in the quadrant anymore. The terrans, the human and chua, had somehow defied fate. They had not fallen to the vral after ninety years of near constant conflict, and now if Tika was right they had come out of it nightmarishly stronger than before. Tika had actually begged to be heard by his superiors, and he had never come close to that once in his life. The chua homeworld however, had fully broken him. If he had not been on the Antares, had not been humbled beforehand, he knew that he would have just clapped his hands together and said that it was delightful. As the transmission from the chua homeworld had come in, and the rescue effort had begun, he could only wallow in his own shame. He had profited directly from the chua’s suffering, the human’s suffering. Again he had tried, and failed, to convince his people, and again he had failed. Being on the Antares, for him, was torture. The lights were too dim, every human and chua looked at him with nothing more than loathing and contempt, his entire worldview had been shattered from the way he viewed the galaxy to his own place in it. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the shadow of Simmons standing over him, her voice cold with a lethal rage, hearing her voice echo in his mind, seeing the glint from flashes of light shining in her eyes. ‘We Know.’ echoed in his mind in his sleep, the voice of the terrifying Fleet Marshal transforming into the sound of a vengeful god demanding compliance and promising retribution. Then he had watched the humans and chua, who he knew were preparing to go to war with his people, celebrating the return of the shesvie. Once more he had expected them to be integrated into the Terran Front, but as soon as he learned Simmons offer to them, and what it had entailed, he had been called to his room to answer the latest message from his people. Once again, his people had doubled down, the knowledge of the enslavement of the humans had been suppressed, and once more Tika found himself, and his people, standing against a Terran Front that had every justification to declare war, to right the wrongs that had been done to them. All the while, he knew something else. He knew that, after everything he had seen, that his people would lose. The turinika had not been to war for nearly two thousand years. His people were not ready for what the Terran Front could do, and after seeing what they had done to the vral so far, he knew his people were not ready for what the Terran Front would do. He was afraid of the dark. Tika was absolutely terrified of it now, because now he knew the monsters were real. Simmons had shown him that, but the humans, the chua, they were not the monsters. He was. He had refused to be one any more. He had announced his intentions to his staff, who had squalled in rejection, all but three. Kzia was the first to step to his side, Kikumot and Tziki had stepped forward as well. Never, in his most nightmarish dreams, did he ever think that he would stand in front of Simmons and voluntarily have his plumage stripped from him, performing the act of Kasva. He never thought that his staff would have ever compiled and transmitted the data package they had sent. He had never thought that he would betray his people, if only to save them. Simmons had changed that, the humans had changed that. He knew the terror of the dark, he knew fear for his people’s safety, he understood the horror of war, and for the first time in his long life he could truly look back at every interaction he had had, with every species, that had asked for help in their struggle for survival against the vral and truly understand their fear and desperation. Now he lay, his plumage stripped from him, his station revoked, his status removed, surrounded by a people who despised him. He wouldn’t have it any other way now. He knew that they would listen now, if not to him, then to the civilian masses of the Conclave that would not stand for what they had done. He prayed to the Great Mother often now, shivering in the dim light, hoping that it would be enough. He had been wrong, and in his error he had sullied his own people. He had made them complicit. Even now, he did not know how they would ever be forgiven, because right now he wasn’t quite sure he could ever forgive himself. As he heard the broadcast calling out on the ship, announcing one minute to jump, he felt a hand on his side, and looked up to the human nurse. She was smiling at him. Not a smile born of malice, or anger, but a genuine smile. She patted his side lightly, then turned to walk out of the room. For not even the twentieth time since he had come onboard Thermopylae, he was mystified by these people.
The bridge of the Dhampir was thrumming with music and the vibrations of the reactor and Conrad leaned forward in his chair mount, his eyes almost feral as he looked at the empty space that was the mandeville point. He was positively chomping at the bit. Batz was positively roaring the lyrics to the song that was blaring over the ships speakers. Rev and Dev sat side by side in their mounts, throwing their hands up in time with the pounding bass beat of the sound. Towns was the only one besides Conrad that was quiet, both of them looking towards the mandeville point with complete impatience. Conrad felt like jumping from his skin. Fidget, well, fidgetted, holding his hands over his headset and listening as if he were trying to hear secret messages in the music. They were ready, their pulses were racing. The crew of the Dhampir was positively vibrating. Conrad looked to the shipboard clock, seeing 1330 displayed, and his head snapped to Fidget, waiting for the word. They were going to run, they were going to chase, they were going to hunt.
Vicky sat back, looking towards Jess and Kukat as they slept. Jess was in her chair, Kukat in her medical bed. Vicky glanced back at the block print on the paper and read it for the fifth time. She read the individual lines, one at a time, cursing their existence. After reading through the message printed she let her hand hang again. Kukat would be released from medical tomorrow, and both her and Jess still thought they would be boarding the Thumper to join the Vellacore once more. Jess had talked non-stop about her quarters on the Vellacore the past few days, how she just wanted to be back in her room. Kukat was equally excited. Only Vicky didn’t share their excitement. They didn’t know yet. They didn’t know about their battlefield promotions, they didn’t know about their reassignments, they didn’t know the days of them working together were functionally over. Vicky looked down at her hand holding the paper again, and felt like crumpling it. She had lost her crew. She had lost them not due to negligence, or time, she had lost them to fame. Kukat was to be promoted to ensign, and was to be the sensor officer on the destroyer Hadrian, Jess was getting the same promotion, her station on the cruiser Victorious. Vicky? She was the sparkling new commanding officer of a destroyer that was arriving at Thermopylae in two days, the Quarrel. She never wanted this. She had turned down promotion after promotion that would take her from the cockpit of the Thumper, away from Kukat, away from Jess. She wanted to serve in this war in her own way, as a pilot, with the two who had made her life so enjoyable. Now though, they were to be split up, and there was nothing she could do about it. These promotions hadn’t come from simple seniority, they had come from High Command, as had the orders. Tomorrow, when Kukat was released, they would be ushered into the hanger bay of the Barrowmore. They would all three be awarded the Star of Terra, then they would be reassigned. Tonight was the last night they would all be together. Vicky wanted to wake them up, she wanted to tell them, to give them a chance to process it. As she looked to Kukat and Jess she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She held up the letter again, reading the first few lines, then she felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. She looked away, her heart panging with sadness, and stared at the wall. The clock read 1330.
Corporal Brandy was sitting on the small rack, with Janet Shippen sitting between his legs using his thighs as armrests. They were both dressed for the first time in the last few hours, both of them staring at the clock. This close to the reactors they could feel them beginning to spool up for the trip through hyperspace. When the news of the operation had come down they had elected to spend as much time together as possible, which Brandy had enjoyed to no end, and he had made sure Janet had as well. Brandy had even taken some time to reach out to his sister Victoria, a rarity for them both, as since they were children they were often barely able to speak to each other simply due to schedules. He had even told her about Janet, and although he hadn’t gotten a response from his sister yet he already knew what she would say. Janet nestled back against him, but he could feel her body was stiff. Neither of them knew what the next few months were going to hold. Their time together might be constricted, in fact, this might be the last few moments they were together for quite awhile. Brandy’s Ghouls were specialists, ship boarders. Chances are he was going to be extremely busy, as was she. He didn’t quite know how he felt about Janet, but he did know that beyond a shadow of a doubt he didn’t want to be away from her. Judging from how she was acting, she felt the same as him, conflicted about her relationship with him, but not wanting to be apart. He knew what he needed to tell her, that he had to get up, that he had to leave. The Ghouls were going to be assembled at 1345, ready to board. Her unit was going to be prepared at the same time, to begin taking on salvage. Her hands were like clamps on his legs, and from how tense she was, he wasn’t going to get up until she was good and ready. The clock on the wall switched to 1330. He stared at the clock, feeling like the clock was mocking him, when suddenly Janet leaned up and turned. Her hands took hold of his shoulders and she threw her body against his, her lips finding his own. Her arms wrapped around her frame and he tightened his grasp on her.
Simmons spread her hands over the panel in front of her, looking at the table. Seven points connected the recently reclaimed chua space to what was former Shesvie territory, and beyond that, the heart of the Vral Empire. Her lip curled in a wicked smile, On the digital display of the table the hyperspace lanes, and more importantly, the avenues of attack her fleet was preparing to take. She held out her hand, all five fingers splayed over the lanes, envisioning the war as it stood now. The war to come. Seven hyperspace lanes, seven systems, branching out into sixteen, branching out again to another twenty. The Antares herself was going to link up with the Barraki, and was set to simply plough through the next five systems to do so. Slowly she tightened her hand into a fist as she looked along the hyperspace lanes, seeing task forces lined up and ready to jump. Drones had already been sent through. The vral had forces along the border, but nothing that could withstand what was to come. Her fleet was ready. She was ready. The Seventh Orion War was at the end of it’s first month, and had taken back six systems. The first moves of Operation Naked Sun would double that and exceed it, then double it again. She had already given her speech, her task force commanders were ready. High Command had taken it’s time making this decision, and while she had railed against the delay that didn’t matter now. All along the front, individual task forces were joined into larger fleets, ready to jump into the next system and eliminate any vral defenses, but unlike now, they simply would not wait. Naked Sun was to be a lightning strike to cut off as much of the Vral Empire as possible, to deny them their own space, to imprison them on their own worlds. Task Forces were designed around three types of vessels combinations, Lighthammer Task Forces were comprised of corvettes and fast destroyers, the fastest vessels in the fleet, meant to take systems quickly, to devastate unprotected infrastructure, and to eliminate light resistance. Simply put, they were going to swarm into vral space, determine pockets of resistance, and move on. They were going to rip entire sections of vral space from them, calling in other task groups if needed. Thunder task groups were the primary capital fleets, meant to be sent into those pockets of resistance, and neutralizing them, joining with the Lighthammer groups if needed. The cruisers, carriers, battleships, they all belonged to these task forces. Her own task force was called the Nova task force, and it comprised only the Antares and it’s sizable fleet escort. Simmons glanced up at the clock, the time was 1329. She breathed in slowly, then unbidden the thought came to her head and she looked to the report from the two habitable planets that had been scanned by the drone cutters, the information having been relayed to her almost twenty minutes prior. She was not worried about the ground campaign, in fact a reserve fleet from Thermopylae would be the ones to escort the landing ships from planet to planet that her fleet left behind in it’s wake, isolated and defenseless from the wider Vral Empire. Fleet escorting was no longer her job, protecting ground invasions were no longer her job. Simmons was positively growling now, as her only job was to take her fleet and use it to rip the vral out of the stars. Still, the thought nagged at her. On both of the planets that her fleet was set to overrun, there were Vral ships in orbit. On the first, there was evidence that the Vral had been bombarding a small area of the surface, extremely similar in size to the hole that now existed on Zvitia, the planet that even now was being integrated into the Terran Front. In the second system it showed Vral ships in orbit, but whatever they were doing during the time they had taken the scans, whatever they were covering up, they didn’t seem to have gotten to it yet. On the radiological scan of the planet a massive bloom of electromagnetic energy painted a broad region of the planet blistering white. She had sent the images back to Earth, back to High Command, but no one seemed to know what was happening. The one thing that every analyst agreed on so far that was that whatever the blooms represented, it meant nothing good. She took another long look at the radiological scan, seeing the intensity of the radiation, and her lip curled in a snarl. She couldn’t think about that right now, but orders had already been given to notify her the moment that they had taken a planet that still bore the radiation signal. The vral were being damned fastidious about it though. She pulled her thoughts away from it, looking back to the hyperspace lanes. The slow grin entered her features again. She glanced at the clock. 1330. Her hand took hold of the receiver next to her station and she pressed the transmission stud, knowing that Hazard had already opened a channel to the wider fleet.
“Commence.”