I sit here Thinking back To when I was 6 years old And the 2000 election had everybody up in arms And when I tried to figure out what was making my parents so upset All I could put together in my tiny head was "global warming"
But what did it mean?
And I remember one year later, Being in the teacher's lounge Happiness personified - Here I was, getting the INSIDE look into our Teachers' behind the scenes world But the teachers were all watching tv And I saw them crying And all the burning
But what did it mean?
And when I was 8, I saw so any orange groves, and so much land, and felt the warm and gentle heat of the florida sun. And I hoped the orange groves would always be there for me to come back to
Why would I have hoped for that?
And then in 2004, after having been in Florida now for one year Our first storm hit My little brother, 3, asked my mom Where is that tornado going? My mom said "its called a hurricane And it's coming this way And that's why we were all In a closet
And he asked "why is it coming for us? What did we do to it?"
And I laughed - but I was afraid
Now I am 11 - just beginning to come out of my shell and make more friends I was on the phone In the street At a sleepover This was one of the best years of my life So I didn't really pay attention to Katrina or her aftermath until I made room for her in 2006 Watching everyone pick up the pieces During my commercials I was starting to kind of hate the news
It was usually sad
Then I found some long lost cousins We did everything together every summer And laughed all day And life was good I even got to play around with my cousins Cell phone -unbelievably It was just a glass screen That you could touch To make calls and play games and watch videos
At the time, I just played games on them Not knowing
What does it mean?
And then my parents Considered themselves lucky When my friends Would then tell me Their parents got laid off Eventually I had to look up the difference Between being fired and getting laid off
I just didn't know
In 2009, I was vibing With yes we can Will i am Because for the first time, A white guy wasnt president I was so happy
Until
In 2010 The process began To send my dad Away forever in 2011 When he got deported And my subconscious, ignorant innocence Was depleted I had cracked
And when I graduated high school I had to thank technology for once Just because My dad could stream in And watch
Then I was free
And wanted to see snow again And in Pennsylvania I got my wish And then more The polar vortex was my friend It brought be way back And I begged it not to go
I really don't beg for much
The next summer In a different climate Was brutal I sweat I wore shorts I couldnt breathe much I wasnt used to Not having ac
It felt dangerous
2015 was when I went on a cruise For the first time And hated it Watching the people Reaching through the fence And seeing guns Wasnt something I could Ignore
But
2016 was just Pristine And the music felt real The people were kind And we all were Making the most Of every day Life was hard but We didnt need much We were young But i swore Revenge on the ones who said "Trump is just doing it to be funny Its a joke Its not real"
Because what the fuck Do I look like to you
Iceland in 2017 was awe full The Cotswolds in 2018 were quiet In 2019 Dublin was rainy and magical 2020 knocked me 3 steps back 2021 was a hot one 2022 we moved. We had to. 2023 was a mild winter
And now, My rights are rearing up to be ripped away By those who have no right But power Is something that Lions Use to kill others's cubs And why should we be different?
We are made of life And overpowering oppression Is something We must fight against And progress and freedom Is what we must be willing to die for
Because everyone seems to be dying these days
And that's no coincidence.
I turn 30 this year. And I've already lived an entire lifetime.
But I thought dying at 30 was a thing of the far past Something my ancestors did to give me a fighting chance
I never thought that My true heart would be dead by now
Because the snow is fading And monkeys are falling And dolphins are frying And palestinians and israeli's are fighting And russians were fucked And ukrainians are fearless And somalia Burkino faso Chad Haiti Niger Labanon And the central African republic And the rohingya,
Are faltering
And they are me. Every one of them.
So I'm voting for Biden. I can't risk my birth control
I would rather die than Make someone else Go through this When the end Seems so near The little things are what matter now.
I've seen enough.

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“Is that a threat?” I countered plainly, simply, and with my hand brushing against the back of my pistol.
“No, newrealmer.” The apprentice replied with a nonchalant, conversational tone of voice, having dropped that momentary rise in intensity. “I am merely referring to this little mixer. Which, I believe, I should allow you to get back to. But just be warned, it would be wise to heed my words. Though I highly doubt this will be the last you’ll be hearing of this, as perhaps clarification will be needed to address exactly what is and isn’t acceptable and tolerable. Then again, I doubt even that will be my purview. Oh well…” The apprentice shrugged, cutting himself off and removing the little blanket of darkness before he could get into another one of his long-winded tirades.
The darkness disappeared as abruptly as it’d arrived. Moreover, if the sensor readings didn’t already make it clear, it was now very much evident to me that the shadowy bubble I’d been thrust into wasn’t some kind of portal or spatial anomaly, but a careful manipulation of light; separating our small space from the rest of the gathered crowd. A crowd which, much to my surprise, didn’t seem at all fazed by the scene. If anything, the sudden and inexplicable appearance of the apprentice seemed to only result in the expected nods of respect, and bows of deference.
No words were exchanged between the shadowy apprentice and the gathered group. Instead, only a glare and a nod of respectful warning was given; generating an immediate shift in the atmosphere.
A vibe that immediately read as: Tread Lightly.
Silence permeated the immediate aftermath of that encounter. Whilst concern over the apprentice’s actions brewed inside of me, forcing me to consider the implications of this first open attempt at information control, and more worryingly… if he was acting on his own volition or at someone else’s standing orders.
However, despite the general submission to the apprentice’s presence and the unspoken warnings toward the group as a whole, the mileage by which the warning was taken… varied considerably.
The tortle-like-turtle, along with the rest of his group and some scattered compatriots, simply left.
Ladona and a few others remained there for a second longer, before likewise breaking course, returning back to Auris Ping and the rest of their group.
Etholin and the group of crocodiles however, whilst relatively unnerved and cautious, actually took a few steps towards me.
“Well then.” The orange and yellow Viscount Gumigo broke the silence first. “You, newrealmer, are now officially on our sight-map.” He spoke in a manner that because of his cocksure and gung-ho demeanor, made it difficult to determine if that was a particularly good, or a particularly bad thing. Though the fact he also left quickly after saying that, probably implied the sentiment lay somewhere in between.
“We'll have our eyes on you.” One of the crocodiles spoke, using two of his three fingers to point towards his eyes, before shooting them back towards me.
“And our ears too!” The smallest crocodile yapped through a confident grin, before just as quickly bolting off.
This left only the small ferret as the last one standing, as he once more craned his head up higher and higher, just to meet my eyes.
“T-the offer from before still stands, earthrealmer.” Etholin began, generating a brief instance of a privacy screen around us. “The offer to parlay that is. W-with the added caveat of guaranteed discretion on my part.” The ferret’s mild-mannered demeanor remained all throughout, even as he tried his best to infer something other than skittish nervousness through his words. “You were leading towards something, a topic which… while admittedly taboo and borderline preposterous, entering the realm of absurdity, is one that I very much wish to hear more of. Will you walk with me, Emma Booker?” The ferret gestured towards the second nook. “We don't have much time before the end of this mixer, after all.”
I nodded cautiously, prompting the ferret’s privacy screen to grow stronger with mana radiation, a confirmation that these things did take more effort to maintain when in motion.
“I’m flattered they even bothered to entertain my explanations in that case.” I offered, trying to keep the conversation rolling as it naturally veered towards one of the points I wanted to touch on; gauging the crowd from earlier using Etholin’s insight. “After all, it would’ve been much easier to simply disengage and disregard, rather than to engage and actively humor my points.”
“Indeed. Though this perhaps due in no small part to the… unconventional and daring plays of your vastly inferior hand.” The ferret paused, before quickly correcting himself just as we arrived at the third nook. “I… I meant no disrespect with that of course!”
“No offense taken, at least not at this junction, Lord Esila.” I offered with a sigh, urging him to continue.
“A newrelamer’s deck is often composed of cards stacked against their favor from the moment they step into the nest of intrigue that is the Academy. Your… unique predispositions, whilst seemingly a handicap, have been overshadowed by your peers’ classroom performance in the form of your current points, and most notable of all… your library card. Whilst the former is subject to the whims of the academic game, the latter… has become a foundational cornerstone to your lore. This, amongst a few other rumors and whispers, has forced the student body to reassess its stance on what would otherwise be an easily-dismissed existence. Indeed I… applaud your risk-taking maneuvers during that fateful assembly. Though I can imagine it did not come without its price.”
That latter, almost ominous statement, immediately put me in mind of Auris and the resultant cold war stemming from our two fates that’d become inexplicably linked after that assembly fiasco.
A pause quickly punctuated the scene, with Etholin looking up expectantly, as I took a moment to get a closer look at the third nook and all of its magically-derived shenanigans; namely the battle-lines now drawn into what appeared to be a fully actualized, highly-rendered battlemap, and miniatures of several towns and cities scattered across it.
“All decisions have their prices, Lord Esila.” I offered earnestly, just as the lines in whatever magical RTS game happening in the background behind him were shifting. “Indeed, as much as I appreciate your insight on this matter, this does raise the question—”
“You backstabbed my third guard unit, Lord Etale!”
“Well, YOU lied to me about the shipment of grain, Lady Evrail!”
I paused, momentarily distracted by the drama quickly manifesting in the background.
“—why exactly do you seem to be more invested in me than most? Now, I’m not saying I’m not appreciative of course. I genuinely, and wholeheartedly, wish to form more bonds amidst an… in your own words — nest of intrigue. However, I am merely curious.”
“Perhaps I see this as a risk worth taking, Cadet Emma Booker.” He offered with a twitch of his ears. “Perhaps, I see that the benefits of discussing matters, of forming at the very least a working relationship, is now worth the potential risks following your elevation from a mere newrealmer, to a potential player in the game.”
A momentary silence once more descended following that answer, as I paused to ponder the sincerity behind the ferret’s voice, amidst the growing chaos and rapidly deteriorating battle-lines of the game behind him; towering high-rises and windmills alike, crumbling amidst a barrage of tiny magical missiles hurled to the tune of tiny mana radiation signatures.
However, just before I could formulate an answer, a series of bells suddenly sounded above us, eliciting the attention of not just me and my gathered audience, but the rest of the room as well.
It was around this time that the musical ensemble from one of the nooks came forward, carried aloft on a floating invisible platform, as the ‘MC’ began addressing everyone in the room. “Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies… newrealmer… may I have your attention, please! The time for dinner has arrived! As a result, it would be our pleasure once again to serenade the end of today’s mixer.” The ‘MC’ quickly turned towards the only other noble on stage, who just as quickly began performing.
The question of just how a singular person would be able to play a quartet’s worth of instruments quickly became clear, as disembodied white-gloved hands manifested out of nowhere, and began playing a sharp and whimsical tune.
“It stands to reason that perhaps fate has deemed our conversation stops here, at least for now, Cadet Emma Booker.” Etholin offered.
“There’s more you wanted to touch base on?”
“Y-yes. There is a proposition I wish to pose to you, on the matter of this weekend’s sojourn into Elaseer, and on another matter more pertinent to your time here within the Academy and its many, many factions.”
So that’s what his angle is?
“If it’s a simple nonbinding talk, then sure. Maybe tomorrow after class? Or maybe after Friday’s PE class? As long as nothing else comes up of course.”
“Those are indeed acceptable time frames, Cadet Emma Booker.” Etholin nodded deeply, before taking a few careful steps back. “Till we meet again.”
The sun had begun setting at this point, and as the music prepared to draw to a close, so too did everyone’s formerly talkative spirits.
The wrap-up process was somber, and was rather distinct for each of the little nooks within the lounge. The first nook, with Ilunor and Rostario, seemed to be tallying up some sort of a scoreboard that floated in mid air, far above the reaches of the pair’s short little arms.
The second nook however seemed to be dealing with a lot of cleanup work, as the animated paper birds, dragons, gryphons, and dragon-wyvern-gryphon hybrids were practically torn to shreds by the end of it. Whatever animated battle had transpired, I was apparently not privy to. But I made an immediate mental note to both myself and the EVI to focus on that nook the next time around.
The third nook, the one I’d seen towards the tail end of the mixer, was my main fixation at this point however; as the students here seemed to be tallying and wrapping up what was effectively a magically actualized version of a hybrid between a real-time strategy and a table-top roleplaying game. Except instead of holograms, they dealt with fully autonomous physical miniatures, small representations of anything from your archetypal knight to what looked to be a heavily armored… dare I say it, renaissance looking APC… if that was even a thing. I tended to stay away from fusion fantasy stories, being known as a stickler for minimally invasive crossover settings, so I’d need to look this over with the EVI after work was done. Many of the miniatures however lie in tatters, mauled and torn apart across the mini battlefield. But just like the second nook, this mess didn’t seem to be a problem; a series of magical spells restored every model back to their original condition.
Though following the cleanup, I’d expected the tensions from earlier to spiral into some form of a duel. Similar to how Ilunor and Rostario had seemingly been riled up from what amounted to a minor confrontation.
This, surprisingly, didn’t happen. Instead, and much to my surprise, the group just ended up shaking hands in a surprising display of sportsmanship.
But while the first three nooks were rather straightforward, the fourth nook… I just couldn’t comprehend. Their incantations of darkness seemed to have brought about some sickening creature that disintegrated into what I could only describe as liquid shadow following the call for dinner.
Which left only the fifth nook, who were essentially already packed up, with their musical instruments disappearing either into a burst of smoke or into a small dimensional rift-in-the-wall.
That, I’d need to investigate down the line.
For now however, I turned towards the exit, towards the animated painting that had acted as the entryway to the space. One that had now just given up on all pretenses and opened up like a traditional door; exactly as I recalled it on the night of the warehouse explosion.
“So much for all the magical effort that goes into entering the place.” I groaned out, as I regrouped with the rest of the party, but not before Ilunor turned around for one final jab at the hamster.
“You’re a guinea pig, Prince Rostarion!” He seethed, before seemingly out of nowhere, pulling a fruit that looked like a cross between a pineapple and a cantaloup out of his cloak. At which point, he lobbed it, directly towards the hamster who deflected it with a flick of his wrist.
This led to what amounted to an impromptu tennis match that followed us from the lounge, into the halls, and even all the way down the stairs, before it finally came to an end at the end of an upper yearsman’s wand. At which point, a few words were exchanged, and the pineapple found itself floating and following the Vunerian down and into the dining hall. It seemed to get closer and closer to his head, only halted when he turned around to glare at it.
“I… I don’t understand what’s going on anymore, Ilunor.” I offered in an exasperated breath.
“It’s humor, earthrealmer.” The Vunerian responded somehow pridefully, yet defeatedly at the same time. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Living Room. Local Time: 2000 Hours.
Emma
“So what do you make of it?” I asked the gang after more or less divulging the entirety of my encounters during the little ‘mixer’, now that we’d plopped ourselves down on the couch, with a cone of silence deployed for good measure.
“Lady Ladona was attempting to assert some level of social dominance and intimidation.” Thacea began, taking a sip of some tea she’d ordered in from dinner. “Whether or not that is at the behest of Lord Ping’s request, or one committed on her own volition, does not detract from the fact that her actions are invariably representative of her peer group.”
“To which Emma responded in the best way possible.” Thalmin offered with a snarky grin. “Care to revisit that moment you stood your ground against her on your memory shard again, Emma?”
“I’m afraid I have to insist on moving forward with the conversation, Thalmin.” Thacea countered, prompting the lupinor to hold back and to simply shrug, urging the avinor to continue.
“The rest of the crowd seemed… as you pointed out to Lord Esila, surprisingly accommodating all things considered. Though it’s the encounter with Apprentice Arlan Ostoy that I am most worried about.”
“As am I.” I offered, prompting both of us to stare intently in deep thought.
“The man is obviously trying to halt the divulgence of hard evidence to your manaless existence.” Thalmin offered.
“But the enforcement aspect of it is nebulous at best.” Ilunor chimed in. “I believe you will see further expansion upon this warning sooner rather than later. For now I believe it would be best if we heeded those warnings, especially considering the delicate situation we are already embroiled in.”
I took a moment to take all of that advice in, pausing to consider my next course of action with that particular development.
Exhaustion certainly wasn’t something I’d expected to feel this early on in the night. This was especially true when considering that all that had transpired was what amounted to a small social gathering.
Though as my time with the Director had taught me, ‘parties’, and ‘social events’ were two very distinct things. With the latter being less of a party and more of a thinly veiled networking expo disguised under layers of booze, food, and whatever shiny distractions your budget could afford.
But while the social mixer seemed to have opportunities for those to pursue their hobbies, namely in the little nooks… the social event aspect of it was definitely still there. And as a result, it was still something I desperately wanted to recover from.
Though given my track record…
“INFIL-DRONE01a has returned-to-base, Cadet Booker.”
… I should’ve expected that work was going to rear back its ugly head somehow.
Moreover, this was all part of the plan, after all.
The expected downturn in activity was expectedly replaced with the anxiety-inducing apprehension of what was to come.
“Alright.” I announced, both towards the EVI, and outwardly towards the rest of the gang. “The spy drone’s back. Are you guys ready to see what’s on it?”
A series of nods quickly followed, with all eyes averting from the dragon-fly like drone currently docking itself back into my suit.
I held my breath as the data began its tentative upload, a nagging feeling coiling from the back of my spine urged me to prepare for the worst.
“Alert. Probability of stealth compromisation and discovery at 50.27%. Isolate and play moment of stealth parameter endangerment?”
And I just about let loose the largest sigh of internalized stress I’ve released over the past 48 hours.
This clearly brought on the attention of the rest of the group, as each of them leaned closer towards me.
“There’s a near fifty-fifty chance we’ve been found out.” I explained bluntly. “But there’s only one way to find out.” I quickly began setting up the tablet and its on-board projector, flipping it on its kickstand as the recorded footage started playing, zeroing in on the exact instance of mission endangerment.
The footage revealed what appeared to be the same blank void from my long-winded journey towards the man’s office. The blank unrendered walls, the shadowless bright white fixtures, and the floatiness of it all, made it clear exactly where we were.
“At least we’re headed towards Mal’tory’s office.” I offered with a half-hearted laugh.
However, as the footage continued, it quickly became clear to all of us that it wasn’t just the apprentice that was on the prowl towards the black robed professor’s offices.
In fact, as the camera panned up, it became readily apparent exactly who had triggered the stealth alarm.
As it became undeniably clear that the armorer of all people, was now side-eying the drone, cocking his head if only so slightly in the direction of its flightpath.
Throughout all of this however, the apprentice remained locked in her own little world, as she continued talking about subject matters not particularly important, most of which simply related to the class and the more mundane aspects of teaching.
“This is bad.” Thalmin managed out first, sinking the bottom half of his face into his hands.
However, just as those words were uttered, so too did the footage reveal something… peculiar about Sorecar’s unfettering gaze.
He winked.
Or at least, in his own little way, as a gleam of light reminiscent of a lens flare emanated from the left visor currently in view of the drone.
All four of us just about lost it at that point.
As Thacea turned towards me expectedly, looking up at me as if I had the answers.
“I… I’m guessing… I mean… He’s perceptive, I’ll give him that. He’s doing something none of the professors could do so far. Heck, not even the apprentice seems to notice. But that wink… I guess…” I paused, before turning towards the EVI. “EVI, any other instances of potential discovery?”
“Negative, Cadet Booker. This is the only recorded instance that surpasses the tolerable threshold.”
I took a moment to sink into the armor. “Well, this seems to be the only instance the drone caught anyone or anything else staring directly at it.” I explained to the group. “Moreover, there were no instances in which Sorecar actually notified the apprentice about this it seems.” I continued, once more reviewing the EVI’s risk of discovery reports.
“The man seems to be somewhat endeared to you, Emma.” Thacea reasoned.
“Yeah… funny the way things turn out, huh?” I offered, before scrolling towards the start of the mission proper, and began playing.
Everyone now became intently focused on the long stretches of silence as the apprentice and professor duo made their way from the class and towards the dark and imposing double doors of Mal’tory’s office.
It was here however, that the first words from the apprentice directly referencing the man were finally spoken.
“Well here we are.” Larial spoke through a tired sigh.
“The office of the great man himself.” Sorecar chuckled darkly, crossing his arms in the process. “Well go on then. Be my guest, Apprentice.”
To which the apprentice nodded, but instead of simply opening the door… she grabbed what appeared to be a small notebook, turning to a page stamped entirely with seals and runes. She took a few steps forward, holding the book up, and outstretching her other hand in what amounted to the most archetypal image of a mage casting a spell I could ever dream up. “Ars la tal te al…” She mumbled in rapid succession, looking visibly silly without my drone’s ability to pick up manastreams due to its limited onboard sensors, and thus giving the gang a small slice of what it was like to see the world through my eyes.
These mumblings however eventually resulted in the doors creaking open, slowly, but surely, and with great strain, being pushed inwards by an unseen force.
“That wasn’t an Academy spell.” Sorecar noted accusingly.
“No, it wasn’t.” Larial acknowledged cryptically, pocketing the book and stowing it away.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Apprentice.” The armorer spoke with a hint of ominous foreboding, visibly hesitant to cross the threshold and into Mal’tory’s office.
“I’m merely carrying out my duties, and the last I checked, those who carry out their duties are impervious to the ministrations of the games fought amongst the issuers of said duties.”
“You see the world in black and white, Apprentice; a fatal misstep once one enters the throes of the game. And the longer you remain in this rat race, the sooner you will come to realize that you must pick a side. Lest you become a liability, or worse, be an intolerable threat to be dealt with.” Those words carried with it what seemed to be a genuine sense of care and concern. Though dour and colored with a severity I hadn’t seen from the armorer so far. Part of me even felt like he could be speaking from experience.
The apprentice only paused for a few seconds, her whole body freezing for a moment as if considering the very real looming threats.
However, no sooner did that realization come did it also dissipate, as she let out a sigh, before pulling out a monocle from beneath her cloak. “You speak as if I have a choice, Professor. Where in reality, the only choice I have is to resign or to obey. In which case, I have little choice at all.” Larial’s eyes wavered as she said that, if only for a moment. “My choice was made the moment I left the crownlands. Moreover, I try my best to see the light in this dire situation. I still see this responsibility as an opportunity for me to also work for myself.”
“So you do have aspirations for the black-robed position.” The professor surmised.
“No. Not particularly anyways. No, what I meant by my personal responsibilities… is a debt that I must uphold.”
“A life debt, perchance?” The professor reasoned, prompting the apprentice to once more pause.
“A debt is a debt, which must be paid in full all the same.” She reasoned, before once more urging the man across the threshold.
Sorecar did so with a nervous hop, as if preempting some sort of trap which never came.
It was at this point that the pair became silent, as if in awe of the room they were now standing in.
Everything about it… was exactly the same as it was on that fateful night. From the dark and moody bookshelves that lined most of the walls, to the somber and almost mournful pieces of art, furniture, and knick-knacks that looked eerily fluid this time around.
Moreover, the centerpiece of the whole room, that anatomical live-model of a dragon, remained exactly as it was.
And even now… I could swear that its eyes were staring at the sole occupants of the room, in a permanent expression of shock and dread.
“I assume you’ve never been in the prime iteration of the man’s offices before.” Sorecar reasoned, his gait becoming paradoxically more confident, whilst Larial’s became more and more nervous.
“No. It would seem not.” She expressed through a tentative breath, closing the doors behind them, before going over practically every nook and cranny in the room with both her eyes, and a flight of magical gloved hands. “It would seem as if he didn’t trust me enough to allow me entry into his true domain.”
“Understandable.” Sorecar shrugged. “But that begs the question, exactly how did you come across that seal-breaker?”
“As I said before, Professor. I’ve been assigned this responsibility by three authorities simultaneously.”
“Let’s see… the weak-willed young Vanavan?”
“Yes.” The apprentice nodded, now kneeling in front of the chair I’d broken out of half a week ago.
“And the Dean as well, I imagine?”
“Correct.” She nodded again, this time placing her hand over top of the damaged chair, as if inspecting it for signs of tampering.
“And the third, the only one with the key to the prime iteration of the black-robed professor's offices… I assume this is a third party?”
The apprentice finally paused at that latter question, though it wasn’t clear if it was because she discovered something about the chair, or was more concerned about the question itself.
“Yes.” She finally responded after a tentative few seconds, moving over towards the back of Mal’tory’s desk.
“Am I correct to assume then, that this mysterious third party is some young and aspiring member of the inner guard? A Captain perhaps? Maybe even a Major?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss the nature of my superiors, Professor.” Larial concluded sternly, placing both of her hands atop of Mal’tory’s desk.
“But you just did.” Sorecar shot back with a tone of voice that could only be described as amused and cocky.
“I did so in the hopes of appeasing your curiosities, professor, to the point where perhaps you would be satisfied with two answers out of a total of three.” The apprentice responded with a hard sigh.
“And you just so happened to have chosen to stop at the mystery individual because that was perhaps the juiciest insight out of all three?”
“I stopped because that just so happens to be the third question on your roster, professor. Now please, I need a moment of concentration.”
“Apologies, apprentice.” The man craned his head down in a show of apologetics.
The silence finally prompted Larial to bring out what looked to be a bespoke, intricately crafted, and fancifully adorned magnifying glass. One that was tastefully sized, and looked genuinely cool to hold with its cherry-oak handle and its gold and silver decals. I would’ve killed to have something like that commissioned out-of-pocket for a Victorian steampunk cosplay. This, coupled with the monocle she had put on not a few moments prior, gave an almost period-appropriate air of some Sherlock Holmes flick; vibing quite well with the room’s Victorian aesthetic.
Even Sorecar of all people seemed to fit weirdly well, as some sort of an eccentric overly curious sidekick to the serious and strait-laced Detective Larial. These dynamic duo vibes would be further tested, as Sorecar continued pushing on his previous talking points. “Though, forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds here… but I do assume that the seal on your notebook belongs to the inner guard. Dare I say it, it reminds me of a sub-order within the guard, the Beholders of His Eternal Majesty, to be precise.”
“And what makes you think that, professor?” Larial shot back curiously, cocking her head, but still completely engrossed in whatever it was she was eyeing through that magnifying glass.
“This room we’re in.” Sorecar gestured aggressively. “This is its prime iteration, the real deal, the actual room, not a tertiary, let alone a secondary decoy to be accessed by a lesser seal or an attempt at physical trespassing. Now, for any other office within the castle walls, that access could easily be explained through the utilization of the Dean’s seal. But for a black robed professor’s office? Well… you know as well as I, that no academic authority can grant you access into what is effectively the crownlands’ consulate. I know for a fact, that the last time I entered a black-robed professor’s office with the Dean’s Seal, all I saw was the most unconvincing facsimile of the prime iteration.”
“I forget sometimes that you were once perhaps an apprentice as well, professor.”
This attempt to connect with the apprentice through personal anecdotes seemed to work for a little bit, before something caused the warmth from the apprentice’s face to fade entirely.
“What is it?” Sorecar urged, noticing the radical shift in their back and forths.
No sooner was that question raised did an audible CLICK soon follow, and the sound of a desk drawer opening filled the stale and stagnant air soon after.
From there, the now-silent apprentice cautiously pulled up two items from the unlocked drawer using some sort of levitation spell; only one of which I recognized from that fateful day.
In one of her hands was the crystal ball I saw Mal’tory stowing away prior to our conversation.
And in the other, was a small notebook bound in bright green leather, one that prompted Ilunor’s eyes to grow wide with worry.
“I believe I have found the last instance of the professor’s personal correspondence to the crownlands.” She spoke, placing the crystal ball down on the professor’s desk. “And I also believe, I have found exactly what our dear Dean, and indeed… my third party is looking for.” She placed the notebook on the table. “A list… containing a number of books marked as recommended reading material for the studious student… all to be issued not by the school’s library, but the Library.”
“None of those books are on the course’s recommended reading material list, I imagine.” Sorecar responded darkly and facetiously.
“No. Not a single one, professor. Which can only mean one thing.”
"We found The Library's burned catalog."
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(Author’s Note: Apprentice Arlan Ostoy, the shadow-obscured apprentice, seems to be rather serious in his attempts at obfuscating the truth! We'll just have to see how that plays out haha. However, in spite of that, we see Etholin's interests in Emma growing, as he speaks frankly with her on several matters, and Emma finally confronts him about just why he seems to be so eager to talk to her despite the taboo nature of her very existence! We also see exactly what the five nooks in the student lounge are up to, as I've always wanted to give the magical world just a little bit more whimsy and a lived in sort of vibe with these things happening all around Emma, and just demonstrating that there is indeed multiple stories and characters just living their own lives outside of Emma's story! That's the sort of vibe that I always love and that I hope I'm able to capture with this haha. Also, most importantly, we start to see the footage gathered from Emma's snooping, as we get to see the nitty gritty of Larial's investigation on Mal'tory! I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 83 and Chapter 84 of this story is already out on there!)]

Hello, I can't sleep and Im getting pills for it. I have been awake for 48 hours now. And things are a bit of blur. But I have realised that I have picked up and extreme urge to write. I dont know how or why, but I crank out amazing short horror stories in 20minutes, and cant remember why. i realise that there are symptoms regarding sleep deprevation but whats happening doesnt match anything I've seeh. So yea the compulsion to write is weird and I have developed an obession of posting them to reddit (this I swear is not one), lying and not knowing why to commenters. I had posted a list about of game I like but not that much, the list was a thousand words, and I spent an hour of time doing nothing else making this list, all of knowledge I'd forgotten about. You can find the rest of the messy mesy story, and I lied and said I was high in one post, and took down countless others. I dont even use reddit that much, always that it was a bit weird, and though. I was mostly wrong, I thought I would come here. I have ADHD and focusing is hard for me, and i have never been so hyperifxated on something like that in my life. And then i started a little log to see where im at during my sleepless night. Each hour. I logged. And Logged And logged. I didnt realise how much i was hallicinating, but I think I was in REM sleep and I somehow retained perfect ability to type on keyboard without seeing and look. I thought that everything I was typing made sense, but after kinda snapping out of it, I realised in horror kind of. So i took my photo booth opened, it and ran a video of me. I was in REM sleep for sure, and i was typing unbelievbly fast. I remember everything, I could think and then my hands would type it. I know it sounds weird, but like my imagination, my subconscious thoughts were being projected somehow. Heres all 3000 words and counting of it. the last couple where I do the test make it unclear, but unless someone actually replies to this, I will save images and photos for later. I am currently still hallucinating but not as badly so pardon my misspellings.
Now I Swear on My Life this is real, none of my friends believe me, my sister does though. please help me
Here it is
-1am feeling tired didn’t get to sleep until three last night, so this sucks
-3am haven’t done any work went don’t disturbing internet mystery rabbit hole. Also what will my screen time look like? Not good.
-5am- That’s when it hits you, the birds and the light, worst feeling ever. Microsleep hit, and I hallucinate myself watching a video. WTF.
-8am-I have been writing a short story for the past 3 hours, wtf is wrong with me. I get out of my room at 8:30, and something shocking, happened, I looked in the mirror and I have a six pack? At first I thought hallucination and dismissed it, went and had nothing for breakfast apart from some ice cream. I am scared.
-9am-taken medication feel fine. I have not eaten much and I am aware it is taking a toll on my weight. I have six pack and look shredded. This is not a good thing.
-10am- all my 2500 word essay got deleted. I notice sleep deprivation and medication, has a weird affect. It masks the affects of sleepiness. I feel fine, no fatigue, could work for ever. I have a 1 hour tutor session, let’s see how that goes.
12pm- Finished tutoring session - felt easy speedy and fine. Am heavily addicted to reddit. I feel like the dexiamphetamine is having an affect on my body which makes me entrenctched into whatever I am doing.
2pm- Got to get ready for kickboxing class junior leadership thing. My face is riddled with pimples. This is caused by a lack of sleep and water and proper nutrients.
5pm- I got home, feel fine, it was really cold though. No signs of cognitive decline like I usually show. Actually I take that back, things have become to become distorted, my eyes are messing with me as a result of the micro-hallucinations I am experiencing. I took 2 more dexiamphetamines, probably a bad idea.
8pm-I feel amazing, but at the same time little work as been done on rave. I am completely and utterly obsessed with writing stories, I spent and hour and a half texting my adventure to London, and I begun to get really descriptive. I am not in a good mental state(Not as in depressed, as in I can’t judge if what im doing is weird, it has to be right?).
9pm- Symptoms are really starting to show now. I have been listening to sad songs whilst I write my English, it is a story so it’s going well.
9:30pm- I have spent too long over many hours compiling a list of things I’d like to see in fallout 5. What the fuck, I am at the point in which I can’t take a step back. Computer screen distorted at time. When I am typing, I keep thinking about how to do the hashing technique using curved lines with a ball point pen. I have wrote probably over 800 words disputing claims about my fallout 5 post.
10pm- I have possibly written an amazing English assignment. My dread in which consumes me, about this assignment is keeping me motivated whilst I listen to music(mainly sad music.) I love the start of the song violent crimes by Kanye west, I had that on repeat for a while until I moved onto other sad songs, because I didn’t want it to burn out (its a great song)
10:30 in bed now feeling weird. I was wondering around and yep im hallucinating, and it sucks ass. Minor ones at the moment, which are good, but it’s more like my mind will think something is there that is not. Does that make sense? But then in the hall way, it was dark and as I turned on the light I saw some fucked up face. Alright now im scaring myself jeez.
10:50 So right now typing this the visual hallucinations have definitly set in, it’s weird that I am conscious enough to witness it happen in real time. This doesn’t feel real. How to describe what I’m seeing, like waves silk-like distortions of everything. Right now I look up and I see like silky distortions of the corner of the roof distort and move. It is significantly worse in the dark, as brain has to make up for a lack of what is there. I turned the light on and yes it is better. They are still there but are minor and less apparent. Legitimately everything scares me, my body is jumping, I guess as my brain is focusing as much maybe, and then when I do hear something out of the ordinary it spooks me. I don’t know why but I feel like all of sudden im just gonna go crazy and it’s like a race against time, but it will be slow and I will see how long I can last. Typing has become significantly harder as I loose control of my motor skill which has happened in a short time of 30 minutes. Wow creepy peripherals make up visuals, idk why that is
-11:20- Taken videos as updates. I feel like this is the quiet before the storm. My brain is making things up and it’s pissing me off. It has revoked my right to type, and everything that is not in my direct peripheral now is some sort of the thing. Like bro every key I type my fucking brain slows down, it’s taken me song long to write this one thing. I can’t think of what I want to say to next, that’s a big one. The changes come on so rapidly and everchanging
-11:40-Brain is sending in backups. My typing speed has increased but my ability to spell words correctly is failing. Right now it’s just not fun. No major hallucinations, just a feeling of dread mixed with a nice side of a painful ass headache and a need to go to the toilet. I find it weird however that when writing, usually a mundane task, my brain kind of goes on autopilot, and I have some sort of visual hallunciaiont, this is weird for the reasons stated, and that my hands seem to be moving themselves, and I am watching them, similar to that somen in black mirror, with the museum. BTW black mirror is NOT something you would want to watch like this. I had dream about white Christmas once, and I felt like I was stuck in there for a million years. #existential crisis right. Ok weird, so it seems like when I disassociate my brain keeps typing, I am having a bit of neural input it seems, but my brain fog which was so present all but 2 minutes ago gone. Ok yea noises are starting to appear a bit. Butt cheeks were clenched. I feel like a lifeless dummy rn. Waiting for next phase. (Prayer emoticon). Also why does my fingers just magically know where all the buttons
12am- And the clock hits twelve. Half way there. At the end of this I will have successfully completed 42 hours. Its not a flex or anything I am aware, its just what choice do I have, try and sleep and be constantly reminded of the overbearing weight of the assignments all due this week?? I don’t want to think about that, no-one does. My fucking bad I managed my time wrong im a fucking kid after all. I am going Canberra college next year and this week has been a step in the wrong direction for me. After mum left everything went to shit. I cannot control myself, I am addicted to gadgets. I need to watch my computer to go to sleep or the google home. I have a compulsion to reddit, and I eat like shit. Chicken in some sort, lie about having vegetables. If I even tried to make a food diary of some sort for these last few days, I would be put on fucking trial for the murder of any chance of bitches. I treated my body like shit. The best word I can describe this week in is - Grunge. Like fucking living in your own shit. That’s how I feel. Everyrnight same routine, go on computer, watch videos until 12, watch google home go to bed. But not really.. Instead I would appear to stay up to 2am or 3am and go to bed, eat some food or something I don’t fucking know. I know I am sleep deprived. It is showing in my works. Weird addiction to writing, my adhd hyperfocuses on something. Drawing and Writing. As I write this my brain tries to seduce me into its gaze. The room or just the essence of living is moving, right to left, like im in a slide, and then left to right, and then so on and so forth. I am afraid this is what happens when you eat nothing but sugar and sugar and sugar, don’t sleep and drug your self on drugs. Skin is just a warning, my body brain will be infected I need to stop. I cannot live unregulated.
12:13am- My eyes heart, everything’s shadow is big and I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It is hell, and Im not even at the micro sleeps. They sound low-key cool. I am waiting to go out, make myself a wrap with butter, and get around the computer as I mindlessly do nothing. I don’t watch YouTube want, other way round, and thoughts of my intentional original purpose, to do work for school, left the window a long time ago. I close my eyes for a split second and I ee a teddy bear. They keep appearing, things are melting, this is it baby, as Jeff Kinney would say, we in for the long haul. I want to keep typing and I don’t know why, partly because it is cool that I have kept typing this long, and partly because what else do I do. Wait for it to consume me. If I had a pen and paper, I could have drawn the images I see on my computer screen, vague but the all have cross hatchings, a term I am learning. And what happen to monkey type, I swear I searched it. Is it the micro sleep? Is it coming. Yea. Maybe not.
12:30am- Writing these becomes a scapegoat for my mind to kinda control me and I don’t like it, so Im going to keep it short. No differences, Battery low I will have to brave it out of room soon. Hallucinations minimal, and chicken in peripheral which is toy and bedsheet, but I can’t see it as anything else. Cute little reference my brains making, but I have two finder files, and my brain this its two cookie monsters lol. Also eyes are still heavy. I have gained complete and even I would go as far to say enhanced motor control, I feel like I can type fast, and I hear every single click on the key and It freaks me out. I intentionally leave errors in here, not many but some, and my stupid ass thinks im going to read this and think it’s all mysterious. Upon further reflection, I may have been having depth perception hallucinations. What is weird is no vivid hallucinations but everything is something if that makes an inkling of sense. Im not really all there any more. Weird how that works. Time perception is completely altered and distorted. I could have sworn twelve o’clock was ten seconds or 1 hour ago. I cannot swear on either, but ten seconds ago? I could have sworn on one, I cannot remember which one anymore. Speaking my thoughts does not make cohesive notes on my problem and predicament, I should refrain, but sometimes my brain naturally does this. Yea saw souls of the damned again when I blinked, weird, and now liminal shit im seeing, because my brain is like ooh scary I should scream now, and then it pumps out all this shit. It has been 6 minutes since I started writing, that sounds about right, but at the same times that was long, very long, marcy long. (Kill her long). I chicken which is a building waves a hammer at my building. It is the side bar on the right side of my MacBook.
12:37: wanted to wait until 12:40 but time sucks ass and is an illusion. You many know by now that my posts have ramblings of random topic and will veer off. This was not my intention, if I write for longer than a minute I loose my grip on my brain, it starts writing what It pleases. I have to think really hard about what I want to write, even then it just autofilled it. Lucky it’s right. Computer percentage critically low. 9%, yet I am filled with joy and dread right now. I think this could be caused by the effect of my dexi’s that I took, like a long term effect, or rather just the lack of sleep. I am deeply disturebed but interested by myself. I now have real hallucinations now. Files are quickly changed to name. And a beigeish green blood phases through my door fast. If I look at my hands wrong they look like they are encrusted in dry blood. I had to think if blood was the gang or Blud was the gang, that is how you know sjits gone down the drain.
1:00: It is officially one-ocklock and I let my brain take the rails once again(don’t let me down). So right now Im feeling fine, but sometimes I will have clear clarity and feel fine, no hallucinations, no nothing, and this will be followed by an intense one that will not be scary just like kind of convincing. One instance I don’t want to forget is me looking through my old video from a couple hours ago. One of them my arms look weird and photoshopped linked down bellow, and I have like a led type trip. I think it could be inspired by those weird ass instagram reels I watch, but Idk, It was me and that pose, changing shape a bit and material. I was real glossy and like twisted and moulded and back to normal it was weird. I couldn’t see my arms, especially my forearms the same after that. One phenomena which is uniquely odd is the compulsion to write here. I can understand a lack of time knowledge and perception, as it is natural of one when under these conditions, but have loose your sanity to a point where you are able to mindlessly drone on about things happening to you, is weird, weird. It initially started off as an idea, one sentence or maximum short paragraph talking about each hour and how the where different to the next. Also just got jumped scared by the image thanks bitch. Whilst righting this I am aware I made a mistake (writing), I feel like I have some consciousness left, but if I don’t blink it really hit me. So I keep blinking to report back to base. Yea the head is tilting sideways turned into like a fucking dragon praying mantis thing for a sec. Right now I feel alright, the dream is supposed to get to me but it is hard for it to pass, I know that I am supposed to feel creeped out but I don’t, I like it when for a second my brain will just think of something and loose it. One truly weird thing is me being able to hallucinate pictures through the writing. Always cartoons, depicted silly and offbeat. I don’t know why though. Yea Ididnt wright that by the way what the hell. The good ole noggin did. My head stopped hurting, and my neck has softened the blow a bit, and takes a bit of pain not much, and the my neck is also is cricitacl condition, after seeing Moby at the fucking side bar again. This time it wasn’t a chicken this was Moby from fucking Moby and ted. Ok now its ahicken peeking its head out back to straight what the fuck am id doing llama fr fr fr
1:13-computer is low, very low, at 4%. I am back by the way, I got sucked in again but got out and read it really quickly. The fr frfr is from the Tyler the creator song fr fr fr this time. Ya know. Ok so not this time but next time iwirite a paragraph or a time, I am going to record myself, and then when I regain my sanity, I will watch the video to see what I look like, when I am truly not with it. I don’t know if the same thing will happen with this paragraph but I hope not. This notice was just a short one but stay safe. One last thing that is not helping me, I am now scared again, I heard stomping in the kitchen , and I know it could be fake but everything there is stomping in the kitchen I am able to know because if there is at this Time of night I feel my heart drop, and I did which helps add to the case. I don’t eellike investigating but igueess if that is my best option then I will but now is not really there right time. When is ithe right time officers saying gtyring to gain media attention from the main. Never get the fuckout of my house.
1-18am(the test?) So this is the test but I obviously need something to talk about and I have a topic. So basically I think I have cracked the case to the nonsense rambling in which I don’t understand myself. It is a literal projection of what is going on inside my mind. You know how sometimes people will take things literally and then you’re like no I didn’t mean it like that, well it’s kinda the same thing. I say something insidede my head but it comes out through my fingers. And it’s odd because it come with such swiftness and such durability. Right now I a doing it it yes made a spelling mistake whilst looking at my green gamer screen. I don’t know how or why this done. I am back to realign. And yea this is odd, not quite the feeling that I get when I completely disassociate. I am starting to think that maybe I am begging to miceslepe these series of events and include e the within the paragraph, it happen a little bit there, and unlike try to be the bait for other final charges, this on has no backing against it. There it is again, little less than the first time, but my mind wonders and my hand followed. What if I thought some truly despicable stuff, something that would surely get me banned from ever participating in it agin. Now no I have to read this later I don’t really want to hut then again, i if it fits thehe description then we have t o. Brain disrupted my train of thought, I think I had important breakthrough, Never imind I id, the breakthrough was that when I am looking or blurring my eyes, the top of my head the curtain and y alien arms along with the righting combnined to create some sort of card with a circle in the middle in which I can only presume is a play ng car. I am currently doing right now let’s describe. So I hastily have the some sort go grounding I am loosening it,. It is a hashing draw g clear as dal, with I big leak on the right side and spills over, probably
1.28am- the big move. Just kidding I just have to get out of bed. Let’s see who wins me our bed.GUESS FUCKING WHAT BABY I WON. So I should probably start with the obvious what the fuck Is actually happening. Yea will I thought I was fully conscious, dogs barking keeping me in there. So my subconscious is a weird weird weird thing. Yea fuck it’s happening again, I didn’t mean to type that. Ok so talk about more later, but if I can spit it out in time, I enter a state of REM sleep when I start typing, and my brain doesn’t understand what is imaginary and what’s not so it fills in gaps, and whilst doing this, inadvertentltly transposes your visual in real life, and your imagination, until it creates a weird state in which nothing is quite real and nothing is fake. God that sounds so pretentiously ominous. In the video my eyelids flicker, which is why this is my main theory, but what amazes me, is 2 distinct things. The first is my ability to type whilst looking away from my computer or with my eyes closed. I don’t misspell words, which is confusing as when testing this to the best of my ability whilst in this state, I don’t get very good results at all. The second is the fact that I am fully aware of what is happening. I am able to translate what is happening in my mind to the document, with a little bit of brain fog mixed in, which is obvoiusly going to happen in things like this.

my parents had 4 kids and I was born last. Everyone associates the youngest child with being the most spoiled or being the favorite but I was always told I was the devil in disguise.
I was nothing like my siblings. I had mental issues they didn’t see in their other kids and they took it out on me, believing I was “bad” on purpose. This thoroughly traumatized me. Being spanked and slapped because the laces on my shoes left me suffocated on another level than a bratty kid. I cried and screamed until I’d gag and pass out because these senses I felt were sensitivities due to autism they denied I had, when doctors, teachers, extended family said again and again that something wasn’t right.
I couldn’t wear my hair up because the discomfort left me unable to function. My mom would be so angry with my crying she would chase me around the house and purposely brush my hair so tight my scalp would bleed. I had no choice but to submit to this physical and mental abuse I would dissociate from my body.
When I thought it couldn’t get worse it always did. My siblings were never treated like I was by my parents because they were “good”. My entire family would make fun of my motor tics, my issues with speech, until I’d have a mental breakdown. My siblings thinking it was okay because they were told my behaviors were “bad” and purposeful.
There is so much I have to spare the details of. I spent all this time wishing I was met with understanding. I was a scared little girl who was told she was a monster, and later I became a monster so I could protect that little girl inside. I push every person in my life away to be alone. I spend every day in isolation. At the end of the day my way of protecting myself only hurts me more. I’ve become a monster to myself

No final de 2012 inscrevi-me inscrevi-me no meu primeiro curso online organizado pela Google in Education. Inicialmente estava céptico em relação ao que podia aprender num curso online. Mas qualquer dúvida que existisse, ficou aniquilada poucos minutos depois da inscrição. Recebi um mail que continha a informação horária das aulas e um resumo alargado do seu conteúdo. A primeira surpresa, surge quando encontro no mail que vou ser avaliado duas vezes durante o curso e no final, se tiver uma aprovação positiva, recebo um certificado. O primeiro dia de aulas começou com uma pequena avaliação que serve para ver o estado em que nos encontramos. Depois é nos apresentado o professor e a totalidade dos conteúdos programáticos. E é neste momento, em que olho para o meu professor, que tenho a minha segunda surpresa. Sem dar conta tenho alguém a falar directamente comigo, e, compreendo a verdadeira força do Google Plus. Criei uma ligação entre a minha conta, Google Plus, o curso que estou a tirar e todas as ferramentas que o Google disponibiliza. Assim, durante as semanas seguintes usei o Google Plus como nunca pensei ser possível.
Entre aulas, discussões, foruns e avaliações fiz o meu primeiro curso online onde aprendi a ser um "Power Searcher".
E o que é ser um "Power Searcher"?
Um "Power Searcher" é alguém que sabe fazer uma pesquisa no Google. Este é o momento em que tu dizes:

• Mas este tipo droga-se?

Qualquer um sabe fazer uma pesquisa no Google. É verdade, qualquer um com acesso a um computador consegue fazer uma pesquisa, mas, também é verdade que qualquer um com acesso a papel e caneta sabe escrever?
Um "Power Searcher" é como um detective da internet, uma bibliotecária se o preferirem, é alguém, que sabe encontrar respostas a perguntas que inicialmente parecem impossíveis de responder. Aprendes a usar as ferramentas que o Google actualmente disponibiliza de uma forma única, construtiva e muitas vezes, surpreendente.
Agora que acabei o curso, sei que num futuro próximo, terei que ensinar o meu filho a ser um "Power Searcher", não o fazer, seria semelhante a pensar que aprender a ler é menos importante. Pergunto-me até que ponto não devia ser obrigatório para todos os estudantes, independente da idade e área de estudo.
Isto para não falar nos jornalistas actuais, espero vivamente que não pensem que podem continuar a exercer actividade sem conhecer a força de um motor de pesquisa quando bem utilizado. Se ainda restarem dúvidas sobre o potencial deste curso, então faço um pequeno desafio às vossas capacidades de pesquisa.

• Olhem bem para esta imagem
• Qual é o título do trabalho onde esta imagem foi pela primeira vez publicada?

Se por algum motivo até conseguires responder à primeira pergunta, então sabes que o autor do trabalho era um treinador olímpico. Quero agora saber de onde é que ele assistiu à competição do atleta que treinou?
Estas duas perguntas fazem parte do exame final. E é aqui que surge a minha terceira grande surpresa. Antes deste curso era-me totalmente impossível responder de forma acertada a qualquer uma das perguntas. Mas no dia do exame fui capaz de responder com uma facilidade estranha e até assustadora.
Muitos outros exemplos como este fazem parte do curso em que aprendes a ser um "Power Searcher".
Update:
Em Outubro de 2012 aprendi a ser um "Power Searcher" e no início de Janeiro de 2013 passei a ser um "Advanced Power Searcher". O curso começa com um desafio muito simples. Depois relembramos alguns dos processos de pesquisa e podemos assistir à forma como o Dan Russell, o nosso professor, encontra as respostas. A partir deste ponto são apresentadas as datas de entrega dos 12 desafios, divididos em três categorias: 4 (E) easy, 6 (M) medium e 2 (H) hard.
Os desafios são os seguintes:

• Challenge 1 : Mimicking presidential voices

I was asked recently to find reputable sources for the following statement: “During the glory days of radio, it was illegal to mimic the voice of the US president.” Was there actually a law prohibiting that? Or was just a White House policy and not a legal issue. Was it law or policy?

• Challenge 2 : Turtle fossils

I remember reading an article about scientists who found fossils of pairs of turtles mating. I want to read the original announcement of the discovery in a scholarly publication. What is the web address (URL) for the original article abstract?

• Challenge 3 : Festival challenge

You are in the city that is home to the House of Light and a museum in a converted school featuring paintings from the far-away Forest of Honey. What traditional festival might you be visiting?

• Challenge 4 : Humongous fungus

The article that introduced the most humongous "Humongous Fungus" has been cited by a mycoforester who recommended using what parasite to cure the infestation?

• Challenge 5 : Salman Khan

Salman Khan asks: "I recently estimated a current-day equivalent cost for a family to buy a block-print book before the invention of the Gutenberg press." (1) To what contemporary item was the cost of a book compared? (2) Can you find other sources that back up or contradict the calculation in this book?

• Challenge 6 : Scrapbook enthusiast

The picture was taken at a stop along the fall-to-spring route of a particular vehicle. That photo, and the two below (b and c), were taken in the same county, from a vehicle as it traveled. (1) What is the name of the vehicle that the pictures were taken from? (2) What job does this vehicle do for most of the year, excluding the summer months? (3) All the images are in the same county. If you travel north to south and visit each of these locations in order, in what order would you arrive at the sites? (For example, would you go A, B, C?)

• Challenge 7 : Mystery music

At the world's fair for which this building was constructed, a composer heard a full orchestra playing a traditional form of music from an island that was once home to the Sunda Kingdom. In later years, he composed many pieces inspired by elements of this musical form. (1) Who was this composer? (2) What is the name of this style of music? (3) From what current-day country does it originate? (4) Find an example of this traditional form of music you can hear. (5) Find a musical score by this composer of an early 20th century piece that is heavily influenced by this music. (6) What is the library closest to you that has the score?

• Challenge 8 : Climate graph

A climate graph showing average temperature and precipitation for a major city.
Across the top are three cities. Research the climate for each city and decide which city fits the graph. What is the Köppen climate type for the city that fits the graph, as expressed in letter symbols? Which of the city choices has a climate influenced by the southeast trade winds? Make a similar graph for a city or region near you. Using Creative Commons, pre-approve sharing in any way you choose. Then, share the graph in a social network of your choice.

• Challenge 9 : Name that notebook

In the mid-1800’s literate people in the United States and elsewhere often carried a notebook with them to copy down passages of text or quotations that were particularly valuable or interesting to them. This notebook had a very particular name. What was this kind of notebook called?

• Challenge 10 : Who done it?

Although best known for other works, this doctor ran as a parliamentary candidate for the Liberal Unionists. He also compared seals to slugs while working on a whaling ship. Later in life, he sent an open letter to the newspaper decrying the "greatest crime ever committed." (1) What book did he write on the subject of this "great crime"? (2) What is the closest library to you that has a print copy of this book?

• Challenge 11 : Feather identification

You were hiking in the Rio Platano Biosphere Reserve and saw this feather on the ground.
You sketched it out so you could identify it later. To what kind of bird did it belong?

• Challenge 12 : Where in the world?

Suggest a new World Heritage site in your country. What are the criteria for becoming a World Heritage site? What are the existing locations near you? Identify three strong reasons that qualify the location you selected to become a World Heritage site.

Waldo could feel the tension in his body. He hated breaches. He used to be a general in the armada. Waldo had not figured out exactly what happened but in a few weeks leadership had changed all across the galaxy. Waldo had sensed something was different and Waldo had changed his identity adding himself to a low level unit while he tried to figure out what had caused the change. However, his contracts slowly disappeared and he was having a hard time cultivating new ones. Waldo had heard the name Bastion a lot in the changeover and Jonah seemed to have fallen off his radar, which Waldo found very distressing. So now he was just a lower level grunt Waldo had to follow orders and keep his identity hidden. That meant he saw lots of action thus why he was on a breaching team. All the prep in the world never made him feel safe on a breach and they had no prep time for this one. Toby slammed the charge on the handle of the Iron door and deftly ran the blasting cord around the frame, in a single smooth motion. Waldo felt Juan tense in front of him as they prepped for entry after the blast. Waldo would be second in on this one having lost the coin toss. Not that he really minded due to the lack of information. Juan would be going right, Waldo had the left, and Brett would be going down the middle. Juan, Waldo, or Brett always led the breaching team; they were their units cowboys. At least, that is what they called themselves. Their lieutenant Frank called them his lovely ladies but everyone was a girl to Frank. Waldo didn’t care about it, Brett would get angry with Frank out of combat, and Juan only ever laughed over it. Waldo was pretty sure Brett was putting up a show as he had caught Brett offering to be a bottom to a guy at a bar three months ago, which had led to him swearing secrecy over it. Waldo found himself smiling as Frank started into it.
“Lovely ladies, Juanita, Betty, and Wilma. Tina is spreading her legs in three.” Frank said loud enough for the breaching team to hear as he raised his hand holding up three fingers starting a countdown to Waldo’s 4th breach of the day. As the door blasted in they moved smoothly forward like a well rehearsed dance. Juan moved through the door into a hallway with Waldo close on his tail. Waldo saw it a second too late as Juan had completely missed the tripwire. Waldo grabbed Juan a hair too slow as Juan’s foot hit the wire tripping whatever the trap was. Waldo felt the magic in the blast before he heard the tremendous roar. Waldo felt himself pushed back by Juan while trying to pull him. Waldo felt certain he had Juan’s pack firmly gripped as he fell back. Suddenly, there was nothing in his hands. The air felt cool and instead of the hot sun beating down he felt a warm glow off to his left.
Waldo rolled to his feet and spun, assessing the room, but everything was wrong. He had lifted his rifle up to sight as he spun but it was missing so instead in the middle of the spin he drew his side arm. However, as he finished his spin his arm fell loosely to his side. Waldo stood in the middle of three empty round tables. In what, he would call the common room of a themed bar or restaurant. He saw humanoid creatures standing near a long wooden bar with 4 patrons seated at it and another dozen or so scattered around the room with more on the two levels above him. Off to the side of a warm glow that Waldo realized there was a fireplace with a fire happily burning in it and there was a stage. Waldo would have loved to hear the music from the group on stage with their odd assortment of instruments but it was at this moment Waldo realized the blast had deafened him. Waldo felt certain no one would attack him, having noticed an odd assortment of humanoids. Waldo saw gnolls, tabaxi, and maybe lizardperson. Waldo holstered his side arm but in looking down he noticed a growing pool of blood at his feet and saw a piece of rebar sticking out of his arm. Waldo saw the enchantments engraved in the rebar and part of him said magic wasn’t real then something else said that humans were the only intelligent race. Waldo pushed those back knowing better. He had seen lots of races and humans were just one of them. Waldo felt more than one voice trying to take control and he pushed back, calming his mind. Waldo attempted to quiet his mind as he was flooded with memories and thoughts he did not recognize as he pushed against them he felt someone or something help him in quieting his mind.
Waldo had not noticed the pain of his injury because of how much adrenaline was pumping through him. Waldo examined the rebar seeing the blood running down his arm. Waldo estimated he had ten minutes before blood loss would start to impact him if it did not clot on its own. Waldo glanced around the room seeing a few gnolls who had noticed him but no one seemed to care and decided he could care for the wound. Waldo grabbed the quick releases on his backpacks shoulder straps letting his bag fall onto a table he positioned behind him. Waldo quickly turned to face the bag and flipped it over so he could easily access it. Waldo grabbed a strap on the pack and deftly released it. Wrapping the loose strap above where the rebar was sticking out of his arm. Waldo smoothly grabbed his folding knife, flicking it open and cutting the sleeve away. Waldo placed the sleeve on the table and checked to see if it was all there or a piece was missing. Waldo grimace realizing a piece of sleeve is probably in his muscle. Waldo flicked the knife closed and placed it next to the sleeve. Waldo pulled out a bottle of water, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, a healing tonic, and a sealed bandage for once it was clean. Waldo was so focused on what he was doing at the table he had not noticed the small group that had gathered behind him.
“I don’t think he can hear us.” Strisk, a large drake, said, preparing to tap the strange human’s shoulder to get his attention.
“Really, Strisk. You don’t think the guy bleeding on the floor that I shouted at can hear us?” Lydia, the only human in the commons, asked angrily, placing her hands on her hips.
“I think he is going to pull that piece of metal out of his arm.” Kna, the gnollish innkeeper and owner of the establishment, said surprised. Watching Waldo’s back tense as he stretched his arm out to the table. Grabbing the rebar in his other hand.
“Sir! Don’t!” Lydia screamed as Waldo ripped the 4 inch piece of rebar stuck halfway in his arm out.
“Fuck!” Waldo yelled as the piece of metal came free. Waldo looked it over for cloth finding a small piece that he carefully removed from the end of the rebar and placed in the hole of the sleeve and frowning seeing there was still more. Waldo screamed as the onlookers watched him shove his fingers into the hole in skin.
“Strisk, help me stop him.” Lydia said. Grabbing Waldo’s arm. Strisk hesitated. A moment before grabbing Waldo’s other arm.
"Stop! There is more fabric in my arm!” Waldo screamed as the two strangers forced his arms apart. Waldo looked at the sleeve. Unsure if they could even understand him. The strangers released Waldo as he attacked the problem again.
“Aer, go get me water. I will clean this up once he is done” Lydia said, to a gnoll barmaid nearby, deciding to stay next to this stranger.
“I’ll get the mop and some rags to help.” Kna said not wanting to watch anymore and stepping away.
Waldo pulled out a piece of fabric and placed it in the sleeve. Smiling now that he could account for all of the sleeve. Waldo grabbed the water bottle using his teeth to remove the lid and poured it down his arm. Followed by the rubbing alcohol to which he could not help but scream again as it burned.
“That looks bad.” Strisk said, fingering a potion at his hip. Seeing Waldo was prepared to heal the slow way. Strisk was trying to decide whether or not to help the stranger out by giving him the healing potion he carried as a city guard.
Waldo was looking at the hole in his arm knowing it would take time to heal even with the help of the tonic. He estimated it would be a day or two. Waldo looked back at the lizard person standing behind him in armor. Waldo grimaced as he drank the healing tonic. Waldo looked at the only human girl in the commons. Waldo instantly recognized her but could see she did not recognize him. Waldo hated this feeling but took his time looking over her sandy blonde hair and the gentle curves of her face. Waldo let his eyes wander across her chest and down her legs to the floor even though there was not much to see since she wore a high neck dress that was rather plain. Waldo expected she worked here and was not one to take crap from the patrons. However, Waldo knew her face and her shape as just as he remembered her, he did not need her clothes off to tell this. Waldo turned back to the table and opened the bandage and applied it to his arm. “He took his time looking you over.” Strisk said, eying Lydia himself.
“At least, he seems to know not to touch.” Lydia said, without looking at Strisk. She had been rebuffing advances from him and other drakes like him since she took the job. She hated the drakes, which was not unreasonable as they had burned her home to the ground, killed her parents, her betrothed, and enslaved her for five years. Lydia had fled to the nearest city not under drake control once she was freed. Lydia knew that not all drakes are slavers but getting over somethings are easier than others.
“Do you think he can hear us?” Strisk asked, ignoring the jab not wanting to be thrown out by Kna again. Strisk still was fingering the healing potion not having decided on whether or not to offer it. The human seemed to be taking things to remedy his condition. Strisk stood over the two humans by about a foot when he extended to his full height at the moment he was hunched down a bit so he did not tower over them. Strisk thought he looked good this evening having cared for his bronze scales before coming to Kna’s inn. Waldo rolled up the sleeve and piece of rebar and placed it in his pack then pulled out a healing tonic with a dropper on it and a tin a bit larger than his hand slipping the tin into a pocket. Waldo used the dropper to put a few drops of his second healing tonic down each of his ears. Waldo knew it would take a minute for the tonic to kick in and heal enough damage to restore hearing. Waldo returned the spare tonic to the pack and turned around letting his eyes meet Lydia’s. Waldo thought he saw her eyeing him and she had a small smile on her face as their eyes met. Her face made various emotions flare inside him and it had to focus to stay in control feeling a bit like someone else was trying to take control. Waldo felt his hearing return as the sounds of the room washed over him.
“Hello.” Waldo said, smiling at the woman ignoring the large lizardperson or dragonkin. Waldo could not really tell but he knew getting it wrong would probably offend them.
“Hey, I am guardsmen Strisk.” Strisk said. Waldo glanced at the drake and then looked back at the woman. She crossed her arms and her smile turned to a frown. Waldo could not help but think crossing her arms only accentuated a certain feminine feature of her form.
“Any chance I could get your name?” Waldo asked, meeting the woman’s eyes.
“Lydia. Why are you bleeding on our floor and where did you come from?” Lydia asked, feeling her pulse raise with the way he was looking at her. Lydia had not been in the presence of a human male for ten years. Lydia had not been avoiding them there just weren’t many humans in the city she had fled to and she would not risk going back to drake territory as much as part of her wanted certain things, saving up to get off his continent had been her focus. Human also from what she had seen human men did not survive long under the abuse the drakes applied to there slaves in the nearby Xalas empire. “I am Waldo Winter.” Waldo introduced himself looking at Lydia. “As for why I am bleeding, I think it was an explosion of some kind. The shockwave knocked out my hearing. I am from Halcyon. I was in an outlying district at the time of the explosion and the wood in this room tells me I am not there anymore.” Waldo stated calmly.
“So you entered Protham via an unauthorized teleport?” Strisk asked, trying to sound official.
“One I did not initialize or agree to but yes. Are you going to arrest me?” Waldo asked.
“I will have to report it. I will let someone else decide if you should be arrested. Assuming you don’t cause additional trouble.” Strisk said.
“It is an honour to make your acquaintance Strisk. Thank you for not arresting me.” Waldo said, giving Strisk a smile before turning back to Lydia.
“Why were you caught in an explosion?” Strisk asked the strange human, smiling back at him since he was being respectful.
“Well that is a little difficult. I was entering a suspected criminal's residence just before finding myself standing in this lovely room.” Waldo said deciding to omit details since it would be simpler than explaining. “There was an explosion of some kind and then I was here. I have to assume the hunk of metal hit me before I appeared here somehow.”
“Sounds like a teleport spell gone wrong.” Lydia said, allowing herself a moment to look over Waldo since he was not causing trouble. She could see the muscles in his arm and thought she recognized his jawline but knew that could not be the case since she had no idea where Halcyon was.
“I wouldn’t know much about that. I can only hope my brothers are alright. Can one of you tell me where I am?” Waldo asked, masking his face, wondering if he had died. The blast had been strong enough to rupture his ears. Waldo was not sure he could have actually survived, even with Juan in front of him. Waldo expected he had died and this was some sort of reincarnation. Waldo knew he could not return home if the was an arrival on this planet as a child of Halcyon he had heard of this experience but this was his first time. As he thought about this he realized he did not want to go back even if he could. He had been in hiding and now he was probably well outside of the problems he had and doubted anyone hunting him would keep it up after death if he had died. If not then he was incredibly lucky he had landed in a place where he did not die instantly. Looking at Lydia something told him that someone powerful had intervened but Waldo could not imagine who. Jonah had abandoned him and Waldo could not think of another player with enough power to do anything who would also care about him.
“Spriggan Inn, in Protham.” Lydia said, looking carefully at Waldo. Aer walked over carrying a rag and pushing a bucket of steaming water. Kna walked over with a mop and an empty bucket to wring the mop out.
“Oh, thank you.” Waldo said, taking the mop from Kna and starting to clean up.
“Protham is nowhere special, Lydia. We are a weeks travel from Neakar City. Neakar is the district capital here and a port city.” Strisk said, looking at Lydia.
“You don’t have to do that.” Kna said, as Waldo deftly cleaned up the blood on the floor. “Just let him. He is probably in shock.” Strisk said, as they watched Waldo clean the floor easily.
“Just a bit.” Waldo said after a moment, having finished mopping and given the mop back to Kna. Waldo used one of the rages Aer had to clean the table his pack had been on ending by wiping the drying blood from his ears. Waldo looked down and realized he was a mess.
“How far did you travel?” Aer asked, frowning having heard the conversation.
“Far enough, those names mean nothing to me.” Waldo replied.
“So you are gonna need work.” Strisk half asked and half told Waldo.
“Seems like that would be wise.” Waldo said, placing the rag over the edge of the bucket holding the dirty water from Waldo’s cleaning efforts.
“Protham needs good city guards.” Strisk said, smiling. “I can get you an interview tomorrow. I will come by tomorrow morning and get you. If you are interested?”
“I’ll need some training on your laws, but sounds interesting to me.” Waldo said, sticking out his hand to Strisk. Strisk looked at it a moment then realized he was supposed to grab it and did with his clawed hand.
“Thanks, for your help Strisk.” Waldo said, firmly shaking Strisk’s hand.
“Sounds like you want a room for the night. Unless, Strisk is offering to pay. Do you have any money?” Kna asked, frowning at Strisk.
“You can put one night on my tab, Kna.” Strisk said.
“Only if you pay your tab off tonight.” Kna said, feeling a bit bad but knowing Strisk’s tab was getting out of hand.
“Do you accept silver?” Waldo asked, before Strisk could reply to Kna.
“Yes, take a seat and I will get my scales.” Kna said, having heard enough to know she was going to need to calculate an exchange.
“I am glad you happened to have some coin on you.” Strisk said, frowning at Kna’s back.
“Yeah, my dad was big into carrying certain things every day. Good thing, I listened to him cause I bet my country's paper money is worthless here.” Waldo said, pulling the tin out of his pocket and carefully opening to make sure it was the right one then closing it again.
“Well, your bag is probably worth quite a bit. I have never seen anything like it. Fine craftsmanship.” Aer said, examining his pack.
“I would rather not part with it if possible.” Waldo said sitting down at the table his bag had been on since he moved it to the floor beside the table in cleaning the table. Strisk sat down across from him as did Aer with Lydia sitting close and she was still looking at him.
“Lydia, you are being weird.” Aer said, quietly.
“Looks like Lydia wants to bed the man.” Strisk said, frowning at Lydia.
“Watch it, Strisk.” Lydia said to Strisk with an edge in her voice. “Waldo just reminds me of someone.” Lydia followed up with a softer tone.
“Good memories I hope. I think I’d like to get to know you.” Waldo responded, not looking away from Lydia. “You remind me of… Someone.”
“Well, be nice and maybe we can share some memories.” Lydia replied, not breaking his gaze. Waldo felt there were some additional implications in her words.
“Is there a price?” Waldo asked, before he could stop himself. Waldo was not entirely sure where the words had come from in saying them they just burst from his lips like someone else was running the show. The words had sent Lydia’s hand flying. Waldo easily caught it mid air. “I will take that as a no, which is nice. A woman with a price isn’t a woman worth having.” Waldo said, speaking again without being sure where the word came from. Waldo wondered if he was going mad but something told him he was not. Waldo edged closer to Lydia as he thought this and realized he seemed to be of multiple minds in this moment. Words and actions happening that he was not sure were all him. Aer and Strisk were watching in surprise. “Maybe I misinterpreted your words.”
“If you can pay for your room. I am willing to let the words go. Now if you would let me go.” Lydia responded, carefully feeling the strength in his arm and seeing the ease with which he caught her slap. She had used a skill to hit him, one that had landed on Strisks and other guardsmen when they got out of hand. She felt he could be dangerous and even though he had caught the slap and was easily holding her arm in place he was not hurting her. In fact once she relaxed, from making the slap, she realized how relaxed he was in stopping her slap. She saw him considering letting her go. She met his eyes letting her anger show at being held in place. Lydia realized how close he had come moving a little to block her slap and left him close enough she felt his breath on her face. Lydia realized she was breathing on him too and something in his eyes seemed to be enjoying the closeness they were sharing.
“I want a taste.” Waldo said, kissing her before she could react and sliding his hand along her back. Lydia wanted to struggle but part of her had been aching for this for years and she did not put up a fight. After a moment she found she was kissing him back for a moment and just as she was about to pull away. He did first. Waldo had been wanting to kiss her since he had laid eyes on her and at least this time he was sure that was him. “Well, that was… special.” Waldo felt a memory tug at him in the back of his mind. One of a girl that looked just like this woman.
“Maybe, for you.” Lydia said, trying to hide how much she enjoyed it. Waldo released her hand and turned looking for Kna. Waldo watched Kna approach with the scales. Waldo quickly opened the tin, pulling out a bundle of five carefully wrapped gold coins before closing it again and placing the tin back in a pocket.
Waldo unwrapped the coins asking “What exchange rate can you offer on these?” Aer gave a quiet gasp at the sight of them. Waldo feared he had made a mistake. As kna set the scales on the table.
“You have gold?” Strisk asked. Kna seemed unphased as Kna placed the coins on one side of the scale and started to carefully weigh them.
“Just a little. For an emergency.” Waldo responded.
“That should be enough to live here for a month.” Strisk stated, watching Kna carefully.
“You underestimate my rates. This will buy you three weeks.” Kna stated, as the scales balanced.
“What? That is highway robbery!” Strisk said.
“I have to take them to a blacksmith to get them minted in local coinage, they will need to be paid. Or I will have to take them to a money changer, who will also take a cut.” Kna stated.
“What would that include?” Waldo said, realizing his hand had wandered from his leg and found Lydia hand grabbing it tightly. Waldo felt Lydia tense as Waldo grabbed her hand but noticed she did not pull away from the sudden contact.
“A room, hot bath every day, standard laundry service, the common breakfast, and dinner daily with one pint of house ale. You will have to pay for lunch if you come here to eat.” Kna said, listing from memory the services she included in her standard room offering.
“Sounds good to me.” Waldo said smiling and looking out the window confirming it was dark. “I assume we are in the middle of dinner?” Waldo asked, hopefully.
“Yes.” Kna answered.
“May I take dinner in my room? I would like to wash myself before bed. It has been a surprising day.” Waldo asked Kna.
“Yes! I will grab you a plate and show you to your room.” Lydia said, releasing Waldo hand and standing. Waldo let her hand go as she stood. Kna at Lydia with what Waldo expected was motherly concern. As Lydia turned away to get the room key and a plate of food.
“Is there running water in the room?” Waldo asked Kna.
“Yes, but I cannot recommend using it for anything other than bathing.” Kna said.
“It is fine I can purify water. Can I get this filled with water?” Waldo asked, holding out a metal canteen.
“Yes. Aer go fill this and bring it back.” Kna said, handing the canteen to Aer who quickly walked off. “Leave Strisk. I would have a word alone with this man.” Kna growled at Strisk looking angrily. Strisk knew better than to argue with Kna when she gave him this look.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Waldo.” Strisk said standing to his whole sevenish feet of height stretching as he walked away. Waldo only now realized how small he was compared to Strisk.
“Indeed.” Waldo said to Strisk and turned back to Kna.
“I have never seen Lydia take to a man as she has to you. Have you cast a spell on her?” Kna asked Waldo. Waldo burst out laughing, taking a moment to control himself.
“I have no skill in that kind of magic. If you know how to test one for magic I would happily submit. I suspect I know why she has taken to me but there is nothing magical about it.” Waldo said, having gained control of the strange urge to laugh at magic.
“Why?” Kna asked, eyeing him coldly.
“Now why should I answer you?” Waldo asked. “What do you care for, of freed slaves? Or are you not her enslaver?” Kna drew back surprised.
“You said you knew nothing of this place?” Kna replied.
“I have never heard of this city in my life or this land, but I have eyes. Lydia is the only human here beside me. You are a gnoll and Strisk is one of the scaled people’s. I never been around any of them long enough to learn to tell them apart. Lydia clearly has some aversion to Strisk which seems to be unconscious on some level. That suggests it is not that she does not simply dislike him but something more than that. It is obvious to me that she does not belong here and would choose another home, but something prevents that. When I kissed her I ran my hand down her back. I felt the cursed marks of a whip. Is she a free woman or do you own her?” Waldo said, sliding his hand to the knife attached to his lower back.
“My people do not enslave others. She is free. I did not know she hated it here.” Kna said going from angry to crestfallen. “I did not know she had been a drake's slave.”
“You will say nothing of this. If you value your friendship with her. I did not say she hated it here. She works for you, which I expect is because you are not a drake and probably more than that. I get the sense she misses her people. How long has she been here?” Waldo replied, smoothing his voice.
“Several years.” Kna said, drifting in her own thoughts.
“If she hated you she would have left. You must make her feel safe in a dark place so she does not wander from your light.” Waldo said.
“All the more reason to not let her be abused.” Kna said, gauging Waldo.
“You misunderstand something. I will always respect Ma laska.” Waldo said, changing languages without thinking and looking to where Lydia stood talking to Aer as a memory flooded over him for a moment. Waldo felt the other part of him pushing forward for a moment. “Good help you have. Deftly slowing Lydia while we talk.”
“What is ma laska?” Kna asked. Waldo hesitated, surprised by Kna's words, then realized he had called Lydia by accident. Waldo knew what it meant somehow but decided he better not translate it directly.
“A woman’s right.” Waldo said, choosing a lie over the truth. “Or at least that is a close enough translation in this context.”
“So that is another language?” Kna asked.
“Yes, one from my a place long ago.” Waldo answered. “Have we not strayed topics at this point?”
“I think I have made myself clear and you have made yourself clear now.” Kna said, glancing at Aer and making a low growl. “I will let Lydia make herself clear as she chooses. Now that I do not think you will take something Lydia does not freely offer.”
“Have you accepted her as your cub?” Waldo asked, turning to look at Kna.
“I ha... “ Kna stopped herself, looking surprised at Waldo.
“I see it in your eyes, witness it in your fur, and hear it in your voice. She is a daughter in your house. Does she know or do you keep it a secret from all but those who know how to see?” Waldo asked, calmly moving past Kna’s surprise.
“You said.” Kna started to accuse trying to remember his words.
“I have not seen another race in so long. I cannot tell the scaled races apart. However, I ran with a pack for six years. I was a brother to a gnoll, and son to his parents. I sat at their table and went on their hunts. I sang the rights and washed in their bath. I was once an adopted son, which fills me with pride. If you are not a slaver then I would call you friend.” Waldo said quickly as Lydia approached. Just as he finished speaking he gave a quiet howl in the gnoll tongue he had learned many years ago living on the plains of Halcyon long before the war that had landed him here. Aer stopped mid-step and stared at Waldo as the gnolls in the room turned looking at the grimy human who had named himself to the room in gnollish. Kna openly stared surprised Waldo had been named and knew the proper introduction for himself in a public place. Lydia was confused as to her it appeared Waldo was growling threateningly at Kna. Suddenly, the room responded with a quite gnollish welcome that made Lydia jump. Aer gently placed her hand on Lydia’s shoulder.
“They are greeting Waldo in our tongue.” Aer explained to Lydia, seeing she did not know what was happening in the room.
“He speaks gnollish?” Lydia said surprised.
“I guess.” Aer said, pulling her hand back and moving forward again.
“Why did you not say something before?” Kna asked, Waldo as Lydia and Aer walked up. Aer set his canteen on the table.
“It was not the time. All things have a place and now was this things place.” Waldo responded.
“You are a strange human, but I am comforted and feel as if there is nothing to fear.” Kna said to Waldo then turned to Lydia. “Lydia, you may do as you will the rest of the night and I will not interfere.”
“Thank you. May we call this the end of my shift then.” Lydia asked, feeling a little excited. Aer turned moving around the room with the other staff in the inn.
“Away with you before I find a need for your aid in tending to my customers. Who I have ignored, too long.” Kna said quickly moving away to help her staff tend to tables. Waldo picked up his pack and canteen.
“Lead on, Ma laska.” Waldo said, nodding to Lydia.
“Ma laska?” Lydia questioned not saying it quite right.
“Sorry, my lady. Old habits.” Waldo said, lying again feeling unsure as to why he felt like he was fighting to stay in control. Lydia raised an eyebrow questioningly but led on. Waldo followed her up the stairs to the second floor and down a hallway lined with six doors. She stopped in front of the door and placed a brass coin over the lock which clicked and the door swung open. Led him into a good sided room with an all wood floor and completely open. A large bed was on one side of the room, a table with two chairs by the door. Space at the foot of the bed. There was space between the bed and a bathtub with a toilet near the back wall with a screen by the toilet and a sink between the tub and toilet. The room was lit by glowing stones fixed to the walls Waldo saw what appeared to be a control for the glowing stones by the door before the table and chairs. There were towels by the sink. Lydia set the plate on the table and the brass coin next to it. Waldo set his bag at the foot of the bed and started to strip away his body armor until he heard the door shut causing him to turn. Waldo smiled seeing Lyida had not left.
“Would you like help?” Lydia asked, slowly walking to him with a gaze that excited Waldo. The kiss he had stolen had aroused something in Lydia and the urges she had been pushing back had rushed forward.
“I can manage. I am just removing some outer layers. They are deceptively heavy.” Waldo responded.
“Please allow me. I want to.” Lydia said, stepping next to him quickly. Waldo allowed her to help him, carefully guiding her hands to the straps holding the armor in place and allowing their fingers to get tangled. “You seem to be intentionally making this difficult.” Lydia accused, after it took almost a full minute to unhook one strap.
“Does it bother you?” Waldo asked, playfully nudging her and Lydia realized he was enjoying the delay.
“Your food will get cold…” Lydia said, blushing as she started to enjoy the fumbling of their hands and his contact.
“Hot or cold it is still food. However, this moment... is all its own.” Waldo said, dragging out her helping him remove his outer layers, which took another five or more minutes. After which, they sat across from each other as he ate his dinner. Lydia studied him as he ate.
“Have we met before?” Lydia asked, feeling at ease in his presence.
“After a manner…I believe so but not for more than a lifetime.” Waldo responded. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”
“Reincarnation?” Lydia asked not being familiar with the word.
“My people believe when you die a piece of you, what we would call a soul, starts a new life.” Waldo explained.
“I am not much for religion. In my homeland, they said the gods are dead. The Drakes of Xalas seem to think there are gods and people have souls. Most of the gnolls of Grofeas say there are no gods but there is a temple to the gnoll god in Protham and I believe the high priestess is the wife of the city's guard captain.” Lydia replied.
“Xalas? Grofeas?” Waldo asked, suspecting these are countries.
“Neakar, a large city in the Xalas empire. It even has a palace for the emperor. I don’t think it is the capital of the Xalas empire but I might be wrong. The Grofeas plains are ruled by the gnoll tribes. There are not very many cities on the Grofeas plains and Xalas has tentative peace with the plains gnolls that largely control Grofeas. Protham is the first city in the Grofeas plains after leaving the Xalas empire. Mostly, the Drakes have mined the Grofeas plains of all they are interested in so they leave them alone.” Lydia explained.
“What is your home land called?” Waldo asked.
“Northumbria, but last I heard it fell to the drakes in the war. I was captured before the Northumbrian king fell. The Teaniel Empire is the last human hold out against the drakes and if it falls the drakes will effectively rule the continent of Atios. Not that they bother much with the Grofeas plains.” Lydia explained.
“Ah, so you stay because there is no easy human stronghold to flee to?” Waldo questioned.
“I am trying to save up to go to Ibrix but that is a long boat ride off after traveling to the only gnoll port city because I refuse to go back into the Xalas empire. Only problem is Grofeas port city is three hundred leagues to the south east of here. The roads are less than safe and each year there are only about three caravans that make the trek. If I were to cross alone it is unlikely I would make it. The cost of going from here to Ibrix are a little more than a year's wage working here.” Lydia explained sadly.
“How many humans reside in Protham?” Waldo asked.
“Twelve. All women. Eight are too old for the trek and two are too young to go alone.” Lydia said.
“All former slaves of the drakes I assume.” Waldo said.
“What?” Lydia said surprised.
“I worked interrogations. I learned to read what was left unspoken. You have nothing to fear from me. Slavery is the evilest form of commerce.” Waldo said, kneeling by his chair with his back to Lydia and bearing it. Lydia saw thin white scars from wounds that had healed and been reopened only to heal again over and over again. Lydia was speechless. After a moment Waldo covered himself and sat down facing her.
“How did you know?” Lydia questioned. Waldo slid his chair close to her so they were a breath apart. Lydia stared at him waiting for an answer when he kissed her. This time she felt his hand running down her back touching her hidden marks. Waldo pulled back from the kiss after a moment.
“Slavers tend to have the same tricks. They leave the same marks on one's body and some people's souls.” Waldo said quietly as he sat a breaths distance from Lydia’s face. The moment stretched as shared history passed between them and without a word spoken they had shared secrets too dark to udder in the quiet of the room then there was a roar of cheers from the commons breaking the spell that dark secrets of shared history had woven for a moment.
“I hope we can talk more.” Lydia said, after a moment now that the spell was broken. Lydia stood now that her head had cleared. Lydia was not sure what she would do if she stayed and questioned what she wanted.
“Will you stay?” Waldo asked, gently touching Lydia’s hand. Lydia did not pull away. Standing Lydia moved to the door. She intended to open the door and leave but she grabbed the night lock turning the knob. Waldo was not sure what he expected but he would not stop her from leaving. Waldo heard the door lock click into place, Lydia took a few steps toward the bath and moved her hair to one side exposing the ties along her back. Waldo stood and moved to her beginning to untie her dress. Once he was done. Lydia let the dress fall to the floor. Time stretched and shortened all at once and before he knew it exhaustion took them as they lay on the bed together. Lydia snuggled up to him and in a moment her breathing was even and gentle. Waldo knew she had fallen asleep in that moment of respite. Waldo watched her for a moment only to realize how tired he was and started to doze off but just as he heard a voice speak in his mind.
“Class gained Soldier, Level one. Skill gained, find allegiance.”
“Cancel! Reject!” Waldo whispered, angrily not wanting to wake Lydia.
“Class and level canceled.”
Waldo was fully awake now. Realizing he is on a game world, Waldo frowned. He considered this for a moment. Waldo had heard of these but never been on one. Now the injury made more sense. He had died on Halcyon. Waldo wondered if Jonah even cared that he had died. Waldo took a moment to consider the implications of being on a gaming world. There would be no intergalactic armada base here. Waldo knew the gaming worlds had been cut off, largely due to proximity. All the gaming worlds were the opposite side of the galaxy. The armada was still a thousand years of growth away. Waldo now knew with certainty there was no simple way back. As he considered this he realized there might be a way. Waldo thought about it for a few minutes as the idea grew in his mind and realized he truly did not want to go back. “I am a God.” Waldo thought to himself, Waldo felt something rush to the front of his mind, something that believed it or he was a god.
“Class gained God, level one. Skill gained, anoint worshiper. Quest assigned, claim domain.”
Waldo smiled, surprised it was that simple. Waldo considered trying to cancel it but part of him said if he was going to stay here he might as well be a god. Thinking he could do anything as a god. Another part said it was a bad idea and it would not be easy. Waldo wondered why he was feeling so conflicted about everything and why he did not feel like he was in perfect control. Then he wondered if the gods were dead on this world, would he be the only god around, and if so what domain he should claim. Waldo slowly drifted to sleep with these conflicting thoughts.

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There is one particular commentary about the conduct of the war in the current Russo-Ukraine war since 2022 that surprised and mystified me for a while and it is how both sides struggle to scale their brigade’s attacks beyond the level of a company or so. This is particularly surprising since in 2014, the 95^th Airmobile Brigade conducted a large, 3-week-long mechanised raid – Zabrodskyi’s Great Raid of 2014, which was described as “the longest armored raid in military history”. A bit of a tangent but Zabrodskyi became a member of the Ukrainian Parliament, in 2019 and on March 2023, “The Verkhovna Rada (Ukrainian Parliament) terminated the powers of the MP from "European Solidarity" Mykhailo Zabrodskyi.”. Apparently, he “is planned to be appointed the Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces Valerii Zaluzhny”. In another tangent, the Marine Corps Gazette article about his raid spelt his name the “Russian” way (Mikhail Zubrowski) while currently, English-language articles that mentioned him used the “Ukrainian” spelling: Mykhailo Zabrodskyi.
Anyway, in the daily thread, I had a comment about an old (2003) US Army Engineering article on conducting Combined Arms Breach (CAB). The article described the common mistakes in CAB made by US Brigades at the National Training Center (NTC). Among it, the first and simplest mistake that most units made were that they failed to mass at the breach point:

Success or failure can often be predicted at the line of departure (LD) based on this fact alone. In fact, most brigade combat team attacks will effectively mass no more than one company team at the point of penetration.

At the time, I thought that this was a common mistake made by “new” brigade commanders and staff (“new” with the assumption of the great churn and turn over of personnel in and out of positions) and the problems of Ukrainian brigades were typical. There is an alternative explanation for the current practice and that is the drones, apparent persistent ISR and increased weapons lethality and proliferation of said weapons led to the fact that only a company at a time can be massed for an attack. Upon reading the piece more carefully and looking for detailed report of Ukrainian brigade-level attacks, I realised that:
1) The nature of the error (not massing more than a company) was different
2) It was not the case (at least in the case examined) that increased ISR and weapons lethality prevented the massing of more than a company.
First, the nature of the error made by American brigades at NTC. Note that this conclusion is my conclusion, based on my understanding of how a brigade would conduct an attack and the article (which is an excellent article and you really should read it for a better understanding of effect CAB). I don’t have access to NTC’s database on past engagements nor experience participating in such event. For the latter, the people who did participated prior to the article publication (2003) must be at least 50 years old. Why and how is mass important, the article stated:

The standard for mass is articulated clearly in FM 3-34.2:
Breaching is conducted by rapidly applying concentrated efforts at a point to reduce the obstacle and penetrate the defense.

• Massed combat power is directed against the enemy’s weakness.
  
• The location selected for breaching depends largely on weakness in the enemy’s defense, where its covering fires are minimized.
  
• If friendly forces cannot find a natural weakness, they create one by fixing the majority of the enemy force and isolating a small portion of it for attack.
  

So, related to error in massing, here are the relevant mistakes:

Wherever we penetrate the enemy, we must ensure that the remainder of the OPFOR remains fixed. We do this with fires, close air support, maneuver, and scatterable mines. We must do this, however, without violating the principle of mass. The OPFOR has great success in the offense, fixing its Blue Force (BLUEFOR) enemy with motorized rifle companies and scatterable mines. The OPFOR does so without significantly reducing its ability to mass at the point of penetration. All too often, BLUEFOR units commit battalion task forces to this task—often one-third to two-thirds of their total BCT combat power.

Note: the OPFOR unit at NTC is the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, which roleplay a Soviet Motor Rifle Regiment. Typically, one BCT rotates through the NTC at a time so apparently, “right” means a brigade should not expend more than a couple companies fixing the majority of another brigade outside of the breach. Typical BLUFOR mistake was to use one to two battalions for this task. This error, however, tells us that US brigades did put more than a company to the overall fight; just at the wrong places. So what happened and why? First, how many breach lanes can or should a brigade attempt?
Breaching doctrine basically requires one engineer platoon (with attachments) to execute one lane. There is also a requirement for redundancy— typically 50 percent. In a maneuver task force supported by an engineer company, most of that company is required at the breach. Develop
A brigade typically has 3 or so each of MICLICs, dozers, and rollers. The US Marines’ CAB during Operation Desert Storm experienced 30% failures of the MICLIC to detonate the line charge. Rollers and dozers had to press on clearing mines by themselves and engineers proceeded on foot to attach detonators to the line charges. Some others probed for mines manually, located and removed the mines by hands. With 30% failure and 50% redundancy requirement, a brigade could pretty much only attempt a single breach.
In a stereotypical attack-defend scenario of two brigades, the defending brigade puts the recon/cavalry screen out to screen the front. This screen allows the line and engineer units behind them to put in the defences, obstacles, fighting positions, and mines. Conversely, the attacker put out a recon screen of its own to locate the enemy screen, possibly collapse said screen, then press on to locate the obstacles, whether there are bypasses, and if there is no bypass available, the intel on the obstacles to enable the brigade commands to decide and plan for the breach. I suspect what happened with the American brigades at NTC was that the brigade puts the screen forward, located OPFOR screen, collapse said screen (which should be relatively easy since a US armored cavalry battalion of a heavy brigade are very heavily armed with M1 tanks, M2 and M3 Bradleys, and organic SPGs while a Motor Rifle Regiment recon units are much worse armed: typically BMPs and BRDMs). Then the recon battalion plus the two line battalions behind it makes contact with OPFOR main defensive obstacles. Here are other mistakes noted at NTC:

- Observers fail to provide detailed obstacle intelligence.
- Units fail to interdict enemy engineer defensive preparations.
- Maneuver forces “stumble” into obstacles.

This is what “right” looks like:

TTP: Kill the enemy engineers. Enemy engineers will die. Kill them. Position observers early to detect and disrupt the enemy’s defensive preparations. Target bulldozers, caches of construction material and ammunition, engineer soldiers and equipment, and all obstacle emplacement activity. The enemy’s ability to disrupt our attacking formations and reduce our momentum is directly related to his ability to successfully emplace his obstacles. He knows he cannot defeat the BLUEFOR in a direct-fire battle without his battlefield shapers. Deny him this advantage. Mine emplacement now is a low- risk, high-payoff mission. We must reverse this, making it a high-risk mission for enemy soldiers to employ mines. When an enemy soldier gets the mission to emplace mines, he must tremble with the thought of his impending destruction. TTP: Find the obstacles. This cannot be just an engineer reconnaissance task. This is something on which we must focus combat observation lasing teams (COLTs), Stryker vehicles, brigade and task force scouts, unmanned aerial vehicles, the Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System (JSTARS), and any other available “lookers.” Find the obstacles to confirm or deny the enemy COA. Confirm the proposed point of breach or penetration. Consider layering reconnaissance assets by sending in initial forces to identify obstacles, with subsequent forces to obtain (before committing breaching forces) precise information such as— - Obstacle location and type. - Gaps and bypasses. - Specific minefield composition, which may dictate what breach assets to use and in what sequence. - Soil conditions, which may indicate suitability for plowing.
We do not have the technology to detect buried mines and many other low-cost, low-technology explosive devices. Therefore we must compensate for this with TTP, task organization, and focused reconnaissance. To be successful, we must focus all available lookers to let us detect mining activity and enemy obstacles before they are emplaced.

My conclusion is that the attacking brigade likely got their recon and first echelon battalions “fixed” on the defenders’ obstacles. Once the location of the breach has been decided, the brigade commander may opt for a hasty or a more deliberate breach. A hasty breach/attack assumes a hasty defence and prioritise speed (who doesn’t want speed in maneuver warfare?). A more deliberate breach that masses more forces will require a lot of redirection of units laterally to reach the Line of Departure (LD). This is quite hard on the battlefield. For the most fundamental reasons: soldiers are twitchy and great efforts are required so that units don’t shoot their colleagues accidentally.

TTP: Plan for traffic control. Get the military police into the fight. Traffic control is a traditional task for military police but one they rarely execute at NTC.

The brigades may have found shifting units too difficult or they were under time pressure to accomplish the breach and decided on a hasty breach with the units already at the chosen point. That translates to one to two companies. Predictably, it failed and the brigade was out of mechanised breaching options.
Another error:

TTP: Avoid the frontal attack. While our doctrine indicates that the frontal attack is the least desirable form of maneuver, it is the one most frequently seen at NTC. Find a flank and mass on it. Exploit a weakness or create one. Isolate the point of penetration. BLUEFOR units rarely if ever surprise the enemy but rather “telegraph” their intentions long before the LD. Find a way to tell a deceptive story without losing the ability to mass effects at the BFT. It’s no easy task but one the OPFOR routinely executes. Use obscuration during preparations and movement to, through, and beyond the LD to make it difficult for the enemy to determine friendly intentions.

The stereotypically Soviet and much derided frontal attacks is also everyone’s default behaviour.
Reading some more of Kofman’s writings and followed the citations on the specific claim that Ukrainian brigades often only send out one company led me to this report by Walting, which I read previously but I skipped over the important part that should have told me precisely the conduct of the Ukrainian brigades. I recently read it again and found the answer between page 7 and 14 on the battles for Novodarivka and Rivnopil.

The series of tactical actions is chosen because it is representative of wider trends, and informative as to how Russian forces manage different tactical challenges, and the various approaches employed by Ukrainian troops. The overview is based on accounts of the operations by participants, captured documents from Russian command posts, open-source material including satellite imagery of the engagements, and a review of non-public videos of the relevant tactical actions.

One should very well read carefully the description of the battle. It’s just 7 pages. The Russian defensive positions consisted of one company each in Novodarivka, Rivnopil and the gap in-between for a total of 3 companies or one battalion. A Territorial Defence Force brigade has been in contact and for the offensive, a mechanised and line brigade were sent in for reinforcement. The breakthrough were to be spearheaded by the mechanised brigade.

After identifying the points for the breach, the offensive started early in the morning of 4 June. Two UR-77 Meteorit charges were fired across the narrowest part of the minefield, blowing two 6-metre-wide channels from the treeline to the north to the edge of Novodarivka. A company column of MRAPs led by a pair of tanks committed to the first breach. “A pair of Russian tanks unmasked and fired on the columns. The Ukrainian tanks fired back at a range of around 800 metres. Nevertheless, the vehicles in the column were knocked out in succession” Basically, this pair of tanks shot up the entire column and was only after being knocked out by SPG-9 recoilless guns.
A second company was then committed to the other breach lane and two more Russian tanks emerged, moved towards the column and firing. “Via UAV feeds, the command post watched the emergence of the enemy, and fires were brought down to try and disrupt the action. Exposed, the breaching company attempted to accelerate through the breach, but deviated from course. All vehicles in the company were then immobilised by mine strike in succession. Russian fires then began to range on the column.”
To the credits of the MRAPs, about many of the dismounts survived and while some retreated, about a platoon’s worth from each company reached the edge of Novodarivka. A third company was committed, with dismounts moving along the breach using the destroyed vehicles for cover or dead grounds to advance. The close combat required to clear Novodarivka took a week. All in all, the brigade attack committed three companies of a battalion and managed to get a company-plus worth of dismounts into close combat in the settlement against a company’s worth of Russian forces
The TDF brigade led the attack on the Russian company in front of Rivnopil. They were reinforced by two tanks and an artillery battery from a neighbouring brigade. The brigade conducted a masterful three-pronged attack by two tanks (a Russian platoon-minus equivalent or half a Western tank platoon) and two infantry platoons.

The tanks, moving in and out of cover, engaged the Russian firing positions to draw the attention of and suppress the defenders. Shortly thereafter, artillery strikes on the fighting positions were combined with the delivery of smoke in front of the tanks. The tanks worked forwards, giving the impression that smoke was being used to cover the advance of infantry.

While the tanks fixed the attention of the defence, a platoon multiple of Ukrainian assault troops moved along the treeline to the east of the Russian fighting positions. From there, it began to lay down suppressing fire and advance in pairs. The action drew the attention of the defence, which now recognised a clear tactical play, with a fixing action to its front, and a major assault about to be launched against its flank. The Russian unit began to reposition to prepare for this attack and attempted to win the firefight to the east. Reinforcing the perception that it was about to be assaulted, the Ukrainian artillery then delivered a heavy salvo against the positions, signposting an imminent assault. The assault when it came did not materialise as the Russian defenders had envisaged. Instead, a platoon of assault troops, having infiltrated forwards along the western flank of the position then advanced rapidly, reaching the defensive positions that had been thinned out in anticipation of the assault to the east. Disorientated and fearing encirclement, the Russian troops began to withdraw towards Rivnopil, abandoning their communications equipment, and leaving five troops behind who were taken prisoner.
This attack was successful but only managed to get a platoon into the close against a company out of nearly a company’s worth of troops. About one-third of each attack managed to get in the close and at Novodarivka the COF was even while at the front edge of Rivnopil, the COF was unfavourable but the shock of being approached from unexpected direction made the Russians retreat. Still, the capture of both settlements took 2 weeks with the rate of advance approximately 700-1200 metres every three days, so you end up with about 400 m/day If you pull out ATP 5-0.2-1, Staff Reference Guide Volume I Unclassified Resources and look at Brigades and below rates of opposed advance ,the rate of advance against prepared defences and intense resistance (1:1 COF), in severely restricted terrains by dismounted troops, is about 0.1 km/hr. It works out to be pretty consistent with the observed rates of advance, assuming 4 hours of fighting/day and indeed about one Ukrainian company versus one Russian company in the close.
Let’s back up and remind ourselves that in this sector, there were three Ukrainian brigades versus 3 Russian companies in the first line. The two reinforcing Ukrainian brigades should be at relatively full strength and those two alone potentially had a 6:1 COF, assuming all can be committed to the fight. Adding the TDF brigade and the overall COF may perhaps be 6-9:1. Leaving 30-50% as reserves as still the overall COF for the first strikes should be at least 3:1 or 4:1, for “heavy” to “medium resistance” with a rate of advance of 0.3 – 0.5 km/h. These two settlements were part of a small salient which there were three parallel axes of advance, with two other ones. Approximately one Russian division was at this salient overall, and in the three brigade's sector there were possibly two more battalions behind Novodarivka and Rivnopil.
The actions at Novodarivka and Rivnopil as described by Walting weakened some of the arguments and reasons given for the Ukrainian Offensive achieving much less than it was hoped:
- “Russian minefields of greater depths, density, and triple stacked mines”. “Ukraine did not have sufficient MICLICs or other engineering vehicles”. The two UR-77 worked perfectly, none was taken out, and they created two lanes. Effectively, one BN had the breaching asset of an entire brigade.
- “Russian persistent ISR, drones, air superiority and helicopters”. "Ukraine cannot suppress Russian drones, helicopters, fighters, and bombers. Breaching is impossible when these Russian air assets are still breathing down the necks of Ukrainians.” During the attack on Novodarivka, one company column was shot up by a pair of tanks. Another column reacted to the appearance of another pair of tanks by speeding up, veering off the cleared lanes and into the minefield. It’s true that Ukraine could not suppress Russian forces, but it was the two tank platoon-minus that blew them up.
- “drones and how dangerous they are”. Note that despite all the talks about how dangerous drones are and how good they are at spotting tanks, four Russian tanks had been able to be effectively hidden and caused havoc among the attackers.
- “Attackers could not mass because of drones and ISR”. Russian fires did rain down on the attackers, but it was along the cleared lanes in the views of ground observers. The argument that drones and ISR are preventing brigades from sending more than a company at a time is somewhat weakened by the fact that the area allowed for the mech brigade to mass three companies, but the TDF brigade only send a company-minus group. The latter used their units well, though.
- “Western tactics doesn’t work”. Well, Ukrainian brigade allegedly trained in the West didn’t make it work. American brigades with officers trained through American system didn’t make it work at NTC. American regiment roleplaying a Russian motor rifle regiment employing Soviet tactics made it work (at NTC). Russian Army not using Soviet-era tactics (they were on the hybrid warfare thing and BTG, etc … back in 2022) couldn’t make it work in 2022. Americans made it work during Operation Desert Storm.
So most of what mystified me about the way Ukrainian brigade employed the forces have been answered. This issue is probably different from the American brigade’s issues of massing more than a company at the breach point. The brigade at Novodarivka was apparently stacking three battalions in a column, and three companies in a battalion in a column and feed one at a time towards a company-sized defence. What remains unclear for me in the first clash at Novodarivka was “who shot the SPG-9 that knocked out the pair of Russian tanks from the flank?”. Apparently, the two leading tanks in the column was ineffective at suppressing the Russian tanks. Were the SPG-9s part of the troops in MRAPs moving along the breach or were they part of an anti-tank unit overwatching the Russian positions from a support position to either side of the lane?
Finally, on the use of obscuration smoke:

Only 3% of Ukrainian artillery-fire missions are smoke missions. As demonstrated during the assault on the company position north of Rivnopil, smoke can be extremely useful in confusing the enemy ground force and obscuring assault actions. But smoke also has the effect of obscuring the view from UAVs which higher Ukrainian echelons and command posts use to coordinate activity and conduct combat management. Commanders persistently prioritise maintaining their own understanding of the battlefield over laying down smoke and concealing their personnel’s movements. Given the criticality of rapid application of artillery to support movement, this prioritisation is understandable, but it also reflects limitations in the ability of the brigade to trust tactical commanders to execute actions when not directed by high headquarters with greater situational awareness.

From the Seven habits:

Of the breach fundamentals—SOSRA—the most challenging may be obscuration. Mechanical smokers (wheeled or tracked smoke generators) rarely create the conditions necessary to allow maneuver formations to get into position to breach. Units rarely identify triggers to transition from artillery-delivered smoke to mechanical smoke and even to hand-emplaced smoke (smoke pots). This is one of the most critical components of the breaching operation that needs synchronization and rehearsal.

TTP: Expend all ammunition. Most units identify appropriate targets and triggers for artillery-delivered smoke. Fewer use mechanical smokers during the approach to the obstacle or at the breach. Very rarely do units employ smoke pots and smoke grenades at the breach—perhaps because it adds to what already is a complicated menu of tasks. Units fail to do so at their own peril. Assume someone is watching and use every available asset to create the necessary conditions for committing soldiers to and through the breach.
Finally, the Engineer article opines that a CAB operation is one that should be planned in details and well-rehearsed prior to execution. CAB is an “Orchestrated Ballet of Farm Implements”

I got a used ebike and thus far everything works great except for the rear brake. The front brake works great, clamps down like a champ and brings me to a stop right quick. The rear brake not so much.
They're Tektro brand Hydraulic Disk Brakes on an Ariel Rider Kepler. I've tried aligning the rear caliper multiple times and it seems like they catch the tire just fine but it's as if there isn't enough clamping power to hold the tire in place when any real amount of force is put into the spin.
What I've noticed is that the front brake's lever has that feeling of resistance and pressure when I reach the activation threshold which indicates it's working whereas the rear brake's lever doesn't have that at all -- it feels the same all the way through the pull and it goes right down to handle without any resistance.
I'm thinking I need a brake bleed but I was wondering if maybe there was something else I should try first? The guy who sold it to me told me there was a hex screw I should try adjusting but the only one I've found that seemed to make a difference was the one inside the lever's hinge (I think this adjusts the distance of the lever from the handle or the throw) and oddly enough when I tightened it at one point it seemed to add some pressure back into the lever pull but it also made the bike think the brake was constantly being engaged so the motor stopped turning on. I guess this is a safety feature you can bypass by pulling a couple cables but I'd rather just get the brake functioning properly without resorting to that if I can.
Any ideas?

Carl von Clausewitz

01 June 1780 to 16 November 1831
Part of a Series on the Philosophy of History
Carl von Clausewitz’s Moral Science of Warfare
Saturday 01 June 2024 is the 244th anniversary of the birth of Carl von Clausewitz (01 June 1780 to 16 November 1831), who was born on this date in Burg bei Magdeburg in 1780. (Wikipedia says that Clausewitz was born on the first of July, rather than June, but it’s possible to find pictures of Clausewitz’s grave marker, which gives his birth date as the first of June, so I will take this date as definitive.)
Clausewitz is remembered as the philosopher of war, and I have many times said that the philosophy of war and the philosophy of history are close cousins. If we hold that war is the motor that drives history forward, which many philosophers have argued, then was is the causal mechanism by which history is realized. Hegel and Marx in particular are associated with this view. We could even say that war is the reality of which history is the appearance.
And Clausewitz knew war. It was during the Napoleonic Wars that Clausewitz experienced his baptism by fire, so that his book On War is an account of war during the Napoleonic wars, and it is from On War that a mature conception of war has evolved and continues to evolve. By a “mature conception” I mean a theoretically mature conception of war. Since war inflames passions and feeds off irrationality, it can be difficult to engage with the topic of war with the requisite scientific disinterestedness. Clausewitz was the first to bring the attitude to the Enlightenment to war, and to seek to understand war as a rational process. One could argue that Hegel was doing something like this from a philosophical perspective at about the same time, but Clausewitz was a soldier with intellectual interests, while Hegel was a philosopher with an interest in history. The results were bound to be very different, and they were.
Also, Clausewitz’s understanding of Enlightenment rationalism took place when the romantic reaction against Enlightenment rationalism was already well underway, so, again Clausewitzs rationalism was bound to differ from the high Enlightenment representatives like Gibbon, Hume, and Condorcet. It might even be argued that the changes to Enlightenment rationalism that followed from the romantic reaction facilitated the very possibility of applying scientific reason to an object of knowledge as apparently irrational as war. There is an excellent book about post-Enlightenment science, The Age of Wonder: How the Romantic Generation Discovered the Beauty and Terror of Science by Richard Holmes, that tells the story of the development of science during the romantic era. Holmes doesn’t discuss Clausewitz, but it would have fit nicely into the narrative.
As the scientific revolution continued to unfold, new influences came to bear upon the development of science, and this in turn opened up scientific knowledge to further frontiers. Clausewitz reflects both Enlightenment and romantic epistemic imperatives. We can find in Clausewitz an intimation of the distinction between nomothetic and idiographic science:

“One may laugh at these reflections and consider them utopian dreams, but one would do so at the expense of philosophic truth. Philosophy teaches us to recognize the relations that essential elements bear to one another, and it would indeed be rash from this to deduce universal laws governing every single case, regardless of all haphazard influences. Those people, however, who ‘never rise above anecdote’ as a great writer said, and who would construct all history of individual cases-starting always with the most striking feature, the high point of the event, and digging only as deep as suits them, never get down to the general factors that govern the matter. Consequently their findings will never be valid for more than a single case; indeed they will consider a philosophy that encompasses the general run of cases as a mere dream.” (On War, Book Six, p. 374)

This is still true today for those who insist that history is exclusively idiographic. In another work, The Campaign of 1812 in Russia (1823 - 1825), Clausewitz gave an account of history that seems highly idiographic, but which does not necessarily exclude the possibility of assimilating events to a nomothetic explanation:

“Although we are not inclined to see the events of this world as resulting from individual causes but always take them as the complex product of many forces, so that the loss of a single component can never produce a complete reversal {but only a partial transformation relative to the significance of the component}, we must nevertheless recognize that great results have often arisen from seemingly small events, and that an isolated cause, strongly exposed to the workings of chance, often brings forth universal effects.” (Chapter V, From The Campaign of 1812 in Russia (1823 - 1825))

Clausewitz had enough of the Enlightenment in him that he looked for the relations that essential elements bear to one another in war, and he was enough of a romantic that he recognized that it would be rash to deduce universal laws governing every single case. So should the study of war be idiographic or nomothetic? As I read Clausewitz, it’s a little of both, and it needs to be a little of both. As our theoretical framework for understanding war increases in sophistication and detail, we might be able to assimilate more individual cases to universal laws, but we won’t exhaust individual cases any time soon.
In an introductory essay to the English translation of On War by Peter Paret we find this description of Clausewitz’s intellectual independence, which was probably a necessary condition for this project:

“…important for our purpose is the intellectual independence with which he approached the fundamental military issues of the age, as well as his sympathy with the aims of humanistic education, and his conviction that the study of history must be at the center of any advanced study of war.” (p. 8)

Clausewitz himself makes the importance of history explicit:

“While there may be no system, and no mechanical way of recognizing the truth, truth does exist. To recognize it one generally needs seasoned judgment and an instinct born of long experience. While history may yield no formula, it does provide an exercise for judgment here as everywhere else.”

Clausewitz is here making a logical point that would later, in the twentieth century, be recognized as the decision problem. A whole series of metalogical theorems on decidability have been proved for various calculi. The problem is to determine a yes or no answer to a question about a theorem, for example, whether or not a given proposition is a theorem of a given system. History is of course much too complex to be reduced to any calculus, so no currently conceivable decision procedure is out of reach for history.
Even if history provides us with no formulae, it still can be a source of insight and judgment. Clausewitz elsewhere in On War goes even further and seems to deny that systemic study could be effective:

“History provides the strongest proof of the importance of moral factors and their often incredible effect: this is the noblest and most solid nourishment that the mind of a general may draw from a study of the past. Parenthetically, it should be noted that the seeds of wisdom that are to bear fruit in the intellect are sown less by critical studies and learned monographs than by insights, broad impressions, and flashes of intuition.” (On War)

Given the state of our knowledge of history, Clausewitz is probably right about this, and we have to mostly depend on insight, impressions, and intuition. However, I would argue that Clausewitz leaves this problem open-ended, especially in light of the earlier quote in which he mentions rising above anecdotes, as insights, impressions, and intuitions without even the possibility of assimilating these to general laws would amount to little more than anecdote, which Clausewitz explicitly says we must rise above.
There is another sense in which we can say that history informs our theoretical conceptions. Raymond Aron wrote a study of Clausewitz, Clausewitz: Philosopher of War, in which he makes an interesting observation:

“In his youth, he introduced moral forces into his theory; in his maturity, he introduced the conceptual distinction needed to reconcile the transhistoric theory with history, in other words the two extreme forms of war, each one conditioned or determined by circumstances or political intentions. In order to establish the equality of status in the two types of war, he had to recognize the unreality of absolute war which in many texts he represented as the only one consistent with the concept.”

Aron is suggesting that Clausewitz’s chief theoretical conception, absolute war, was unreal, but that it is conditioned and determined by historical circumstances. For Aron, history was the force that made theory responsive to practice. This is not all that different from the saying attributed to Thucydides, viz. that history is philosophy teaching by example. Thucydides also said that war is a stern master, and it brings men down to the level of their circumstances. Clausewitz knew this first hand, and when the lessons that philosophy teaches are the lessons of men being humbled despite the pretences to some higher position in the world, then we have been well and truly humbled.
We could call Thucydides’ observation about war being a stern master the Copernican principle of war, because it forces all participants into a recognition of their smallness within and peripherality to the bigger picture. Clausewitz himself had his share of Thucydides’ Copernican principle of war. He was in the thick of things during the Napoleonic wars, serving as aide-de-camp to Prince Augustus Ferdinand of Prussia at the Battle of Jena-Auerstadt on 14 October 1806, where Hegel had glimpsed Napoleon and called him the world-spirit on horseback. Hegel fled Jena carrying the manuscript of his Phenomenology of Mind. Clausewitz was taken prisoner of war along with 25,000 others and spent two years as a prisoner of war in France after the catastrophic defeat of the Prussians at Jena. So Clausewitz experienced war as a stern master and he knew the bitterness of total defeat.
Fichte had also felt the weight of the German defeat by the French. In my episode on Fichte I talked about how he had given a series of public lectures subsequently published as Addresses to a German Nation. When Fichte was delivering this talk he is quoted as having said:

“I know very well what I risk; I know that a bullet may kill me, like Palm; but it is not this that I fear, and for my cause I would gladly die.”

War was also a stern master to Fichte; even those who were not soldiers like Clausewitz risked all. Like Fichte, Clausewitz believed that his people could rally, overcome defeat, and eventually regain their political autonomy. Machiavelli, too, had known defeat and had seen his people humiliated by an occupying force, which was also the French, but several hundred years earlier. Fichte wrote an essay about Machiavelli, which, after Clausewitz read it, he sent a letter to Fichte about his Machiavelli essay. In Clausewitz’s letter to Fichte he wrote this:

“This true spirit of war seems to me to consist in mobilizing the energies of every soldier to the greatest possible extent and in infusing him with warlike feelings, so that the fire of war spreads to every component of the army instead of leaving numerous dead coals in the mass. To the extent that this depends on the art of war, it is achieved by the manner in which the individual is treated, but even more by the manner in which he is employed. The modern art of war, far from using men like simple machines, should vitalize individual energies as far as the nature of its weapons permits—which, to be sure, establishes a limit, for an essential condition of large forces is to have the kind of organization that permits them to be led by a rational will without excessive friction.” (Letter to Fichte)

For Clausewitz, friction was a technical term. He wrote an entire chapter on friction in On War, saying, among much else:

“Friction is the only concept that more or less corresponds to the factors that distinguish real war from war on paper. The military machine—the army and everything related to it—is basically very simple and therefore seems easy to manage. But we should bear in mind that none of its components is of one piece: each part is composed of individuals, every one of whom retains his potential of friction.” (On War)

Returning to the previous quote, Clausewitz names three conditions of modern war as: 1) mobilizing the energies of individual soldiers, 2) leading them with a rational will, and 3) doing so without excessive friction. We don’t have to strain too much to see these conditions of modern war as conditions of the possibility of mass warfare that was eventually realized as the First World War, which I also call the first planetary-scale industrial war.
Clausewitz, fighting in the Napoleonic wars, was positioned to see the prehistory of industrialized warfare. A hundred years later, the prehistory of industrialized warfare eventually morphed into the history of industrial warfare in the strict sense. In my episode on Ernst Jünger I described industrialized warfare as a boundary condition out of which novel forms of modernity emerge. In particular, mechanized warfare is a boundary condition for an emergent form of heroism distinctive to mechanized warfare. Something qualitatively new had appeared in history, and this novel emergent generated a cluster of other emergents for which mechanized warfare was the boundary condition.
The conditions that Clausewitz described were the boundary conditions for industrialized warfare. Ernst Jünger was positioned to see and describe the emergence of true industrialized warfare, as Clausewitz was positioned to see its prehistory. The two authors testify to distinct periods in the development of planetary-scale industrialized warfare. This is a development that continues today, and continues to generate philosophical commentary on the novel emergents that have appeared in history as a result of industrialized warfare.
Today is not only the birthday of Clausewitz, it is also the 117th anniversary of the birth of Jan Patočka (01 June 1907 – 13 March 1977), who was born in Turnov, Bohemia, on this date in 1907. Patočka wrote a book on philosophy of history, Heretical Essays in the Philosophy of History, which was influenced by Husserl, Heidegger, and Hannah Arendt, among others. In the Fifth Essay: Is Technological Civilization Decadent, and Why? And especially in the Sixth Essay: Wars of the Twentieth Century and the Twentieth Century as War, Patočka discussed Ernst Jünger. I mentioned in my episode on Jünger that Jünger’s essay on total mobilization and his book The Worker was an influence on Heidegger, and Patočka too is interested in this work. Patočka’s description of the industrialization of Germany gives us the rational will and the organizational expertise to overcome the friction that Clausewitz saw as conditions of modern war:

“…Germany, for all its traditional structures, is the configuration that most closely approximated the reality of the new technoscientific age. Even its conservatism basically served a discipline that, contemptuous of equalization and democratization, vehemently and ruthlessly pursued the accumulation of building, organizing, transforming energy. Ernst Junger’s Der Arbeiter contains an implicit suspicion of the actual revolutionary nature of the old prewar Germany.! It is above all the ever deepening technoscientific aspect of its life. It is the organizing will of its economic leaders, its technocratic representatives forging plans leading inevitably to a conflict with the existing global order.”

Patočka also saw the orgiastic craziness of modern war that facilitated the mobilization of the energy of individual soldiers:

“War as a global ‘anything goes,’ a wild freedom, takes hold of states, becoming ‘total.’ The same hand stages orgies and organizes everydayness. The author of the five-year plans is at the same time the author of orchestrated show trials in a new witch hunt. War is simultaneously the greatest undertaking of industrial civilization, both product and instrument of total mobilization (as Ernst Jünger rightly saw), and a release of orgiastic potentials which could not afford such extreme of intoxication with destruction under any other circumstances. Already at the dawn of modernity, at the time of the wars of religion in the sixteenth. and seventeenth centuries, that kind of cruelty and orgiasm emerged. Already then it was the fruit of a disintegration of traditional discipline and demonization of the opponent though never before did the demonic reach its peak precisely in an age of greatest sobriety and rationality.”

It took the scientific and managerial resources of industrialized civilization—which Patočka and others call “technoscience”—to tame, and direct, and organize the orgiastic fury that was earlier released during the religious wars of the early modern period. I suspect that Junger would have largely agreed with this if he had read Patočka, and he could have read this since he lived longer than Patočka. It’s a bit more difficult to ascertain what Clausewitz would have thought of this.
To a certain extent it’s counter-intuitive to understand this orgiastic fury of warfare that Patočka described as a moral factor of war. We would perhaps like to think of the morality of war in terms of the various treaties like the Geneva Conventions that have attempted to moderate the brutality of armed conflict, or maybe the older framework of St. Augustines conception of a “just war.” There is, however, a wider sense of the use of the word “moral.” This wider sense of moral is less common that in the past. One could even say that this usage is becoming archaic. This is definitely is case with the idea of what were once called the moral sciences.The OED defines the moral sciences as:

(a) Those branches of knowledge which deal with the criteria of right and wrong;
(b) Cambridge University politics, philosophy, and economics, as a course of study.

This is now a defunct and archaic way to refer to the humanities and the social sciences. I suspect few if any university catalogs continue to use the moral sciences as a major division of the curriculum. But the idea of the moral sciences points to a wider sense of the term moral, and that is anything that engages specifically human responses to the world like politics, philosophy, and economics. In this context, moral doesn’t necessarily involve right and wrong, but it does involve what is human, all-too-human.
The Clausewitzean conception of war, which, as Raymond Aron said, was about introducing moral forces into our understanding of war, makes the study of war a moral science in this now archaic usage of “moral.” Clausewitz’s moral science of war is very close to what Ernst Jünger wrote about war being ultimately a spiritual endeavor. Patočka underlines this by recognizing the many social forces that came together to produce the wars of the twentieth century. Earlier I said that many philosophers have understood war as the engine that drives history forward. Patočka comes close to saying as much further along in his discussion of Jünger’s work:

“The first world war is the decisive event in the history of the twentieth century. It determined its entire character. It was this war that demonstrated that the transformation of the world into a laboratory for releasing reserves of energy accumulated over billions of years can be achieved only by means of wars. Thus it represented a definitive breakthrough of the conception of being that was born in the sixteenth century with the rise of mechanical natural science. Now it swept aside all the ‘conventions’ that inhibited this release of energy—a transvaluation of all values under the sign of power.” (Heretical Essays in the Philosophy of History, Sixth Essay, p. 124)

Clausewitz lived before this radical transvaluation of values, which is a phrase that Patočka has picked up from Nietzsche. Clausewitz belonged to the social order that was subsequently lost to the transvaluation of all values under the sign of power. He was there for the first stirrings of this transvaluation, but he did not see the completed arc of its development. Clausewitz’s traditionalism can be glimpsed in a document Clausewitz wrote in 1812—titled “Political Declaration” and published in Carl Von Clausewitz: Historical and Political Writings. Clausewitz wrote in the present tense, as a participant in historical events whose outcome was unknown as he wrote this account:

“The hatred that Napoleon bears toward the House of Hohenzollern is of course not obvious to everyone and not at all easy to explain. For some, however, it will be enough to know that at Tilsit a contemptuous coldness, indeed a suppressed hatred, could not be missed in the emperor’s personal conduct toward Frederick William III and his family, while the royal family's conduct toward Napoleon (thanks to a sense of dignity undiminished by politics!) had a more worthy and dignified bearing, which can of course enrage a vain and passionate man even more. There are also specific facts whose significance cannot be mistaken. The basis of Napoleon’s enmity probably lies above all in the liberality that characterizes the Prussian regime, which has attracted attention throughout Germany. Prussia, and particularly her ruling house, has public opinion on her side more than other states, and Napoleon is deeply hostile to this. The south German princes may be weary of French domination, but they have never been independent, they fear the vengeance of outsiders, and are without pride and self-esteem, half admirers and half flatterers of the French emperor. This is not the case with Frederick William III. This king, as everyone knows, is above all an upright man, incapable of hypocrisy: hatred of the French emperor is natural to him, and since he is sensitive and easily offended, his feelings are constantly inflamed by Napoleon’s abuses and can never grow numb. If he has refrained from expressing those feelings for political reasons (great self-possession being natural to him in any case), if he has admirably sacrificed his own dignity and that of his people in this regard, his reticence could never deceive the French emperor, and nothing is more natural than that Napoleon should have seen more deeply into the king’s heart than the king has into his.”

Here Napoleon is the upstart emperor who lacks the depth of dignity that the ancient family of the Hohenzollern possessed. Napoleon knew this, resented it, and the Napoleonic wars were one big cope-and-seethe because of it. The Hohenzollern represent the traditional aristocratic privilege that the French Revolution sought to overturn, and yet Napoleon and the Hohenzollerns found themselves forced into this diplomatic accommodation that both probably found distasteful. Napoleon was drawn into these ancient diplomatic traditions that the Revolution was in the process of sweeping away.
Not only was Napoleon draw into these ancient rituals of diplomacy, in having himself crowned emperor, he was effectively giving new life to these institutions, and the Hohenzollerns were drawn into paying their respects to a representative of the Revolution that would have done with them. For Clausewitz, the Hohenzollerns were an ancient aristocratic family reforming themselves and their kingdom along liberal lines, while Napoleon was the symbol of revolutionary change that threatened the established order of Europe. Patočka understood this, which why, in my earlier quote from him, he discussed the quasi-traditional, but, at the same time, the quasi-revolutionary nature of Imperial Germany, and Jünger’s response to this. This is not something I am prepared to exhaustively sort out, so I will leave it there for the moment.

Video Presentation

https://youtu.be/MAXr5Ze4bQg
https://www.instagram.com/p/C7s7dsjNGk5/
https://odysee.com/@Geopolicraticus:7/carl-von-clausewitz%E2%80%99s-moral-science-of:f

Podcast Edition

https://spotifyanchor-web.app.link/e/NHFPd3MM5Jb
https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/a31b8276-53cd-4723-b6ad-a39c8faa4572/episodes/a59ed23b-eeb4-4469-9380-952a76bcba08/today-in-philosophy-of-history-carl-von-clausewitz%E2%80%99s-moral-science-of-warfare
https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-today-in-philosophy-of-his-146507578/episode/carl-von-clausewitzs-moral-science-of-181857506/
​
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I try hard to not have it look like I live in my vehicle, but as it is, when parked and officers approach, it's hard to live down their peering eyes and flashlights; my passenger seat is my pantry (with food I have nowhere else to put, in tidy farmer's market type baskets). People with homes don't usually fill their seat. I've managed to not answer police's "are you living in your car". It's tense.
In Act 2, I want to maximize space, removing my passenger seat to accommodate a twin bed that will start at the glovebox. I AM CONCERNED THIS WILL REMOVE ANY OUT FOR DENYING I AM SLEEPING IN MY CAR, AND BE GROUNDS FOR CITING OR ARRESTING ME. There are increasing laws and pressures trying to punish sleeping in vehicles, so even if I am not violating parking rules, I'm at risk.
I'm also non-White and have encountered unprofessional treatment by police that seems race-based; my clean background seems to surprise them after they lead with harshness towards me. And this is why I want no citation, ever.
[My clean background has saved my life within these types of interactions, more than once with guns drawn upon me, and one time with 8 guns, four squad cars called, and my being handcuffed (overzealous cop pulled me over and called backup, assuming I had a stolen car, having read my license plate improperly and going on make/model and racial appearance).] I badly need the space as I have a rare condition that put me into vanlife; my cargo area is stuffed with specialized goods (everything for daily living that regular humans take for granted -- chemical-free things, etc.). Because the condition is so rare, there is no diagnosis I can whip out nor a doctor letter; doctors have failed terribly. There are probably about 100 people with this same condition in the US currently living in vehicles, as a way to not get worse and more debilitated (toxins in buildings and from proximal people lead to debilitation of legs, cognition, speech and motor skills). No idea who they are or how to find them, so here I am on Reddit...
Anyone replaced the front passenger with a twin bed and experienced changes in how people walking by or police suspect vehicle dwelling? How to explain?

I try hard to not have it look like I live in my vehicle, but as it is, when parked and officers approach, it's hard to live down their peering eyes and flashlights; my passenger seat is my pantry (with food I have nowhere else to put, in tidy farmer's market type baskets). People with homes don't usually fill their seat. I've managed to not answer police's "are you living in your car". It's tense.
In Act 2, I want to maximize space, replacing passenger seat with a twin bed that starts at the glovebox like this: https://www.reddit.com/vandwellers/comments/nynnob/as_requested_additional_photos_of_the_sienna_build/
I AM CONCERNED THIS WILL REMOVE ANY OPTION FOR DENYING I AM SLEEPING IN MY CAR, AND BE GROUNDS FOR CITING OR ARRESTING ME. There are increasing laws and pressures trying to punish sleeping in vehicles, so even if I am not violating parking rules, I'm at risk.
I'm also non-White and have encountered unprofessional treatment by police that seems race-based; my clean background seems to surprise them after they lead with harshness towards me. And this is why I want no citation, ever.
[My clean background has saved my life within these types of interactions, more than once with guns drawn upon me, and one time with 8 guns, four squad cars called, and my being handcuffed (overzealous cop pulled me over and called backup, assuming I had a stolen car, having read my license plate improperly and going on make/model and racial appearance).] I badly need the space as I have a rare condition that put me into vanlife; my cargo area is stuffed with specialized goods (everything for daily living that regular humans take for granted -- chemical-free things, etc.). Because the condition is so rare, there is no diagnosis I can whip out nor a doctor letter; doctors have failed terribly. There are probably about 100 people with this same condition in the US currently living in vehicles, as a way to not get worse and more debilitated (toxins in buildings and from proximal people lead to debilitation of legs, cognition, speech and motor skills). No idea who they are or how to find them, so here I am on Reddit...
Anyone replaced the front passenger with a twin bed and experienced changes in how people walking by or police suspect vehicle dwelling? How to explain?

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In 1903, Henry Ford spends twenty-eight thousand dollars to create a company that today we know as a multi-million dollar auto corporation quote from Education: Teaching "Any man can learn anything he will but no man can teach except to those who want to learn." Ford's first vehicle was the "Quadricycle," selling for only about two hundred dollars. Now the company creates a multitude of vehicles and has for over a century. Through many different branding strategies such as their motto, logo, worldwide advertising and partnerships with different people and organizations, Ford has maintained success through the years
Ford values are to be on top of trending vehicles, electric power vehicles or gas eco boost motors; Ford offers customers safety at economic prices for example Ford Maverick. Ford's mission statement is "to help build a better world where every person is free to move around. pursue their dreams. Ford Motor Compan. Motto is "Built Ford tough". Its iconic Ford logo is white and blue and is used in all their advertisements. Ford also provides more detailed information and wants to influence by customers making cars available to more middle-class American consumers than ever before." As quoted by Eli Whitney
Ford company has expanded to all states with three thousand dealerships across the U.S which also helps the economy by providing one hundred and seventy thousand Jobs. Five billion US dollars was invested in 2023 as advertising worldwide. "Don't tell me how good you make it; tell me how good it makes me when I use it"- Leo Burnett. Ford loves to support Television, radio, online/ social media, plus magazines are the five ways to grab the people's attention. "You can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertisements." -Norman Douglas
Ford company supports Disabled American Veterans and children who have cancer to show kindness to
everyone. Ford sponsors NASCAR, Golf, and other major sports they love to sponsor their company "every time you make a purchase of Proud to Honor merchandise, 100% of Ford profits will be donated to DAV-Ford. This is the meaning of the quote if anyone was to donate their money funds by sending it to events like the DAV (Disabled American Veterans). Ford joined other partnerships, they are "FIRST" a robotics community that prepares youth for the future, has been supported by Ford, also STEM (science, technology, engineering, and math), final one local state track (Meaning people who are athletic at running.) Disabled American Veterans and children who have cancer, ford gives an 88% of money funds
Ford has some Appearance with other ways, and I have some video names: "Ford Galaxie 500 Commercial (1972)" then "72 Ford Gran Torino Commercial (1971) Fords famous packaging is basically giving the customer their vehicle all clean. "Washing away the dirt. Sparkling like new." -John. Fords Stores can everywhere in America in local areas like towns and cities around the blocks where they can make a bestselling vehicle. All of it is about Product packaging experience.
Conclusion, Ford values its human kindness, the quality of the product, mission statement and motto, logo, and color palette. Ford company wants more money from customers who want to support car branding. If looking at this quote "Making cars available to more middle-class American consumers than
ever before." Eli Whitney. Meaning anyone can be middle-class to see something for the future.

I came into this trial as a blank slate. From the very little that I did know, the prosecution theory that an angry, drunken girlfriend killed her man with a car seemed plausible and the police conspiracy theory seemed, on the surface, to be unhinged.
But in the past five weeks, the prosecution has yet to provide any solid evidence Karen Read committed second-degree murder. Moreover, witness after witness is getting crushed on cross-examination. I've never seen a trial where so many prosecution witnesses appear to be lying or less than credible.
I'm still not sold on the conspiracy theory. But the amount of reasonable doubt so far is off the charts.
Here's my tally:

1. Karen's so-called "confession" of "I hit him, I hit him, I hit him" is on shaky ground. Multiple people have said they heard it, but then it turns out that it's not in any of the initial reports, except for a statement from Katie McLaughlin. And turns out that McLaughlin is friends with Caitlyn Albert, who was part of the after-party at 34 Fairview.
   
2. Even more damning, nobody at the scene acted like Karen was confessing. She wasn't immediately arrested or even questioned about what she was saying. That speaks volumes about the how seriously her statements were taken at first.
   
3. The unbelievably sloppy investigation the morning of Jan. 29 -- collecting blood in Solo cups; the snowblower; not questioning Read about her statements that she might have hit him; no search of the house; no attempt to separate witnesses during the initial police interviews; abandoning the crime scene early on.
   
4. I need to hear more about the injuries, but so far, it's hard to square JO's injuries with getting hit by a car. Also, the missing hat, belt and shoe are just weird.
   
5. The expert who testified about the lack of dog DNA seemed credible. But her tests relied on swabs supplied long after the event by the State Police. And based on this investigation so fair, I have no faith in the validity of those swabs.
   
6. Likewise, the expert on the blood-alcohol data seemed very knowledgeable. But his calculations all hinge on the supposition that Karen Read had her last drink at 12:45 p.m. Everybody else was still drinking after that; why wouldn't we assume she just went home and went to sleep? Right now, I have no faith in the blood-alcohol numbers.
   
7. All the personal links between the witnesses and the investigators, and the attempts to downplay them. As an example, Katie McLaughlin could have just acknowledged her friendship with Caitlin Albert upfront. Instead, it was "I knew someone by that name in high school." Her response was just so ... sus.
   
8. Testimony vs. the electronic record. The butt dials. The 2:27 a.m. Internet search that was deleted. The phones that were ditched just before a preservation order. The Life 360 data. The Canton PD key data. It's just astonishing to see witnesses deny the electronic records, and crazy that the prosecution case steamed ahead despite all these red flags. I really don't know if there was a conspiracy, but it's clear some of these folks are hiding SOMETHING.
   
9. Nobody seeing the JO's body in the yard. It's easy for me to understand how some people could have missed it. But everybody who must have walked by it that night? Makes no sense.
   
10. The fact Brian and Nicole Albert stayed in their house that morning. And it's hard to believe that Jen McCabe was the one to wake them up. Talk about the Case of the Dog That Didn't Bark! Not to mention Jen's two "butt dial" calls to Nicole.
    
11. Karen's hysterical reaction that morning does not appear to be that of a woman who intentionally killed her boyfriend.
    
12. The texting with Higgins made, in my eyes, Higgins more of a suspect than Karen. If she already had one foot out the door, what would be the need to kill JO? They weren't married. She was ambivalent about the parenting responsibilities. She had her own home, her own income. Even if the relationship was about to end, it's hard to understand a motivation for murder.
    
13. The issues around the broken taillight. So nobody saw ANY of those 40-some pieces of red plastic on the morning of Jan. 29, even though several cops were looking for evidence? Does that make sense?
    
14. I'm assuming that both sides will bring in experts to debate the 2:27 Google search for "hos long to die in the cold." But if it's just a case of dueling experts and everybody is left not knowing the truth, that's reasonable doubt.
    

That's what I have so far and we haven't even gotten to the issues involving Proctor and what appears to be missing video at crucial times and places.
Frankly, the defense doesn't have to convince the jury of their conspiracy theory. They just have to sow that reasonable doubt. And if people are left totally confused about how JO died, than Karen Read will be acquitted.