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[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate.	Mo' Powers Mo' Problems The Ironeor. I know you won’t believe me, but I actually came up with the name, and I never lie. Not ever. Not before, at least. My names usually ain’t too creative, but this one, man, this one spread like blood from a headshot. It got everywhere, absolutely everywhere, kind of like that time I— Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. So Ironeor. The -eor part was easy, it was a freakin meteor, duh. The iron- part, no it ain’t had nothin’ to do with metal. My bro, my mostly-bones, twiggy lil’ bro, getting car-lifting, steel-bending, honest to goodness super strength. Or Rufus, Mr. I-once-tried-to-walk-a-hot-dog Rufus, who’s now able to melt things with his mind. They all got powers, all of ’em. Powers exactly the opposite of the shmuck’s natural abilities. You know what that is? That's ironic. So there ya go: the ironeor. You know what else that is? Unfair. Friggin unfair! Cuz everyone got these cool powers, everyone ‘cept me. Overnight, I went from the biggest baddy on the block to a friggin powerless nobody. Peckin orders with a powerless head honcho rooster’s aint gonna last long with brain-blasting subordinates, not even if those brainblasters are Rufus-level morons. Oh man, Rufus that dumb mother— Sorry, sorry. Out of the ironeor’s chaos, new power structures were gonna emerge. I needed to come out back on top. I needed powers. I needed ‘em fast. So I started asking around, but I had to be all sly-like. Near total isolation. Couldn’t let everyone know I didn’t have no powers, that wouldn’t a been good, not for a guy with a reputation like mine. You see, that’s what I ruled with – my reputation. And the bedrock of my reputation was that I never, ever lied. If I said you better pay or I’d get your family, and then you didn’t pay? Oh boy, from your grandma to your grandson’s dog, you ain’t gonna have no family no more. I dunno why I’m that way, just the way I was raised. Good morals, ya know? But in this crazy new world, when those grandmas might have diamond skin or laser eyes, how was I supposed to keep my promises? Anyway, I get some leads. Apparently there’s a guy called The Grabber who can “grab thoughts out of your mind,” and he’s helped a few suckers figure out how to use their powers. I imagined he’d gotten these grabbin’ powers since, um, he didn’t have any hands. There were a few problems with goin’ to him though. First, he ain’t never helped someone with no powers, he helped people power up ones they already had. Two, he was, uh, let’s just say someone I’d made a promise to before. As in, I’d told him I’d chop off his hands if he didn’t give us a hand with something. I’m still proud of that one. Despite these challenges, I had to try. Some woman called Fempower, with invincibility, and super strength, and friggin flight, I mean add insult to injury over here, had formed a clan that was takin over the city, slaughtering thousands of innocent people. Just terrible, right? That was supposed to be me! Soon enough, I’m knockin on The Grabber’s door. Hiding behind a disguise seemed pointless against a mind reader, so I didn’t bother. Plus, that really wasn’t my style. I hid behind a shotgun instead and had Rufus standing around the corner as backup. I swear I told him not to make a move, not to use his powers, not to do anything or I’d blow his brains out. He recognized me, I seen it in his eyes, he knew exactly who I was. And yet… he rushed at me, even shouted “no you won’t!” and I felt him try to use his friggin powers! No I won’t? What gives? I was almost so insulted I didn’t pull the trigger. Boom. Splatter. Screams. Rufus runs around the corner and asked what happened. Despite seeing the man with a head clearly blown off from a shotgun, and me clearly holding a shotgun, he still somehow couldn’t put it together. That dumb mother— sorry, sorry. I told him wuddu think happened, I told him I shot him. Rufus looked back, confused, and asked what really happened. Now, since this was Rufus, I almost believed he really couldn’t get it. But this was way past even Rufus-level stupidity. Then it dawned on me, and from there it was almost too easy. I went around the whole city and told everyone the simple truth, like I always did: that I didn’t have any powers. That I was as weak and useless as before the Ironeor. And most of all, that we definitely shouldn’t call it the Ironeor, because that was a horrible name. And just like that, no one believed me. No matter what I said, no matter how true it was, nobody believed me. Even Fempower thought I was lying. I was, once again, feared. What could my power actually be? It's a strange sort of power for a straight-talker like me. I’ve got to be crafty with my words and I can never really say what I mean. If I’m being honest with ya, I don’t really even like it. But there is one nice thing about it. I can tell shmucks like you all my secrets. I know you’ll never believe me. \_\_\_ Had to have a go at this one myself this lovely morning. If you enjoyed this, come on over to my newly created r/carlstories, where you'll soon find stories I don't publish anywhere else and sequels to my greatest hits. Speaking of which, want to know what happens to this unnamed narrator next?	I looked up from my phone in confusion. What the hell was that loud noise outside at 2 am? I threw aside my curtains and stared up in shock as my phone dropped from my hands. Something strange and glowing was falling rapidly from the night sky and it was coming right at my house! Before I could even think to run, the meteorite crashed into my yard in a fiery explosion and I felt myself being thrown back against a wall by the impact as the whole house started rumbling and falling down around me. I tried rising to my feet, but then, something struck me in the head and everything faded to black as I felt blood run down my cheek. I woke up a week later in a abandoned hospital, only to find myself in a world that had gone utterly insane. Apparently, shortly after the meteorite had crash landed in my yard, almost every human being had been transformed into massive tentacled beasts with a hunger for madness and blood. Instantly, anarchy had enveloped the world as millions of monsters tore each other apart in a neverending battle for supremacy. I was the only human left from what I could tell and I had no idea why. I did the only thing I could think of and snuck into the sewers to make my way back to the burnt remains of my home. I thought maybe if I could find the meteorite, I could figure out what the hell had happened to Earth. Finally, after hours of traveling in the dark and making sure that there were no monsters nearby, I climbed out of a manhole and walked into my yard. There, I found the meteorite, glowing in mysterious colors never before seen on Earth. I hesitated for a few seconds, but something told me that I needed to touch it if I wanted to get an answer to my questions. So, with my hand shaking in trepidation, I reached out and touched the meteorite, and for the first time, I truly grasped my horrific reality. I was still there, trapped under the rubble of my house. My flesh had practically melted off my bones and my limbs had been crushed and mangled under the weight of a thousand bricks, and yet, somehow I still lived. The strange energy of the meteorite was keeping my brain going, keeping myself stuck in this bizarre fever dream. I screamed as I bashed my head over and over again into the meteorite, but no matter how bad the pain got, I couldn't kill myself. After all, none of it was real. There was no escaping this hell.
[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate.	What is justice? With the advent of superpowers, this question quickly shot to the forefront of everyone's mind. To some, it was maintaining order in society. To others, it was people getting what they deserved. To me... Well, I still don't know. Civilization as a whole plunged into chaos the first week after the meteorite struck. Plenty of people saw it as an opportunity to move up in the world. Yes, this included villainy, but it wasn't limited to it. Many also rose to the occasion and stopped these abuses of power. They were called heroes. Soon enough, keeping metahumans in check became a profession of its own. Comic books had already provided a mold for us to follow and the populace quickly embraced it. These people became celebrities over night. Their stories, often coming from humble origins and using their powers for the benefit of others, were very easy to admire. This wasn't the only side effect, though. With all the excitement of superheroes finally existing, it was easy to ignore all the other areas of society that suffered a massive overhaul. Mine, for instance, was medicine. I'd wanted to be a doctor ever since I was little. The thought of healing other people through the use of reason and technique was something short of magical. In many ways, it was like being a superhero. Long hours, deaths that were out of your control, and a huge weight of responsibility that loomed over your head twenty-four seven. Despite how hard it was, I always found it easy manage since I knew I was doing good. Then came the meteorite, and with it, came laypeople with the ability to magically heal others. Terminal diseases suddenly became curable. Injuries that would take months to recover could be undone with a simple touch. All of a sudden, doctors weren't as needed anymore. This isn't to say we were completely useless. There weren't enough people with healing abilities to fix everyone, so we still had a role to fill. Their superior efficiency, however, couldn't be denied. For every patient I treated, a meta-doctor could cure twenty. Most emergency rooms only needed one of these people, as opposed to the teams we used to have. More than that, many people simply didn't want to be treated by a mundane doctor. Not when a magical fix was readily available. A lot of my peers quit the field of medicine. We had to take massive pay cuts, since we just weren't as valuable, and many decided it wasn't worth it anymore. Those of us who stayed were treated like glorified nurses, which some just couldn't handle, since very few things were bigger than the ego of a skilled doctor. Furthermore, despite having a lower salary, our six-figure student loans had stayed the same and the banks certainly didn't care. We went from earning a good living to barely surviving every month. And yet... I couldn't quit. Maybe it was another manifestation of my doctor's ego. Maybe I just didn't know what else to do. Or maybe, just maybe, I was hoping that my powers would soon manifest. That never happened, though. For a few years, I wondered why I ever bothered trying. The media paraded around the heroes and claimed that justice had finally arrived to the world. A new class of people had emerged, and they weren't afraid to show they were superior. People like me, who never got powers, were in a minority. Was this really fair to us? Why should I contribute to a society claiming that my misfortune was a benefit to the whole? I didn't let my resentment consume me, though. The undeniable truth was that the field of medicine had progressed far beyond what we used to have. All it took was looking in the eyes of a freshly healed cancer patient to understand this. I really couldn't resent meta-doctors. They were saving more people in a month than I could in my entire life. One day, however, a supervillain entered our hospital and held us hostage. We all knew his identity. Voltage, a key member of the supervillain group 'Retribution'. He electrified a few security guards in the ER and shouted: "Who's the meta-doctor here?!?" Everyone stayed quiet. "I swear..." Voltage started crackling with energy. "If a meta-doctor doesn't leave with me, I'll start frying everyone in this building!" A few people started crying. Others cowered behind whatever furniture they could find. Most important of all, Pierce, the meta-doctor on shift, made himself as small as possible. I quickly scanned the room for him, hoping to urge him with my eyes. He simply avoided eye-contact with me. Some of my peers, mundane doctors like me, had a growing anger in their faces. They were outraged at Pierce's cowardice. In a few seconds, they were going to sell him out. "It's me!" I shouted. Everyone widened their eyes. "What are you doing?" whispered a peer of mine. "Just offer Pierce up!" "No," I replied, lowering my voice. "If he's gone, many people who could otherwise live will die. If I'm gone-" "Fuck that!" said my friend, struggling to keep whispering. "They'll kill you!" I didn't respond as I walked away. The ugly truth was that I'd felt so useless that I would leap at the chance to feel valuable again. I really didn't care if I died. Doctor Pierce gaped his mouth. He had the chance to speak up and take my place, but didn't have the courage to do so. Voltage didn't question my credentials. He knocked me out with a shock to the head and, once I woke up, I was in Retribution's lair. ---------- >continued below	I looked up from my phone in confusion. What the hell was that loud noise outside at 2 am? I threw aside my curtains and stared up in shock as my phone dropped from my hands. Something strange and glowing was falling rapidly from the night sky and it was coming right at my house! Before I could even think to run, the meteorite crashed into my yard in a fiery explosion and I felt myself being thrown back against a wall by the impact as the whole house started rumbling and falling down around me. I tried rising to my feet, but then, something struck me in the head and everything faded to black as I felt blood run down my cheek. I woke up a week later in a abandoned hospital, only to find myself in a world that had gone utterly insane. Apparently, shortly after the meteorite had crash landed in my yard, almost every human being had been transformed into massive tentacled beasts with a hunger for madness and blood. Instantly, anarchy had enveloped the world as millions of monsters tore each other apart in a neverending battle for supremacy. I was the only human left from what I could tell and I had no idea why. I did the only thing I could think of and snuck into the sewers to make my way back to the burnt remains of my home. I thought maybe if I could find the meteorite, I could figure out what the hell had happened to Earth. Finally, after hours of traveling in the dark and making sure that there were no monsters nearby, I climbed out of a manhole and walked into my yard. There, I found the meteorite, glowing in mysterious colors never before seen on Earth. I hesitated for a few seconds, but something told me that I needed to touch it if I wanted to get an answer to my questions. So, with my hand shaking in trepidation, I reached out and touched the meteorite, and for the first time, I truly grasped my horrific reality. I was still there, trapped under the rubble of my house. My flesh had practically melted off my bones and my limbs had been crushed and mangled under the weight of a thousand bricks, and yet, somehow I still lived. The strange energy of the meteorite was keeping my brain going, keeping myself stuck in this bizarre fever dream. I screamed as I bashed my head over and over again into the meteorite, but no matter how bad the pain got, I couldn't kill myself. After all, none of it was real. There was no escaping this hell.
[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate.	I stared into my coffee and tried to imagine a power that would change my life. The coffee shop was pretty much empty besides me. The pastry I ordered floated to the table and plopped down in front of me. I looked up at the beaming barista and groaned internally. She rushed to my side and started chattering about her power with no encouragement from me. “It’s bread based! Weird right!? That’s why I had to bring your coffee. It’s not …like … the best power but it suits me! That’s why I bought this place…” She stopped chattering when she realized my face was blank. “So … what did you get?” I didn’t want to answer. Every since the meteor it’s all I got asked. Every conversation was power based and it was exhausting. I could not endure another face filled with pity. So instead of answering I just dropped the cash on the table and walked out. I could feel her bewildered look on my back all the way to the door. My brother can fly! My mom has super strength. My dad can control electricity. What do I get? Nothing. Nothing at all. Zero has changed for me except now I somehow feel a more intense loneliness than I used to. My mom is sure I have a power I haven’t discovered yet. So she drops by with ideas every few days. The days she doesn’t drop by I get streams of texts. I know she thinks she’s being supportive but it only makes me feel worse. I’ve basically decided I have no place on this new earth. I know it will make everyone I know sad… but they just don’t get it. This is so much worse than just being an average human. I seem to be the only one left. At first I was sure I wasn’t alone. I scoured the internet, made tons of anonymous posts. I was sure maybe I’d find at least one. One person that was as powerless as me. But I found nothing. Not even a single thread about someone else that was powerless. I wrote a few notes for my family and swallowed some pills. Then I just waited… for the dark to take me. I woke up in a stuffy dark place. At first I panicked trying to feel my way around. The the horrible truth set in… I was in a coffin. Immortality! I was for a second incredibly excited but then it dawned on me that I couldn’t get out. The thinness of the air made me choke. I tried to measure my breaths but then I slowly died again.	It was a normal monday. No one was is ever happy it was monday. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that day other than a few news reports saying a meteor will pass by the earth and we'd be able to see it. Little did we know what would ended up happening was it would make a 90 degree turn and decide to right into a volcano. The lava pouring out turned blue, scientists didn't have an answer and when they did have one, someone would debunk it within hours. It started a few weeks after that meteor crash, the sun turned red not because something happened to the but rather something happened to the earth. Everything from smallest plants to the largest whale has gained a super natural power. Everything including humans, that was 30 years ago now and ever since many creatures have gained some form of higher intelligence so much so human rights became sentient rights and the world and technology evolved. Now i'm 23 years old and the unique thing about me is that i don't have any powers whatsoever. I never broke any bones and would rarely feel hungry but i was nowhere near the powers of the others. "Heroes and villains" are the mainstream in media and in school the people with the best powers were the most popular, have you tried winning a sprint against a sentient cheetah or a guy that can step 3,000 times a second? School wasn't fun and i was bullied until my friend dave showed up. You see the unique thing about dave was his power was cancelling other powers and being 6'5" at 17 people stopped picking on me because dave cut off their powers for a month. Fast forward a decade and then one boy nicknamed "third eye" shows up on the news and he had a unique power to foresee many possible futures and would recommend one path for you. When it was finally my turn after three years of being on the waiting list to meet him. I didn't expect him to freeze up for hours, his assistant finally breaks him free while seeing his tears run down his face. I asked him what is it he saw and how many possibilities i had and he said his powers would let him see 80 years a milli-second, by the time the person meets their demise in one future he will look for another possible future and after 10 minutes will decide which future is best. My heart ached when he cried and said he is sorry he couldn't foresee multiple futures, just one future. Initially i didn't understand but he informed me that in the one iteration he did see i livs over 300,000 years. That's my power, i'm immortal. Well it's a good thing i'm friends with dave.
[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate.	What is justice? With the advent of superpowers, this question quickly shot to the forefront of everyone's mind. To some, it was maintaining order in society. To others, it was people getting what they deserved. To me... Well, I still don't know. Civilization as a whole plunged into chaos the first week after the meteorite struck. Plenty of people saw it as an opportunity to move up in the world. Yes, this included villainy, but it wasn't limited to it. Many also rose to the occasion and stopped these abuses of power. They were called heroes. Soon enough, keeping metahumans in check became a profession of its own. Comic books had already provided a mold for us to follow and the populace quickly embraced it. These people became celebrities over night. Their stories, often coming from humble origins and using their powers for the benefit of others, were very easy to admire. This wasn't the only side effect, though. With all the excitement of superheroes finally existing, it was easy to ignore all the other areas of society that suffered a massive overhaul. Mine, for instance, was medicine. I'd wanted to be a doctor ever since I was little. The thought of healing other people through the use of reason and technique was something short of magical. In many ways, it was like being a superhero. Long hours, deaths that were out of your control, and a huge weight of responsibility that loomed over your head twenty-four seven. Despite how hard it was, I always found it easy manage since I knew I was doing good. Then came the meteorite, and with it, came laypeople with the ability to magically heal others. Terminal diseases suddenly became curable. Injuries that would take months to recover could be undone with a simple touch. All of a sudden, doctors weren't as needed anymore. This isn't to say we were completely useless. There weren't enough people with healing abilities to fix everyone, so we still had a role to fill. Their superior efficiency, however, couldn't be denied. For every patient I treated, a meta-doctor could cure twenty. Most emergency rooms only needed one of these people, as opposed to the teams we used to have. More than that, many people simply didn't want to be treated by a mundane doctor. Not when a magical fix was readily available. A lot of my peers quit the field of medicine. We had to take massive pay cuts, since we just weren't as valuable, and many decided it wasn't worth it anymore. Those of us who stayed were treated like glorified nurses, which some just couldn't handle, since very few things were bigger than the ego of a skilled doctor. Furthermore, despite having a lower salary, our six-figure student loans had stayed the same and the banks certainly didn't care. We went from earning a good living to barely surviving every month. And yet... I couldn't quit. Maybe it was another manifestation of my doctor's ego. Maybe I just didn't know what else to do. Or maybe, just maybe, I was hoping that my powers would soon manifest. That never happened, though. For a few years, I wondered why I ever bothered trying. The media paraded around the heroes and claimed that justice had finally arrived to the world. A new class of people had emerged, and they weren't afraid to show they were superior. People like me, who never got powers, were in a minority. Was this really fair to us? Why should I contribute to a society claiming that my misfortune was a benefit to the whole? I didn't let my resentment consume me, though. The undeniable truth was that the field of medicine had progressed far beyond what we used to have. All it took was looking in the eyes of a freshly healed cancer patient to understand this. I really couldn't resent meta-doctors. They were saving more people in a month than I could in my entire life. One day, however, a supervillain entered our hospital and held us hostage. We all knew his identity. Voltage, a key member of the supervillain group 'Retribution'. He electrified a few security guards in the ER and shouted: "Who's the meta-doctor here?!?" Everyone stayed quiet. "I swear..." Voltage started crackling with energy. "If a meta-doctor doesn't leave with me, I'll start frying everyone in this building!" A few people started crying. Others cowered behind whatever furniture they could find. Most important of all, Pierce, the meta-doctor on shift, made himself as small as possible. I quickly scanned the room for him, hoping to urge him with my eyes. He simply avoided eye-contact with me. Some of my peers, mundane doctors like me, had a growing anger in their faces. They were outraged at Pierce's cowardice. In a few seconds, they were going to sell him out. "It's me!" I shouted. Everyone widened their eyes. "What are you doing?" whispered a peer of mine. "Just offer Pierce up!" "No," I replied, lowering my voice. "If he's gone, many people who could otherwise live will die. If I'm gone-" "Fuck that!" said my friend, struggling to keep whispering. "They'll kill you!" I didn't respond as I walked away. The ugly truth was that I'd felt so useless that I would leap at the chance to feel valuable again. I really didn't care if I died. Doctor Pierce gaped his mouth. He had the chance to speak up and take my place, but didn't have the courage to do so. Voltage didn't question my credentials. He knocked me out with a shock to the head and, once I woke up, I was in Retribution's lair. ---------- >continued below	It was a normal monday. No one was is ever happy it was monday. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that day other than a few news reports saying a meteor will pass by the earth and we'd be able to see it. Little did we know what would ended up happening was it would make a 90 degree turn and decide to right into a volcano. The lava pouring out turned blue, scientists didn't have an answer and when they did have one, someone would debunk it within hours. It started a few weeks after that meteor crash, the sun turned red not because something happened to the but rather something happened to the earth. Everything from smallest plants to the largest whale has gained a super natural power. Everything including humans, that was 30 years ago now and ever since many creatures have gained some form of higher intelligence so much so human rights became sentient rights and the world and technology evolved. Now i'm 23 years old and the unique thing about me is that i don't have any powers whatsoever. I never broke any bones and would rarely feel hungry but i was nowhere near the powers of the others. "Heroes and villains" are the mainstream in media and in school the people with the best powers were the most popular, have you tried winning a sprint against a sentient cheetah or a guy that can step 3,000 times a second? School wasn't fun and i was bullied until my friend dave showed up. You see the unique thing about dave was his power was cancelling other powers and being 6'5" at 17 people stopped picking on me because dave cut off their powers for a month. Fast forward a decade and then one boy nicknamed "third eye" shows up on the news and he had a unique power to foresee many possible futures and would recommend one path for you. When it was finally my turn after three years of being on the waiting list to meet him. I didn't expect him to freeze up for hours, his assistant finally breaks him free while seeing his tears run down his face. I asked him what is it he saw and how many possibilities i had and he said his powers would let him see 80 years a milli-second, by the time the person meets their demise in one future he will look for another possible future and after 10 minutes will decide which future is best. My heart ached when he cried and said he is sorry he couldn't foresee multiple futures, just one future. Initially i didn't understand but he informed me that in the one iteration he did see i livs over 300,000 years. That's my power, i'm immortal. Well it's a good thing i'm friends with dave.
[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate.	What is justice? With the advent of superpowers, this question quickly shot to the forefront of everyone's mind. To some, it was maintaining order in society. To others, it was people getting what they deserved. To me... Well, I still don't know. Civilization as a whole plunged into chaos the first week after the meteorite struck. Plenty of people saw it as an opportunity to move up in the world. Yes, this included villainy, but it wasn't limited to it. Many also rose to the occasion and stopped these abuses of power. They were called heroes. Soon enough, keeping metahumans in check became a profession of its own. Comic books had already provided a mold for us to follow and the populace quickly embraced it. These people became celebrities over night. Their stories, often coming from humble origins and using their powers for the benefit of others, were very easy to admire. This wasn't the only side effect, though. With all the excitement of superheroes finally existing, it was easy to ignore all the other areas of society that suffered a massive overhaul. Mine, for instance, was medicine. I'd wanted to be a doctor ever since I was little. The thought of healing other people through the use of reason and technique was something short of magical. In many ways, it was like being a superhero. Long hours, deaths that were out of your control, and a huge weight of responsibility that loomed over your head twenty-four seven. Despite how hard it was, I always found it easy manage since I knew I was doing good. Then came the meteorite, and with it, came laypeople with the ability to magically heal others. Terminal diseases suddenly became curable. Injuries that would take months to recover could be undone with a simple touch. All of a sudden, doctors weren't as needed anymore. This isn't to say we were completely useless. There weren't enough people with healing abilities to fix everyone, so we still had a role to fill. Their superior efficiency, however, couldn't be denied. For every patient I treated, a meta-doctor could cure twenty. Most emergency rooms only needed one of these people, as opposed to the teams we used to have. More than that, many people simply didn't want to be treated by a mundane doctor. Not when a magical fix was readily available. A lot of my peers quit the field of medicine. We had to take massive pay cuts, since we just weren't as valuable, and many decided it wasn't worth it anymore. Those of us who stayed were treated like glorified nurses, which some just couldn't handle, since very few things were bigger than the ego of a skilled doctor. Furthermore, despite having a lower salary, our six-figure student loans had stayed the same and the banks certainly didn't care. We went from earning a good living to barely surviving every month. And yet... I couldn't quit. Maybe it was another manifestation of my doctor's ego. Maybe I just didn't know what else to do. Or maybe, just maybe, I was hoping that my powers would soon manifest. That never happened, though. For a few years, I wondered why I ever bothered trying. The media paraded around the heroes and claimed that justice had finally arrived to the world. A new class of people had emerged, and they weren't afraid to show they were superior. People like me, who never got powers, were in a minority. Was this really fair to us? Why should I contribute to a society claiming that my misfortune was a benefit to the whole? I didn't let my resentment consume me, though. The undeniable truth was that the field of medicine had progressed far beyond what we used to have. All it took was looking in the eyes of a freshly healed cancer patient to understand this. I really couldn't resent meta-doctors. They were saving more people in a month than I could in my entire life. One day, however, a supervillain entered our hospital and held us hostage. We all knew his identity. Voltage, a key member of the supervillain group 'Retribution'. He electrified a few security guards in the ER and shouted: "Who's the meta-doctor here?!?" Everyone stayed quiet. "I swear..." Voltage started crackling with energy. "If a meta-doctor doesn't leave with me, I'll start frying everyone in this building!" A few people started crying. Others cowered behind whatever furniture they could find. Most important of all, Pierce, the meta-doctor on shift, made himself as small as possible. I quickly scanned the room for him, hoping to urge him with my eyes. He simply avoided eye-contact with me. Some of my peers, mundane doctors like me, had a growing anger in their faces. They were outraged at Pierce's cowardice. In a few seconds, they were going to sell him out. "It's me!" I shouted. Everyone widened their eyes. "What are you doing?" whispered a peer of mine. "Just offer Pierce up!" "No," I replied, lowering my voice. "If he's gone, many people who could otherwise live will die. If I'm gone-" "Fuck that!" said my friend, struggling to keep whispering. "They'll kill you!" I didn't respond as I walked away. The ugly truth was that I'd felt so useless that I would leap at the chance to feel valuable again. I really didn't care if I died. Doctor Pierce gaped his mouth. He had the chance to speak up and take my place, but didn't have the courage to do so. Voltage didn't question my credentials. He knocked me out with a shock to the head and, once I woke up, I was in Retribution's lair. ---------- >continued below	Mo' Powers Mo' Problems The Ironeor. I know you won’t believe me, but I actually came up with the name, and I never lie. Not ever. Not before, at least. My names usually ain’t too creative, but this one, man, this one spread like blood from a headshot. It got everywhere, absolutely everywhere, kind of like that time I— Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. So Ironeor. The -eor part was easy, it was a freakin meteor, duh. The iron- part, no it ain’t had nothin’ to do with metal. My bro, my mostly-bones, twiggy lil’ bro, getting car-lifting, steel-bending, honest to goodness super strength. Or Rufus, Mr. I-once-tried-to-walk-a-hot-dog Rufus, who’s now able to melt things with his mind. They all got powers, all of ’em. Powers exactly the opposite of the shmuck’s natural abilities. You know what that is? That's ironic. So there ya go: the ironeor. You know what else that is? Unfair. Friggin unfair! Cuz everyone got these cool powers, everyone ‘cept me. Overnight, I went from the biggest baddy on the block to a friggin powerless nobody. Peckin orders with a powerless head honcho rooster’s aint gonna last long with brain-blasting subordinates, not even if those brainblasters are Rufus-level morons. Oh man, Rufus that dumb mother— Sorry, sorry. Out of the ironeor’s chaos, new power structures were gonna emerge. I needed to come out back on top. I needed powers. I needed ‘em fast. So I started asking around, but I had to be all sly-like. Near total isolation. Couldn’t let everyone know I didn’t have no powers, that wouldn’t a been good, not for a guy with a reputation like mine. You see, that’s what I ruled with – my reputation. And the bedrock of my reputation was that I never, ever lied. If I said you better pay or I’d get your family, and then you didn’t pay? Oh boy, from your grandma to your grandson’s dog, you ain’t gonna have no family no more. I dunno why I’m that way, just the way I was raised. Good morals, ya know? But in this crazy new world, when those grandmas might have diamond skin or laser eyes, how was I supposed to keep my promises? Anyway, I get some leads. Apparently there’s a guy called The Grabber who can “grab thoughts out of your mind,” and he’s helped a few suckers figure out how to use their powers. I imagined he’d gotten these grabbin’ powers since, um, he didn’t have any hands. There were a few problems with goin’ to him though. First, he ain’t never helped someone with no powers, he helped people power up ones they already had. Two, he was, uh, let’s just say someone I’d made a promise to before. As in, I’d told him I’d chop off his hands if he didn’t give us a hand with something. I’m still proud of that one. Despite these challenges, I had to try. Some woman called Fempower, with invincibility, and super strength, and friggin flight, I mean add insult to injury over here, had formed a clan that was takin over the city, slaughtering thousands of innocent people. Just terrible, right? That was supposed to be me! Soon enough, I’m knockin on The Grabber’s door. Hiding behind a disguise seemed pointless against a mind reader, so I didn’t bother. Plus, that really wasn’t my style. I hid behind a shotgun instead and had Rufus standing around the corner as backup. I swear I told him not to make a move, not to use his powers, not to do anything or I’d blow his brains out. He recognized me, I seen it in his eyes, he knew exactly who I was. And yet… he rushed at me, even shouted “no you won’t!” and I felt him try to use his friggin powers! No I won’t? What gives? I was almost so insulted I didn’t pull the trigger. Boom. Splatter. Screams. Rufus runs around the corner and asked what happened. Despite seeing the man with a head clearly blown off from a shotgun, and me clearly holding a shotgun, he still somehow couldn’t put it together. That dumb mother— sorry, sorry. I told him wuddu think happened, I told him I shot him. Rufus looked back, confused, and asked what really happened. Now, since this was Rufus, I almost believed he really couldn’t get it. But this was way past even Rufus-level stupidity. Then it dawned on me, and from there it was almost too easy. I went around the whole city and told everyone the simple truth, like I always did: that I didn’t have any powers. That I was as weak and useless as before the Ironeor. And most of all, that we definitely shouldn’t call it the Ironeor, because that was a horrible name. And just like that, no one believed me. No matter what I said, no matter how true it was, nobody believed me. Even Fempower thought I was lying. I was, once again, feared. What could my power actually be? It's a strange sort of power for a straight-talker like me. I’ve got to be crafty with my words and I can never really say what I mean. If I’m being honest with ya, I don’t really even like it. But there is one nice thing about it. I can tell shmucks like you all my secrets. I know you’ll never believe me. \_\_\_ Had to have a go at this one myself this lovely morning. If you enjoyed this, come on over to my newly created r/carlstories, where you'll soon find stories I don't publish anywhere else and sequels to my greatest hits. Speaking of which, want to know what happens to this unnamed narrator next?
[WP] I’m invisible—not literally. It’s just that once I turned 16, no one can retain their memory of my existence for more than a few minutes, including my parents! Now, I’m all alone. Please, someone—anyone—don’t forget me!	"Forgive me, father, for I intend to sin." The priest, sitting in the centre compartment, looked through the latticed window to the young man that was kneeling. He was around thirty-five, maybe fourty years old, and he looked... destroyed, both in a physical, psychological and spiritual sense. The priest could feel his despair through those brief words, and he already knew what he was going to say. "What sin do you intend to do, my son?" "I'm going to end my own life." This was not an easy position for the priest. It was not the first time in his long career that he faced something like that. "What troubles you, son? What is afflicting your soul so deeply? Life is a precious thing, and I have learned that things always get better. Always." "I wish you were right, father", said the man with a sad chuckle. "Will you believe anything I told you now? Will you listen to me and believe my words?" "I will believe you will tell me what you perceive is the truth. Alas, I don't, and will not believe that you are lying to me. However, truth and reality are two different concepts. Now, tell me, what's hurting you?" "I’m invisible. Not literally. It’s just that once I turned 16, no one can retain their memory of my existence for more than a few minutes, including my parents. I am all alone, I'm cursed, and I cannot take it anymore". The priest looked at him in the eye through the lattice, but before he even said anything, the man continued. "My parents forgot about me the very day I turned 16: I went out with friends, called them to pick me, and they didn't know who I was. My brother was next, as soon as we went to different classrom at highschool. I ran away from home, thinking they simply didn't love me anymore, but then... it happened again. Everyone forgets about me. I can't retain any job, so I've survived as a criminal, stealing and scamming anyone as they would be unable to remember that I even assaulted them in the first place! I could literally punch you right now, walk away and you will not remember that I even was there, father!" As he talked, his words became more desperate, crying and screaming with broken voice, even punching the wood of the confessional. The priest became silent, just letting him vent out and calm. He could tell that this man was telling the truth -or, at least, what he believed was the truth- and was really suffering. "Do you believe in God?" "I think so" he sniffed. "But I don't think he's a good God." "Why is so?" "What sort of monster would condemn me with such a curse?", he cried. "What sort of God would punish a child, as I was, with this? I was no model student, nor a model son, but I loved my family and my friends! I never did anything to deserve this!". He took some trembling deep breath before concluding. "If there is a God, he's a fucking monster." After a few moments, the priest opened the latticed window that sepparated them and grabbed that poor man's hand. "My son, listen to me", he implored, "I don't know what happened to you, or if that curse you feel you have been condemned with is true. But know this: God loves you, and doesn't wish you to suffer. Tell me what can I do to bring you some solace, to console your pain, and I will do anything in my hand to do it. You don't need to be alone anymore, believe me." He looked to the teary eyes of the man, and he felt his solitude, his suffering, his despair. But the man, finally, smiled with sadness in his eyes. "I believe, you father. There is one thing you can do for me". "Anything. Just ask, my son." The man took the priest's hand and put an object in it. An old recorder. "Just remember me. that's all I wish: for someone to remember that I existed, that I was alive, that I loved my parents, my brother, my friend, and my son. I just wish to know that my passing through this world was not unnoticed. Please, please, father, I implore you: remember me." "I will", he said, knowing that nothing he did or said would stop that man from ending his own life. "I swear, I will remember you." "That's... good. Bless you, father." The man pressed the 'STOP' button on the recorder and walked away from the church. The priest watched him go through the doors and into the light, tears in his old eyes. Then, he looked to his hand and was surprised to find a recorder. Finally he decided to rewind the recording and hit play it. "Forgive me, father, for I intend to sin.", said a voice he did not recognize. &#x200B; \_\_\_\_ EDIT: Few typos corrected	“No yeah it’s crazy,” the man said, topping off his pint. “This kid, he came to me all frantic, yeah you saw. He kept going on about how everyone kept forgetting him, like he doesn’t exist or something.” He paused, gulping down the rest of his beer like a trained professional. “I think he’s just messing with you, teenagers are just like that y’know.” Said the utterly uninterested stranger sitting next to him at the bar. She was nursing the bridge of her nose with her fingers, clearly wanting out of this conversation. “No no you don’t understand, he was- he was really frantic. Like he looked pretty genuinely distraught. Poor guy, can you imagine existing only as a fleeting thought in people’s minds?” He frowned, nodding at his own sentence, confirming that that would indeed probably suck. “Ok but that’s not really possible, he’s probably just good at acting or something… I dunno.” She sipped at her ice water, she didn’t like to drink on week nights. “Well whatever, whatever that uh… kid is going… through. Huh? Who were we talking about again?” “Uh, we’ll it’s probably not that important if you forgot.” “Hmph, yeah. Hey so can I get your number?” “No.” She said as she got up and left.
[WP] As an immortal, one of your hobbies is haunting people who "killed" you.	If you had asked me about "immortals" when I was eighteen (eighteen and still running through existence in my first deceptively fragile body; still red-headed and freckled; still Bridgette, instead of the latest name on the string of fake IDs I now go through faster than a professional con artist; still in love with that frilly-shouldered yellow tank top I have in no life since been able to find a duplicate of), I would have said they didn't exist. If you pushed me -- but hypothetically, what if they did, what might they be like -- I might have guessed something like vampires or sorcerors. Nothing like ashes. The people who care about such things hypothesize we're not true immortals, but a type of ghost. Some kinds of true immortals do die, but recover afterwards; not many die, leave a body, and then grow a new body somewhere else. Ashes are, if the hypothesis is correct, a ghost who starts the afterlife not only unwilling to move on, but unwilling to be disembodied, so the soul finds a suitable pile of dirt and. Well. Ashes-to-us, dust-to-dust, brand-new body. First resurrection's always the toughest. Give us a few rounds, especially with a willing teacher, and we can resurrect in the nice box we keep under our beds or in our closets with a body at least of the height and general structure we expected to end up in and no worse side effects than a day or two of headache. First time… it's an inexplicable miracle we even manage to develop human-shaped bodies, never mind functional human-shaped bodies. The miracle does not extend to appearance. Nobody believes we're our old selves, and it doesn't help that we aren't sane enough to remember our old selves for weeks -- long after most of us have been discovered, families notified, original bodies tidily buried in the family plots. And even those of us who haven't been discovered have been reported missing, and I can say from experience our parents aren't keen on a total stranger claiming to be their missing daughter. My mom is still alive. My mom is still alive. We don't talk -- of course we don't talk -- but she's a high school teacher in the age of teenagers posting everything on social media, and if her students' accounts are any indication, she's always game to play along with their videos and photos. My dad, in the sense of the person I called "da" as a kid, died before I did, but even ashes need emergency contacts for HR. Especially since a lot of us deal with the trauma of the whole "violent death at a young age" thing by taking risks mortals tend to find horrifying. Me, I've gotten murdered five times in the past ten years, and every time John is the one who gets called to identify his "daughter's" body. Not this time. I threw myself down in John's favorite booth, staring at his coffee instead of him because I might very well have hit him if the conversation went badly. Ellen was there, too, same spot she was in when the construction worker ran in to interrupt my breakfast with rushed information about the body they'd just uncovered, but she's younger than me, dead more recent, and I didn't have any reason to be mad at her. "Did you know?" "Know what?" He nudged the coffee. I kept staring at it. "You're the one who found me. Took care of me until my soul was re-integrated enough to manage taking care of my own body. And it's easier -- I know it's easier to find new ashes if we meet them before they die. You met me and you knew I was going to die and then I did and you found me. You were there before I died and after I died and probably weren't very far off when I was… You were there." "Jeez, Bridge, we've been through this before. Just because I knew didn't mean I could do anything." "Not about that. But you… you could have called. You could have told someone where I was. If you knew." "Bee, nobody would have believed him--" interjected Ellen. "Not about the ash body. Not about anything still holding a soul." I looked up, just for a second, before dropping my gaze back to the coffee. John looked genuinely confused, but that could have just as easily been a complete lack of coherency on my part. I was pretty sure I'd used the last of my ability to form a sentence telling my partner I wasn't feeling well, call the boss and tell him I'm taking the rest of the day off please, I'll just get my dad to give me a ride home, and now all my mental energy was devoted to not having a nervous breakdown in a goddamn diner. Ellen figured it out first. "Oh. Oh, Bee. I'm so sorry. John, seriously, if you knew, I'm helping her kill you. After we dump your current box of dirt in a lake so you have to revive in some random yard like an amateur." "Again: Knew what?" "They found a body," I said flatly. I could say that. I'm a homicide detective this time, I have to say "they found a body" a lot in that line of work. "They're installing a new fountain in the park across the street. Across the street. From your favorite diner. At least one of us is here every goddamn day, and there's been a body across the street from us for ten years, and they're, they're gonna identify her and they're gonna have to call my m-mom and…" I lost it then, and didn't hear anything John or Ellen said until I was back in my apartment, firmly planted on the couch, trying to find a relatively sensible way of saying I needed to throw out my box of dirt and get a new one right the hell now, thank you, because by some terrible coincidence the Rubbermaid bin I'd been using for resurrection purposes was identical to the bin my ex-boyfriend had buried me in and that was one step too far, not dealing with that, I would buy a stereotypical undead goth coffin before I slept in the same room as that again, but apparently even one's fellow undead are prone to misunderstanding the repeated sentence "I need a coffin or something, just, I need a coffin" given only the context of your body being freshly dug up. ---- I hadn't given much thought to Brandon in years. It wasn't like I had evidence I could get him convicted on. Used to full-blown haunt him, as much as one can when you don't look enough like your old self to be a suitable ghost, but I could get in some creepy phone calls. And then I got murdered again, by someone I could get convicted. Oh, not because I had evidence, it's just the top members of the local crime syndicate didn't take kindly to being woken up at all hours by a woman claiming to be the crime reporter they'd had "taken care of" and my killer ended up cutting a fast deal for protective custody. Murdered again; gave the police enough evidence to get my killer locked up on a lesser charge and then abused the shit out of the prison mail and visitation system until she confessed. John says haunting is unhealthy. I say everybody needs a hobby, and my hobby is giving underprivileged murderers the guilty conscience they're sadly lacking. It's practically charity work, really. Murdered, haunted, murdered, haunted, murdered, haunted, and all the while Brandon built a career off stolen research. I wasn't jealous. Angry, sure, but just because he had a good job and a house and a wife and a kid didn't mean I'd have had the same if he hadn't taken it away, and even the anger dropped below anything worth prioritizing after a while. But in this particular chunk of illusionary life, I was a homicide detective. And I'd been eating breakfast when some early-bird construction workers found a body and one ran to fetch me while another called the station, which made me first officer on the scene even if I was also first officer to leave the scene. It was hard not to be involved in the case no matter what excuses I made. I saw my mother in person for the first time in ten years, touching the evidence bags my locket and watch and favorite yellow tank top had ended up in, her Irish accent stronger than I remembered as she sobbed "She didn't even get a wake," and on my way home that day I passed Brandon's house to see his mother bringing over a birthday present for his son. He took so much, and all I'd given him in return was some heavy breathing on the phone. And I'd gotten so much better at haunting in the meantime. Seemed a shame to waste all that practice. The trick would be the kid. Oh, I wouldn't hurt him, but I'd never haunted anyone with a kid before, and horror movies make them look so fun. Besides, it had been a decade; Brandon had a whole life he'd be reluctant to give up, and putting a few fissures in that life might be a bit more motivating.	“I’m not a bad guy, i just like scaring people. It’s not my fault i scare them to death. Every once in a while i pick someone Random and follow them home. I start small, writing stuff like it’s your fault, or i know it was you, wherever i can. Eventually, i start getting more intense, showing them small glimpses of a random dead person, making them think they are going Insane. Before long though, this Fake dead person just never leaves, taunting them. This is when the laughing and voices typically start. All day, every day they hear voices inside their head, someone’s laughing in the corner, hidden by shadows. There’s someone crawling on the ceiling, or there is a music box faintly playing in the corner someone was laughing in. There are children singing in the basement. The crying from the hall never stops. The footsteps in the attic come and go. The girl in the mirror never leaves. But today i added something new, the scratching in the walls. It never stops, just moves. I’m a bit of a dick i know, but what do you expect? I’m bored.
[WP] The worlds collided, and everyone got connected to a magical pet. Dragons, fairies, phoenix, etc. You love yours despite it being just a fur ball. Invaders attacked, overwhelming the dragons and others. When one of the invaders injured you, you realized, that yours is not just a ball of fur.	"I guess...this is it?" The furry being that had all but leached itself to me many months prior now idly lingered in the space between myself and the monstrously, fanged being. I couldn't help but smile as I considered the situation and my own mortality for what was no doubt the last time. The creature barred its fangs and hissed as it took another step towards me. It's large claws upturning the earth with every scaly step forward; bright green drool leaking from the corners of its mouth. It eyed me hungrily as it licked at its cracked lips; its forked tongue flicking the air as though trying to taste the fear that coursed through me. Despite each step causing a ripple of vibration to pulse through my entire body, I stayed steadily in place. My eyes remained defiant in an attempt to mask the beating in my chest and the adrenaline coursing through my veins. My mind screamed at me to run, yet my feet remained firm as though tied down by bricks. The grotesque creature paused just feet from me. Its dark eyes staring into my own yet a look of satisfaction began to creep over its features. The idea of smiling scaled monsters seemed absurd, yet here I was locking eyes with one. As the creature opened its mouth, it revealed rows and rows of sharp teeth. The movement caused the back of the creatures throat to glow a dull green, resembling that of the saliva that had been leaking from its mouth previously. Though the glow in this instance appeared to be all the more ominous as it was accompanied by the sound of gurgling; as though the creature was collecting and pooling the substance in the back of its throat. My suspicions were confirmed as the creature made a sudden and horrifying retching noise, which was accompanied by a stream of pressurized, steaming green fluid, that was now coming straight towards me at a speed I'd never seen before. Given the severity of the situation and the looming fact that I was no doubt about to die, I am not surprised that my mind began to compare the stream of green liquid to the projectile vomit of my niece who I had enjoyed spending so much time with prior to 'The Event', as scientists had come to call it. I called it an inconvenience, people walking around with beasts and creatures they could barely control. In fact, it's exactly what lands people like me in these very situations. Peoples creatures become too much for them, they let them go, and then chaos clouds the creatures minds. As the beasts bodily fluids were about to make contact; the furry being that had done nothing but idly float near me these last few months now lowered itself and gently rested atop my head. My gaze briefly flicking upwards for a brief moment as I pondered the audacity of this...thing, appearing out of thin air one day with no answers and now taking a nap on my head in the most dire of moments. I scoffed at the thought. Suddenly, my body started to tingle and feel frigid. It was as though a cool breeze was trapped beneath my clothing; wrapping my body in its icy embrace. My eyes shut as my head began to feel fuzzy, a cold wave now washing over my body. Strange. I'd of thought that the creatures vile fluids would burn or sting but this sensation only felt uncomfortable. No flesh melting from your bones. No vile stench. Nothing. Suddenly, there was a sensation I could only describe as when you are on the cusp of sleep and suddenly get jolted awake. I felt as though I had been reinvigorated, charged for battle. I opened my eyes and recoiled as I saw... ...forest. I was standing in the middle of a lush green forest, trees of all kinds and sizes surrounding me, threatening to stretch all the way to the heavens above. The sensation of falling and cold had gone, confusion slowly replacing it as I looked around. No upturned earth, no ominously green liquid, no strange creatures; just empty forest. I looked around awestruck, but thankful for the fact I was not currently a pile of bones and melted human flesh. However, that line of thinking was interrupted when a small fluffy ball appeared inches from my face. Whatever this thing was, it was still here with me, and that monstrous creature was not. Where here was exactly was another question to consider, but it felt good being out of harms way. "Did you do this? Bring us here?" My eyes remained locked on the hairy hovering ball. It did not respond to my words, and yet it started floating away from me. Pausing every few moments until I'd take a step towards it and reach for it, which would cause it to resume its movement away from me. It seemed whatever this thing was, it wanted me to follow it. As I scanned the unknown environment one last time I decided that following that thing was my only shot. The world was already going crazy; monsters, dragons, and other creatures that threatened to rip your head off now walked among us all. Maybe I should feel lucky that the only thing wanting my attention now is a ball of fuzz. A heavy sigh left my lips, but a thought came to mind. What if this creature was no better than the last? What if this creature was what brought me here in the first place? Reluctantly I continued following it, hoping that I was brought here for a good reason. But more importantly, hoping I was brought here for some answers.	Mop and I have been dodging trouble since we found each other. Well since I found him or her or whatever it is. I heard the smallest whimper coming from under a car after the world's collided. I bent down and there covered in oil and dirt was Mop. Cleaned Mop up and found that Mop really likes bubble baths, and beer. Mop never seems to get drunk though always there always moving with one black eye that I swear moves to wherever Mop wants it to be. The invasion started a week ago and there were a few times where I was certain I was seen and killed but nothing ever seemed to happened. Today however things changed. I saw what's been happening. I was shot in the leg by an unseen enemy. The pain was searing. Then Mop did something I've never seen. Sparks flew from Mop's fur he wrapped me in some kind of electric cocoon. Then I was walking where I had been five minutes before I was shot. Perfectly healthy, five minutes before I was shot. Once I realized I'm somewhat immortal I became the scourge of the invaders. Someone who keeps coming no matter how badly I'm injured, maimed or killed. I keep coming.
[WP] The Duke has decided to make you, the youngest servant in their household, into their heir. As such you are forced into noble society as the 2nd most powerful heir in the kingdom. Much to the surprise of the other nobles who now either vie for your support or demise.	"Long live, my heir, the Duchess Vera!" The loud voice boomed through the ball room, causing her to jump slightly at its ferocity. The dress that she had made for this day was a little itchy if she had to be honest, and the corset was stiffer than she remembered at her fitting. But why was she complaining to herself? She had just been made a Duchess- from a maid to a Duchess in less than a month! This was a surreal moment for her- sounded and felt more like a storybook than a real life event. For Vera, it changed the course of her everything. "Long live me..." she softly cheered to herself, a smile on her face as the applause began to die down in the gilded room. If one truly didn't hear about Vera's up and coming tale, her beauty let strangers to believe that she was a born and bred noble- yet she didn't have a drop running through her veins. "How do you like the party Vera? Everyone is here for you." her now guardian smiled down at her, taking her frilled sleeve gently, and hooking their elbows together to lead her down onto the main floor. "Um, it's a little overwhelming to be honest sir." she admitted and he chuckled, shaking his head. "You know that you no longer have to be so formal with me Vera. We are on the same level now. You are free to call me whatever you please." he offered and she bit her lip, looking away before looking back up at him, her blue eyes curious and wary of the answer that may come out of his mouth. "What would you like me to call you?" She asked, narrowing her gaze slightly as she noticed the reflection they held against his hazel. "I understand if father is too much, so guardian, or you can just call me by my name." He offered and she nodded, thinking for a moment. "Amadeus, sir, thank you." Vera finally thanked, a genuine smile on her now rosy lips. As he led her out onto the waxed, shining floor to open the dancing for the evening, her mind began to swirl once more as they placed themselves into their rehearsed positions. She was new to dancing, it was a scary prospect- dancing in front of a crowd this size. They sometimes danced above in the servants' quarters but it was something light and joyful; something to bring a positive thing into their dull, harsh lives. "Shall we?" he asked and with a small, nervous nod she agreed. He nodded towards the quartet in the corner by the large window that allowed the full moon to help illuminate the space, and they began to turn in tandem with the swirling music. It felt freeing to her in a way, almost like the stiff corset didn't matter so much. And the itchy dress felt ten pounds lighter on the dancefloor. A smile appeared on her lips, but for the first time this evening it was one that wasn't forced. It was a smile of actual happiness. A few twirls later, they stopped their dance as a young gentleman interrupted their bonding moment. She paused and took a step back, her arms floating slowly to her sides as she looked at the handsome man, unsure of his name but recognizing his face from the marketplace. "May I sir?" he asked, his baritone voice catching Vera by surprise, something she was unable to keep from showing as her brows shot up. "Um," she began and Amadeus nodded, stepping aside to allow him room to dance with his nor announced heir of his fortune and estate. Vera wasn't sure if he was a good dancer or not, even when he added a slight flourish to his bow. She greeted him back with a small, nervous, but rehearsed curtsy and they melded together to continue the waltz across the floor. "And you are?" she finally asked after a few spins and he chuckled low, his deep brown eyes and matching hair shaking with his head. So her inability to know who he was in the first ten seconds was amusing- wonderful. She was making a fool of herself already. "Johannes Trembot, my lady." he greeted with a dip of his head as his arm tightened slightly around her waist. She wasn't getting out of his grasp easily that was evident now. But what she couldn't pick up on was if it was a menacing grasp, or merely just wanting to keep her secure and safe. "Earl of Gainsmeure." he added and she pursed her lips slightly. An earl? At least he was handsome... But she wasn't exactly looking for a marriage proposal tonight. She just wanted to be shown to the masses and then go to bed after a few songs. High society was tiring business! "Pleased to make your acquaintance my lord." she greeted back, her voice soft amongst the vibrato of the strings. "If you don't mind, I really should get back to my guardian. I am sure that he has some friends to introduce me to-" she started and stopped as she met his gaze, something sinister beginning to form behind his warm brown eyes. "I suggest that you do not leave me so fast. It will make you look interesting to dance with me for another song." he began to advise and she shook her head. "I am not in the position to marry right now sir. Excuse me." she attempted to take a step back and his hand grasped her dress, forcing her body to remain pressed to his. Her eyes began to display their fear and her breathing quickened slightly, matching her now frantic heart. "I will scream." she threatened and he laughed, low, steady. "A scourge like you should have never been named an heir. He should have named a male, someone who knows how this world works. You will never be one of us." His low baritone became menacing, his eyes matched the venom in his words and she took a shaky breath, her mind racing with words to fight back. "Oh my good sir, I might have been a scourge a few weeks ago- but now I am to inherit this land, and his immense fortune." her voice started off shaky, her eyes nervous but as she continued to speak, she began to believe her own words. "So I suggest that you unhand me at once before you rip my brand new- expensive dress that was purchased with the fortune you seek... And walk away before I make a scene. It would surely be in tomorrows gossip column that you caused me to become swept up in a frantic panic over a conversation. You don't want that for your reputation now do you?" she questioned, waiting a few moments before feeling his hand relax against its will on her back and be flat again. "Thank you." she nodded, her steely glare matching his threatening one. "I may not have been born into this life, but I have observed it all my life. I've been in the depths of it for the last seven years and I believe I have picked up a trick or two." she half smiled as the song came to an end and she took a step back, thankful to have her arms back against her body and some space between them. "Besides, I'm only eighteen which means that I have plenty of time to catch up on anything that I have missed. You're what- twenty-five? That surely means that you have exhausted most of your assets and need something fresh. Please look somewhere else. Yarmouth Estate will never be yours. Now excuse me, I should find my guardian. So bow- and leave." she hissed between teeth poised in a smile and gave a low curtsy, looking through her lashes to see him bowing, and turning away before she was flat on her feet again. Vera was going to be just fine in this new world.	In Portplatz, Propraetor Eilbogi Bifurcus the Childless had no heir. And his wife, Rigonymphe, wasn't getting any younger. Eilbogi thought of maybe getting a divorce, then remarrying, but he thought better of it. He was an aristocrat, and dispite this definitely being Rigonymphe's fault—his mistresses had born him both sons and daughters, Volmnestra, Krasiwati, and Pheidriel had all done so at the very least—he could not do so without risk of an incident. While they both saw people on the side, with his close friend Deorwin even having been introduced to him as his wife's new boyfriend, this was normal for nobles. All marriages were arranged, and a noble without a mistress is asexual or dead. Eilbogi shuddered at the thought of dying without an heir. Meanwhile, Runleifer was going about his business. He was part of the underclass of Silphium Country. While the farmers like Ricojuergen made stacks, they needed an underclass of some sort—someone to pack the plants, to provide the tools, craftsmen and all of that. At only 15, he had had to get a job to provide for his mother, Mitronerys. He had managed to land one at Beofor. One day, as Eilbogi was on his way out of Beofor, his mead hall, he noticed a young servant, this one only 15 bore a certain resemblence to him. Eilbogi stopped, and stared. His face looked familiar. "Hi, uh, it's my first day here, do you know where I am supposed to be?" Runleifer asked. Eilbogi turned around, conflicted, but something about the boy stirred pity in him, and so, Eilbogi decided to show Runleifr to the servants' quarters. Eilbogi still wasn't quite sure what the boy's job was, but showed him the way. When Eilbogi opened the door, the room fell quiet. Eilbogi gestured for Runleifer to go in, and then, once he entered, Eilbogi wished Runleifr well, and then closed the door. "Well well well," one of them, who had a pointy hat said, "Look who's late," Runleifr gulped. "I didn't know the way!" Runleifr blurted out. The man in the hat ignored him, "Do you know who I am?" he said with a snarl, Runleifr shook his head, The guy continued with a smirk on his face, "I am Ackætill Emunctus, son of Gaurius, son of Athelarsaz, son of Agavanus, son of..." he trailed off and Runleifr rolled his eyes and looked around the room. "Son of Eorcenphonse son of Meredventure son of Vizkard son of Willwyn son of Sindet son of Ívstan son of Hlothwaladr son of Santkhan son of Eliryk son of Altami son of Ratimarch," Ackætill kept on giving his ancestry, "son of G'ulompatrus son of Ecgphon son of Liric'hen son of Beriklis son of Charikreon son of Hallell son of Ahumund son of Agaester son of Owiam son of Ainsmiri son of Aychobar..." By the time Ackætil reached "Dymar, son of Dizared", everyone else had effectively tuned him out, meaning that as Ackætill gave the instructions, not a single soul listened to him. That was except for Runleifr, who eventually realised halfway through Ackætill's directions, that he had actually finished his long genealogy and was actually giving relevent instructions and luckily, Ackætill had addressed Runleifr's co-workers in order of seniority, and as the most juniour member, Ackætill came to him last. "And you, peasant," Ackætill said disdainfully, "I don't know what Žostach saw in you. It seems like your duty is to fetch Propraetor Eilbogi tea, suitibly menial for a yokel such as yourself, but not unplesent enough, so I'm not gonna let you do that. You get to clean the stables. Remember this next time you question me, Skeet." While Runleifr went to the stables, Propraetor Eilbogi was returning from his walk. He liked to wander around the capital of his lordship to make sure all was in order, and was looking forward to a nice cup of tea. He had hoped to talk with Runleifr when he got back, and before the job of administering the richest part of the country began, so, he was understandably dismayed when Ackætill showed up with it. "There's a reason why I asked for Runleifer to have this responsibility. Where is he?" Ackætill smiled, "Learning his place in the stables. You always said I should assign stable-cleaning as a punishment." Eilbogi cleared his throat, "That does not give you the power to override my decrees when I specifically request someone be given a certain job. Now bring him to me!" "No, I think he needs to learn to respect his superiors," Ackætill said. Eilbogi raised his voice at Ackætill, "I will remove you if you do not bring me Eilbogi" Offended, Ackætil replied, "Us Emuncti have held this position for hundreds of years" "Pah", replied Eilbogi, "I'll just replace you with your sister Budzimire, her last name's Emuncta" Ackætill stood there frozen. Then he went to get Runleifr. &#x200B; When Runleifr reached Eilbogi, smelling of shit from alll of the manure shovelling that he had done, the first thing that Eilbogi did was send him to take a shower while his clothes were washed by Heavolcos. Once Runleifr no longer smelled like feces, Eilbogi spoke to him. "Sorry about that," Eilbogi said, "Ackætil kinda just inherited that position from his father Gaurius who got it from whoever, I don't pay attention to his genealogies. It's like one day it's Ecgbald son of Blinward son of Fiorand, the next it's Godvënd son of Kleítyl son of Sodrag. I swear he makes them up" Runleifer chuckled at that. "The reason I called you here is because I have no heir, and a young man like you, you would have a lot to learn, but the reason I sent for you is because I can train you. You're gonna have a lot to learn, and it's best to learn it young. Who was your father by the way." Runleifer thought back, "I never knew him. My mother never said either." "Probably someone higher up. Us nobles always have a mistress. Helps in the bedroom too. Aranged marriages can make it difficult" Runleifer glanced around the room with his mouth half open not knowing what to say. Sensing the awkwardness, Eilbogi decided to explain what was going on, "I do have the power to appoint an heir to my lordship, so how would you like to be Propraetor after me?" Again, Runleifr didn't know what to say, but eventually he settled on something. "Why me?" he asked. Eilbogi chuckled, "Younger people learn more quickly, I can teach you how to rule well, and you can be a great leader for all of the Onzen, Link, and Dretch." Runleifr stuttered, "I-I'll need to think about it" he said quickly. This was a lot and Runleifer still didn't know what to think."
[WP] The Duke has decided to make you, the youngest servant in their household, into their heir. As such you are forced into noble society as the 2nd most powerful heir in the kingdom. Much to the surprise of the other nobles who now either vie for your support or demise.	"Long live, my heir, the Duchess Vera!" The loud voice boomed through the ball room, causing her to jump slightly at its ferocity. The dress that she had made for this day was a little itchy if she had to be honest, and the corset was stiffer than she remembered at her fitting. But why was she complaining to herself? She had just been made a Duchess- from a maid to a Duchess in less than a month! This was a surreal moment for her- sounded and felt more like a storybook than a real life event. For Vera, it changed the course of her everything. "Long live me..." she softly cheered to herself, a smile on her face as the applause began to die down in the gilded room. If one truly didn't hear about Vera's up and coming tale, her beauty let strangers to believe that she was a born and bred noble- yet she didn't have a drop running through her veins. "How do you like the party Vera? Everyone is here for you." her now guardian smiled down at her, taking her frilled sleeve gently, and hooking their elbows together to lead her down onto the main floor. "Um, it's a little overwhelming to be honest sir." she admitted and he chuckled, shaking his head. "You know that you no longer have to be so formal with me Vera. We are on the same level now. You are free to call me whatever you please." he offered and she bit her lip, looking away before looking back up at him, her blue eyes curious and wary of the answer that may come out of his mouth. "What would you like me to call you?" She asked, narrowing her gaze slightly as she noticed the reflection they held against his hazel. "I understand if father is too much, so guardian, or you can just call me by my name." He offered and she nodded, thinking for a moment. "Amadeus, sir, thank you." Vera finally thanked, a genuine smile on her now rosy lips. As he led her out onto the waxed, shining floor to open the dancing for the evening, her mind began to swirl once more as they placed themselves into their rehearsed positions. She was new to dancing, it was a scary prospect- dancing in front of a crowd this size. They sometimes danced above in the servants' quarters but it was something light and joyful; something to bring a positive thing into their dull, harsh lives. "Shall we?" he asked and with a small, nervous nod she agreed. He nodded towards the quartet in the corner by the large window that allowed the full moon to help illuminate the space, and they began to turn in tandem with the swirling music. It felt freeing to her in a way, almost like the stiff corset didn't matter so much. And the itchy dress felt ten pounds lighter on the dancefloor. A smile appeared on her lips, but for the first time this evening it was one that wasn't forced. It was a smile of actual happiness. A few twirls later, they stopped their dance as a young gentleman interrupted their bonding moment. She paused and took a step back, her arms floating slowly to her sides as she looked at the handsome man, unsure of his name but recognizing his face from the marketplace. "May I sir?" he asked, his baritone voice catching Vera by surprise, something she was unable to keep from showing as her brows shot up. "Um," she began and Amadeus nodded, stepping aside to allow him room to dance with his nor announced heir of his fortune and estate. Vera wasn't sure if he was a good dancer or not, even when he added a slight flourish to his bow. She greeted him back with a small, nervous, but rehearsed curtsy and they melded together to continue the waltz across the floor. "And you are?" she finally asked after a few spins and he chuckled low, his deep brown eyes and matching hair shaking with his head. So her inability to know who he was in the first ten seconds was amusing- wonderful. She was making a fool of herself already. "Johannes Trembot, my lady." he greeted with a dip of his head as his arm tightened slightly around her waist. She wasn't getting out of his grasp easily that was evident now. But what she couldn't pick up on was if it was a menacing grasp, or merely just wanting to keep her secure and safe. "Earl of Gainsmeure." he added and she pursed her lips slightly. An earl? At least he was handsome... But she wasn't exactly looking for a marriage proposal tonight. She just wanted to be shown to the masses and then go to bed after a few songs. High society was tiring business! "Pleased to make your acquaintance my lord." she greeted back, her voice soft amongst the vibrato of the strings. "If you don't mind, I really should get back to my guardian. I am sure that he has some friends to introduce me to-" she started and stopped as she met his gaze, something sinister beginning to form behind his warm brown eyes. "I suggest that you do not leave me so fast. It will make you look interesting to dance with me for another song." he began to advise and she shook her head. "I am not in the position to marry right now sir. Excuse me." she attempted to take a step back and his hand grasped her dress, forcing her body to remain pressed to his. Her eyes began to display their fear and her breathing quickened slightly, matching her now frantic heart. "I will scream." she threatened and he laughed, low, steady. "A scourge like you should have never been named an heir. He should have named a male, someone who knows how this world works. You will never be one of us." His low baritone became menacing, his eyes matched the venom in his words and she took a shaky breath, her mind racing with words to fight back. "Oh my good sir, I might have been a scourge a few weeks ago- but now I am to inherit this land, and his immense fortune." her voice started off shaky, her eyes nervous but as she continued to speak, she began to believe her own words. "So I suggest that you unhand me at once before you rip my brand new- expensive dress that was purchased with the fortune you seek... And walk away before I make a scene. It would surely be in tomorrows gossip column that you caused me to become swept up in a frantic panic over a conversation. You don't want that for your reputation now do you?" she questioned, waiting a few moments before feeling his hand relax against its will on her back and be flat again. "Thank you." she nodded, her steely glare matching his threatening one. "I may not have been born into this life, but I have observed it all my life. I've been in the depths of it for the last seven years and I believe I have picked up a trick or two." she half smiled as the song came to an end and she took a step back, thankful to have her arms back against her body and some space between them. "Besides, I'm only eighteen which means that I have plenty of time to catch up on anything that I have missed. You're what- twenty-five? That surely means that you have exhausted most of your assets and need something fresh. Please look somewhere else. Yarmouth Estate will never be yours. Now excuse me, I should find my guardian. So bow- and leave." she hissed between teeth poised in a smile and gave a low curtsy, looking through her lashes to see him bowing, and turning away before she was flat on her feet again. Vera was going to be just fine in this new world.	I was only four when they brought me in; an orphan of four years bought from an orphanage to be a loyal servant. My earliest memory I still recall was of an old figure, the Duke, calling out to me, "Boy, where is your mother?" And all I could do was point to the heavens themselves. He would soon forcefully take me from the orphanage I was raised, ripping me from the young friends I had known all my life til that point, my only possessions being the clothes I wore and a necklace that once belonged to my mother. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows from there however, as the Duke gave me to his Head Knight to train, and seemingly forgotten afterwards. For four long years, I was forced to run laps around the mansion every day, swing a blade every afternoon, and educated on noble customs every night. For four long years, I wondered, "Why me? Why was I chosen? Why did I have to suffer through the suffering and pain of doing this every single day?" &#x200B; By the time I was eight, I had already figured out my role in life. I was one of the lucky ones, an orphan child given a chance to become someone in life, for clearly, the Duke had wanted me to be trained to be a squire, to be a loyal subject, to be the figure the Head Knight was in the Duke's life. He had no mistresses as far as I was aware, and bore himself no children from what I saw, but at night, I would see him sneak off and stare at the moon, crying out a name through painful tears, "Elizabeth, how can I ever face him?" Yes, it was clear to me; though he had no known mistresses and no known children, clearly the Duke had a hidden child, someone he kept locked up in fear of being hurt from the world, and I was being trained to protect them. Yes, I would be the Head Knight to this future Duke; is what I had figured by the time I was eight. &#x200B; Now, at twelve years of age, I stroll down the hallway to the council room the Duke used to meet with his nobles; having been called, no doubt to finally be knighted as a proper servant of the Duchy. For eight long years, I had been awaiting this moment, the moment I would finally realize my destiny and fulfill my fealty to the Duke and his family. Clutching my Mother's necklace, so that she could give me confidence from the heavens, I entered the council room. Within sat the council of nobles who reported to the Duke on the affairs of the Duchy, and behind the Duke himself stood the Head Knight, beaming with pride at me, the squire they had trained for so long, finally growing up. "Boy," said the Duke, "you have arrived." "My liege, you called for me?" I stated, saluting to him by slamming my fist against my chest. "Yes, I called you here, because I have an announcement to make to the head nobles of my realm," He stated. As I held my head up high, I could only feel the utter excitement coursing through my body, and it felt as though my legs themselves would become like jelly if I were to lose focus. This was it, my childhood, the endless days of training, this was to be my destiny. "This is a matter regarding the future of the Duchy," stated the Duke, yet despite this proud moment, I noticed a hint of hesitance in his words. The hesitance passed by quickly, as the Duke regained his resolve and composure. "To my council, to my Head Knight, and most importantly, to you, Boy," the Duke stood up and extended an arm towards me, "I would like to announce that you, Boy, are the child of Elizabeth and my bloodlines, and the future Heir to this Duchy." Chills went through my very body as everything I thought I knew came crashing down. I was not being knighted, but instead... I was being declared Heir to the Duchy? This man... he's my father?
[WP] The Duke has decided to make you, the youngest servant in their household, into their heir. As such you are forced into noble society as the 2nd most powerful heir in the kingdom. Much to the surprise of the other nobles who now either vie for your support or demise.	"Long live, my heir, the Duchess Vera!" The loud voice boomed through the ball room, causing her to jump slightly at its ferocity. The dress that she had made for this day was a little itchy if she had to be honest, and the corset was stiffer than she remembered at her fitting. But why was she complaining to herself? She had just been made a Duchess- from a maid to a Duchess in less than a month! This was a surreal moment for her- sounded and felt more like a storybook than a real life event. For Vera, it changed the course of her everything. "Long live me..." she softly cheered to herself, a smile on her face as the applause began to die down in the gilded room. If one truly didn't hear about Vera's up and coming tale, her beauty let strangers to believe that she was a born and bred noble- yet she didn't have a drop running through her veins. "How do you like the party Vera? Everyone is here for you." her now guardian smiled down at her, taking her frilled sleeve gently, and hooking their elbows together to lead her down onto the main floor. "Um, it's a little overwhelming to be honest sir." she admitted and he chuckled, shaking his head. "You know that you no longer have to be so formal with me Vera. We are on the same level now. You are free to call me whatever you please." he offered and she bit her lip, looking away before looking back up at him, her blue eyes curious and wary of the answer that may come out of his mouth. "What would you like me to call you?" She asked, narrowing her gaze slightly as she noticed the reflection they held against his hazel. "I understand if father is too much, so guardian, or you can just call me by my name." He offered and she nodded, thinking for a moment. "Amadeus, sir, thank you." Vera finally thanked, a genuine smile on her now rosy lips. As he led her out onto the waxed, shining floor to open the dancing for the evening, her mind began to swirl once more as they placed themselves into their rehearsed positions. She was new to dancing, it was a scary prospect- dancing in front of a crowd this size. They sometimes danced above in the servants' quarters but it was something light and joyful; something to bring a positive thing into their dull, harsh lives. "Shall we?" he asked and with a small, nervous nod she agreed. He nodded towards the quartet in the corner by the large window that allowed the full moon to help illuminate the space, and they began to turn in tandem with the swirling music. It felt freeing to her in a way, almost like the stiff corset didn't matter so much. And the itchy dress felt ten pounds lighter on the dancefloor. A smile appeared on her lips, but for the first time this evening it was one that wasn't forced. It was a smile of actual happiness. A few twirls later, they stopped their dance as a young gentleman interrupted their bonding moment. She paused and took a step back, her arms floating slowly to her sides as she looked at the handsome man, unsure of his name but recognizing his face from the marketplace. "May I sir?" he asked, his baritone voice catching Vera by surprise, something she was unable to keep from showing as her brows shot up. "Um," she began and Amadeus nodded, stepping aside to allow him room to dance with his nor announced heir of his fortune and estate. Vera wasn't sure if he was a good dancer or not, even when he added a slight flourish to his bow. She greeted him back with a small, nervous, but rehearsed curtsy and they melded together to continue the waltz across the floor. "And you are?" she finally asked after a few spins and he chuckled low, his deep brown eyes and matching hair shaking with his head. So her inability to know who he was in the first ten seconds was amusing- wonderful. She was making a fool of herself already. "Johannes Trembot, my lady." he greeted with a dip of his head as his arm tightened slightly around her waist. She wasn't getting out of his grasp easily that was evident now. But what she couldn't pick up on was if it was a menacing grasp, or merely just wanting to keep her secure and safe. "Earl of Gainsmeure." he added and she pursed her lips slightly. An earl? At least he was handsome... But she wasn't exactly looking for a marriage proposal tonight. She just wanted to be shown to the masses and then go to bed after a few songs. High society was tiring business! "Pleased to make your acquaintance my lord." she greeted back, her voice soft amongst the vibrato of the strings. "If you don't mind, I really should get back to my guardian. I am sure that he has some friends to introduce me to-" she started and stopped as she met his gaze, something sinister beginning to form behind his warm brown eyes. "I suggest that you do not leave me so fast. It will make you look interesting to dance with me for another song." he began to advise and she shook her head. "I am not in the position to marry right now sir. Excuse me." she attempted to take a step back and his hand grasped her dress, forcing her body to remain pressed to his. Her eyes began to display their fear and her breathing quickened slightly, matching her now frantic heart. "I will scream." she threatened and he laughed, low, steady. "A scourge like you should have never been named an heir. He should have named a male, someone who knows how this world works. You will never be one of us." His low baritone became menacing, his eyes matched the venom in his words and she took a shaky breath, her mind racing with words to fight back. "Oh my good sir, I might have been a scourge a few weeks ago- but now I am to inherit this land, and his immense fortune." her voice started off shaky, her eyes nervous but as she continued to speak, she began to believe her own words. "So I suggest that you unhand me at once before you rip my brand new- expensive dress that was purchased with the fortune you seek... And walk away before I make a scene. It would surely be in tomorrows gossip column that you caused me to become swept up in a frantic panic over a conversation. You don't want that for your reputation now do you?" she questioned, waiting a few moments before feeling his hand relax against its will on her back and be flat again. "Thank you." she nodded, her steely glare matching his threatening one. "I may not have been born into this life, but I have observed it all my life. I've been in the depths of it for the last seven years and I believe I have picked up a trick or two." she half smiled as the song came to an end and she took a step back, thankful to have her arms back against her body and some space between them. "Besides, I'm only eighteen which means that I have plenty of time to catch up on anything that I have missed. You're what- twenty-five? That surely means that you have exhausted most of your assets and need something fresh. Please look somewhere else. Yarmouth Estate will never be yours. Now excuse me, I should find my guardian. So bow- and leave." she hissed between teeth poised in a smile and gave a low curtsy, looking through her lashes to see him bowing, and turning away before she was flat on her feet again. Vera was going to be just fine in this new world.	Yesterday John Relph was just a low-ranking servant of the Duke of Procyon. Today he _was_ the Duke of Procyon. And the Duke of Sirius was glaring at him from across the long table with intense disdain. Duke Sirius did not waste words. "So are we not going to point out we have a criminal on in the Seat of Procyon? There's not a drop of royal blood in his veins." Sitting besides Sirius was Jacob, the actual son of the recently-deceased Duke Procyon. John could see he was trying very hard to keep a neutral expression, but his eyebrows furrowed nevertheless. John could guess a feeling of betrayal, or perhaps anger, or maybe both, behind those eyebrows. To John's right sat the Duke Castor. "This is no criminal, this is the lawfully decreed successor to -" "There is nothing lawful about this!" Sirius responded. "You are so enamored with the old Procyon you can't see the nonsense in his decision. This spits in the face of centuries of peaceful, honorable transitions of power." Duke Castor shifted forward in his chair, and John saw an unusual fierceness on his face. "And what unrest has come from John's placement, except what you cause now?" "None yet, but there will be mumblings. There will be ambitious dukes and barons under his command that would desire the Seat for themselves. He has no legitimacy outside the words of a foolish decree. They will not hesitate to shred him apart!" "The combined duchies of Gemini will not allow that." The Duke Pollux gravely nodded in affirmation. "Then you risk civil war!" Sirius said, nearly pleading. "Or at the very least Procyon laid waste from within itself!" Pollux spoke up. "The people were sick of nobles flaunting themselves." Pollux's tone smacked of amusement. "Old Nathan himself saw the Procyonians were growing to hate anything with the slightest tinge of nobility. When you're in such an absurd position, sometimes the best solution is equally absurd." "So at the rumbling of some busybody village idiots, we discard the tradition that has kept the peace better than anything else?" "My stars, Sirius, be realistic. Those busybody village idiots filled the interstellar media with their opinions for decades. Nathan made the mistake of letting the propaganda go on for so long, but at least now he's done something to rectify it." Duke Pollux turned to face John. "Duke Relph, what is your intention as you sit there?" John paused, groping mentally for the regal sounding words. "To rule over the Duchy of Procyon in fairness and justice." "And what experience do you have in such leadership?" "Well... none. That is why I will rely on my advisors - yourself, Duke Castor, Duke Polaris... and you, Duke Sirius, if you will support me." Pollux faced Sirius again. "The young man is smart. He knows to blend in with us." Sirius shook his head. "This is in defiance of profitable traditions." "Those profitable traditions only worked because we didn't have the busybody village idiots a hundred years ago, that we have today. Tell me, Sirius, do we serve tradition, or does tradition serve us?" The Duke of Sirius had no response. "Clearly the latter. If a tradition would lend to our destruction, then that tradition must be updated." "How can the two of you talk of tradition," the Duke Castor interjected, "Yet both speak so derisively toward our lord?" "I am not derisive," Pollux said. "I am just realistic. Part of the plan is that John would serve as Duke but have no successors. The Seat would return to the original Procyonian noble house after him. It is sensible for John to be seldom seen and cautious in his actions. "Seldom seen? Cautious? This is the leader of our Sector. The Procyon noble house won that Seat through war and wisdom. You talk of tradition - the collective identity of our Sector is wrapped up in the tradition that the Seat that John sits on now, is admirable above all others. This is not a political ruse, and this is not a political folly. This is the order of things. Your realism and disapproval be damned, I will stand with the Duke even if you will not." The Duke Castor stormed out of the room. Sirius leaned back in his chair and sighed. "And there is the civil war."
[WP] The Duke has decided to make you, the youngest servant in their household, into their heir. As such you are forced into noble society as the 2nd most powerful heir in the kingdom. Much to the surprise of the other nobles who now either vie for your support or demise.	"Well don't just stand there, boy, come on out!" Anton nervously obliged, stepping out of the shaded interior to the covered terrace of the villa. A cool sea breeze blew through the open columns, the soft roar of the waves below echoing off the cool marble floor. In the center of the room, Duke Prelvos laid with his feet up on one of a pair of low couches, munching on a handful of grapes from the bowl on the table between them. "Honestly," the Duke stopped to finish off a grape. "You don't need an invitation to have a seat. You're my heir now; the least you can do is start acting the part for once." With some hesitation, Anton sat down on the edge of the couch opposite him, fidgeting with his hands as the Duke propped himself up with some effort. He'd only ever known him as an old man, but now he was painfully old; his plain white silk tunic and trousers hung loosely from his thin frame, and what little hair remained had gone completely white, like little whisps of clouds. Yet in spite of it all, his eyes were still gleamed with intelligence, as clear and sharp as a man half his age. "So, Anton." Duke Prelvos clapped his hands together. "I assume you have more than a few questions about all… this." An understatement, to say the least. Why me? What do you expect of me? Will the crown recognize me as Duke? Who in their right mind makes a servant boy their heir? Hundreds of thoughts run through Anton's head, and all he could do was grab onto the one that had stuck with him the most. "Are you my father?" The Duke stared at him for a moment, then burst into wild, uproarious laughter. Anton watched silently as he fell back down on the couch, clutching at his sides. Eventually, the laughter trailed off, and Duke Prelvos sat back up with an amused grin on his face. "No, I'm not secretly your father. I haven't even been with a woman in the past twenty years. I'm afraid your miserable excuse of a sperm donor is still some sorry wretch with no idea how to properly treat a woman." Anton didn't take any offense at this; it wasn't like he disagreed with him. "So if I'm not your bastard, then why-" "Why make some random servant boy my sole heir?" Anton nodded for him to continue. "Because I can, I suppose." "Don't get me wrong, you're more than qualified for the task; you've been practically running my accounts for me ever since my sight started to fail. I've provided you the education of any young lordling, and you've proven to be quite more capable than most of them. You know how to run land, how to manage resources, how to tax commerce without squeezing it dry, and how to put those funds to good use. In fact, I dare say that if not for your good work these past five years or so, this land wouldn't enjoy half the prosperity it now boasts." Anton could only flush at the praise, becoming very interested in the view of the sea outside. "But no, that's not why I picked you." Anton's gaze snapped back to the Duke, full of confusion. "I have dozens of acquaintances - not friends, mind you, but at least people I could trust to rule this land well and act as competent executors of my will, all of them hailing from much more… proper standing than yourself." On those last words, the Duke's face twisted in visible disgust. "No, I chose you for one reason, well, mainly one reason." Duke Prelvos leaned forward, a dark look on his face as he stared into Anton's eyes. "Spite." "You see," he leaned back on the couch, "I rather hate the nobility. Yes, I am a part of it too! A little self-hatred is good for a man - in moderation, of course, as with all things." "When one is born into all this…" The Duke gestured to everything around him, "privilege, they inevitably grow up with this innate belief that they are somehow better than their fellow man. After all, how else could they be deserving of so much more than him? But just what makes us better? All of us - at least, the ones not blessed with stupidity - we all grapple with that question in our youth, and eventually we find that we are better because some other, older better said so. And they are better because another said so, and another, and another, and so forth and so on, until you reach one who was better because he made himself better, by leading others and ordering them in battle and slaughtering opposers in vast and terrible numbers." "But we can't do that anymore, not in these peaceful times, so instead we fancy ourselfs rightful stewards of the people, noblesse oblige and all that. And why are we suited to deciding how best to provide for the people? Because we're the ones with enough wealth to do so! And why do we possess this great wealth?" "... because you're the stewards of the people?" "Exactly! It's a self-justifying statement, and it's never challenged because only noble families hold noble titles." "But if a commoner were to be granted the wealth and standing to act as a steward…" The cogs were spinning wildly now. This is dangerous. This is how revolutions start… "Exactly." Duke Prelvos grinned with childlike glee. "You're going to be their worst nightmare. A competent, compassionate, and beloved ruler without a drop of noble blood. A living reminder of their own inadequacy. And if they make so much as the slightest move to bring you down? The people will see them as the tyrants they are, and their heads will rot on pikes. They'll have no choice but to accept you, and they'll be forced to respond accordingly. You, my young heir, are going to accomplish what has long been thought to be impossible." He leaned across the table, placing his hands on Anton's shoulders. "You're going to make the nobility do their fucking job." The Duke fell back on his couch, throwing his arms wide like a performer finishing their act. Anton sat there, struggling to comprehend the weight of what he had just learned. "Duke Prelvos…" "Hells, enough with this Duke Prelvos nonsense! You're my damned heir, call me Nico!" Anton tried it out in his mind. No, too weird. "Forgive me, but I don't really feel comfortable enough to call you that." "... can you at least drop the Duke?" "Very well… Prelvos." Still feels weird. "With all due respect, I'm just a secretary. My grasp of politics ends at local trade regulations. I certainly don't know enough to wield that kind of power over the entire nobility." "Well of course you don't, I haven't taught you how yet! What, you thought I was going to name you heir and then just keel over and die? No, I've got at least another five years before I have to retire, maybe ten if we're lucky." Duke Prelvos shot up from the couch with the energy of a man a third his age. "Now come, we're hosting the ambassador of Lutsana today, and he loves to run his mouth about foreign politics."	Part 1 When I hold out my bejeweled hands I see a tapestry of lines - not scars, but the ravages of old age. Maybe somewhere underneath it there are other blemishes. Reminders that my hands were not always so richly decorated, that my finger not always adorned with the royal signet ring. I did not have a lot of career options in my youth. In fact, there was only one, so I had no choice in any case. You'll soon notice this is a theme in my tale. Like my mother and possibly my father (I never met him and my mother always kept quiet about him), a life of petty crime kept our household afloat. The second thing my three brothers, two sisters and I learned after walking was pickpocketing. A skill learned young will always stay with you and given enough attention and polish it will never rust either. I think I’m still pretty handy with a lockpick, even though I haven’t had any use for one since… Ah, let’s keep that for later. I was caught only once in my criminal career, upon which it promptly ended. I was well aware of the consequences of failure: at that point, two brothers and a sister had already been carted off by the law to be disciplined and subsequently disappeared into foster homes. You’d think that doing a job for almost fifteen years makes you an expert and past me would agree. He’d think that upping the scale merely increased the payout but not the challenge. In most other stories the past version of the storyteller would be scolded, but not in this one. I’m sitting pretty now after all (not talking about my looks.) I did not ask anyone to come along on my caper, not even my remaining siblings. I didn’t want any harm to come to them if it went wrong, the sentimental fool that I was back then. Ok, I will scold myself so now and then, I simply can’t help it. I had set my sights on the Ducal palace. I swapped my shabby urchin clothes for those of a nobleman’s son (I actually purchased those myself), washed, combed and scoped the place out. None of the monied men or patroling halberdiers paid me any mind. It didn't take me long to find a way in: through a little freestanding tower close to the building, hopping to the roof, scaling down one side onto a balcony. Between me and the riches inside was a locked door, soon defeated. Credit to me, I did know that the Duke traveled much and took most of his entourage and staff when he was gone. I timed my excursion with his latest outing and found that the building was indeed empty. Mostly empty. I dropped my guard and was distracted by baubles and trinkets that to my untrained eye seemed invaluable (bear in mind, the only heists I’d ever dealt with was whatever I could extract from the pockets of middle class folk or poorer. But not too poor, because I felt bad. The reality is that they have nothing worth stealing). As I moved to pick up a particularly shiny gemstone that lay on a small satin cushion, a voice startled me: “You there! You are not supposed to be here. Go back and wait with the rest, boy!” A man in a wig and a dark frock coat stood in a doorway, pointing his cane at me. My first instinct was to bolt, but his words offered me another way out. More discreet, quick thinker that I was. “Forgive me sir, I was looking for a place to relieve myself,” I said. “You should have done that before the summons. It amazes me that you think you can serve the duke. Correction, that your parents think you can serve the duke. I understand the wish for undue influence with His Magnificence, but they could have at least trained you better,” the servant said as he paced towards me. He grabbed me by the arm and led me towards a large double doors downstairs, one of the doors ajar, as I groveled a bit more. He pushed me through and I found myself in the presence of a dozen or so older boys, a few of them young adults. They were sitting on the chairs that endlessly lined the room and all the other rooms. Those are gone now, by the way. I’m not well versed in interior designing for the rich, but you can’t persuade me every room needs fifty chairs. Anyway, I digress. So, here I was playing the part of a high born supplicant, hoping to gain a spot in the duke’s household. In that moment, as I eyed my fellow hopefuls, I knew the plan would be to excuse myself, swipe something small on the way out, and exit teary eyed, as if the pressure had gotten to me and I would retreat to my pampered and sheltered life of luxury. I was still capable of crying back then, or at least faking it. As I was about to set my plan in motion, a herald announced that the duke had entered the building and a stately man passed the door followed by a large troupe of flunkeys. That’s when a second plan started forming: what if I try to get the job… I would be like a fox in the henhouse. So, I came up with an identity on the spot by doing what I knew best; I stole bits of background by listening to the others, I stole bits of inspiration from paintings around the room, I even stole the pocket watch from the boy next to me. It was then that I became Matheo Aquielia d’ Chamberland, distant cousin of the respectable Baron ‘d Chamberland. I thought it garish, but that’s what the nobility is into. Of course, I’ve dropped the last two names and added a regnal number. The duke personally held the interviews, he was industrious like that. And luckily the man who’d caught me did not have the chance to speak to the duke, for he would have sunk my chances. When all the interviews were done it was announced that M.A. d’ Chamberland was selected by the duke. I was going to play it safe at the start, but with the job came a weekly salary which exceeded anything my family ever scraped together on a good month of petty theft. I was confident, but not a fool; I got paid a duke’s ransom for loafing around, standing around. Just being around in general. There was no need for any risks. About two weeks after my career switch, it looked like I had gotten away with the ruse. I told my mother and siblings about it and would share the money with them. “You don’t need to steal anymore now,” I told them. The law eventually took them too. Maybe they were jealous and tried to match my audacity.
[WP] You are Functionally Immortal, however your life force is connected to a cat that can die to anything but old age. You must protect the cat to stay alive. Having lived alongside the cat for centuries, one day it disappears.	"Ah, Pudding, we've been together for so many centuries. So many." I stroked the cat's silky black fur and warmly peer down into her golden eyes peering back at me like a pair of yellow lanterns. ~Stroke~ ~Stroke~ ~Stroke~ ~Stro-- Realizing my lap is empty, I looked down to find my hand cradling empty air about to pet a cat that was no longer there. Scared, I begin to frantically search around the space, the place we'd both occupied for close to three millennium. Pudding was gone. Pudding was gone! "My pudding is gone!" I cried out in horror. "Don't worry Mr. Johnson. Pudding just fell on the floor," the nurse revealed. She smilingly retrieved the dropped stuffed animal and handed it back. Realizing that Pudding had returned to me, I warmly placed my dear friend back on my lap and resumed its petting. "As long as I have you, Pudding, I'll never die," I told it. The nurse looked at the old man with a sweetly sad smile. Dementia was a terrible illness.	Red seal, black ink, parchment crisp, still warm from the tanner’s, the letter before me is not much dissimilar to those delivered before. ‘Lord Hawkridge, I address thee as such only in title due to thy station and by no means as reflection of honourable character of which I dare say thou are deprived. In hope most sincere thou will take my words in meaning intended, I wish to convey to thee that each and every word I own must be taken by definition thou find most unbecoming of a nobleman. And yet, a nobleman I am.’ Oh yes, yes, another nobleman scorned. Over centuries there have been many to take offence at one deed or another. A word misplaced, transgressions sincerely named, desires forcefully ceased, who is to say what this one is about? “As the duke to be of Brighton and Flitch, words treading on dignity, honour and reputation of my kin shall not be left without address.” Brighton. Flitch. Brighton and Flitch. Could it be the Fosters? Surely not… and yet. Lord Finch passed ten winters back. Or was it twenty? Time is but a blur when it is so ample. But have enough summers gone by for his pups to become hounds? And more so, have they been kind enough that they would not need to find their respite in the same vices that their father frequently did. “There have been many who have shared a word unkind on the subject of my late father. With them, I have now parleyed. Most, you will soon be privy to know, have chosen to make amends and sought forgiveness for transgressions and ills caused. However, I am pained to admit that not all have made such a sagacious choice. Steel has been crossed and blood spilled, and in the interest of supporting your judgement so that it may operate with awareness of all concerning facts and figures, I must disclose that not a single drop was my own.” So the pup took offence to truths for once spoken aloud. Perhaps truths that were spoken out of place, but truths regardless. And allusions to violence he so promptly makes. His father’s son, he certainly is. But does he not know to who he writes? Has he never been told the fables? Has the locust that is servants’ whispers escaped him? “To conclude these matters which I wish had not arisen at all, I hereby invite thee to dine with me at Brighton Manor. We will discuss our way forward beneath the twin spirits of honesty and good will, fore I wish nothing more but to put these painful matters to grave. Yours sincerely—” My heart stops as I look beneath. Immediately I see Foster’s signature is graced by another. Where one is a spiralling stroke with two spots, the other is made of five spots — one large with four much smaller atop. It is a print of a paw much dear. “Leonard! Leonard!” Doors fly open and the chamberlains feet come together before the archway. “Where is Whiskers?!” My heart now pounds so loud I scarce can discern Leonard’s words, but those I do are enough to send my limbs into shivers. “New servant… taken… Autumn manor.” Bastet my love, will this be the day I die?
[WP] You are Functionally Immortal, however your life force is connected to a cat that can die to anything but old age. You must protect the cat to stay alive. Having lived alongside the cat for centuries, one day it disappears.	When a pharaoh dies, all pets and servants were always intended to follow them into the afterlife. But my pharaoh was different when it came to Mau, his feline companion. And so with me as well, her caretaker. "When I die, I leave one last command for Mau. I command her to experience all the life in all the world that she can, before she is to meet me beyond this world. And you, who loves her as much as I, I command to assist her. You are to care for her, to ensure her health and show her this world, for as long as she lives. Then you, too, shall follow me beyond." It was unorthodox, but one does not question a dying pharaoh. I was only twenty-one harvests old at the time, and a lifetime dedicated to taking care of a cat was one I easily cherished. No toiling or labour, no hard days in the sun, just caring for this small creature that brought me comfort in return. By his decree, I spent every day and night caring for Mau. Even when the pharaoh finally passed, I was exempt from even attending the funeral in favour of consoling Mau, who seemed to know that her pharaoh had passed on. The following pharaoh seemed to find me and my task amusing, and so he allowed me to stay in his grounds to honour his predecessor's wishes. But over time, he came to find me much more meaningful: as the days passed, I did not age a moment. Ten, twenty harvests passed, and neither I nor Mau seemed as if we had aged at all since the pharaoh's command. I was seemingly proof of the divinity of the pharaohs, and held in some strange regard. It meant little to me; I was focused on Mau, day in and day out. Over the years, we had come to many unspoken understandings, and she was all the company I desired. When that pharaoh passed, however, I found us to be suddenly most unwelcome. I was declared either a falsehood or some sort of evil sorcery, and the new pharaoh felt me to be a dangerous remnant of his predecessor's "evil" rule. I had been too focused on Mau to have understood the politics, but what was clear was that it was time for us to leave. And so, in the night, we fled. The desert taught us many harsh lessons, namely that our long life was not limitless. Food, water, cuts and sandstorms, these were all still threats. I seemed somewhat more resilient than Mau, having died outright more than once in those harsh conditions, only to find myself thrust back into my aching and damaged corpse: we were to remain until Mau's time came, not mine. But this granted me options: whatever food and water I could find, it was for Mau and only Mau. If Anubis could not keep me, then I would keep him from Mau with my own broken body. Weakened but enlightened, we eventually escaped the desert with our lives and a new sense of purpose. If we could not be stopped, then the full breadth of the pharaoh's command was now my sacred duty: I would show Mau the entire world. *** Years and years passed, and the world spun around us. All the names of places we knew changed over and over, grand empires rose and fell, and the tools of humanity became more and more refined. We watched as the hand of progress rose up to change the very world (even if it was a dirty, unwashed hand), and felt the cultures of the world flow around the changes. And amidst all of it, there was always Mau and I. With our years of experience, and a great deal of reading in my spare time, we became exceptionally good at placing ourselves in the crosshairs of history. A dinner party here, or a convenient neighbour there... Mau had been petted, at one time or another, by over 248 heads of state from countries around the world. Countless authors and artists had picked her fur off their clothes at one time or another, and she had caught mice on the ship of more than one explorer. The risks were always high: what if someone noticed us, that we did not age? We were always on the move. But Mau thrived in historical situations, more like a kitten around those who seemed to have a destiny, and so hiding out in safety and solitude was never an option. We braved the most extreme situations, went to the furthest edges of human frontiers, so that she could frolic with humanity's best. Danger became familiar, but we had become increasingly adept at surviving. I lost track of how many times I died long ago, but I never truly minded. In fact, once, during a particularly disastrous mountain passage, I ensured Mau's survival by... well, providing an atypically regular source of food. Neither of us liked that very much, and were in no rush to ever experience that again, but a day or so of rest and I was always ready to get back onto the road for her. And so, after millennia of companionship and adventure, a day came when things changed. *** We were staying in a small apartment in Paris, preparing for yet another journey. The preparations for doing so were becoming more and more troublesome as the world became more "connected"; moving was the perfect time to reset the clock on our identities, but becoming someone new had become harder in an age of information. I had just come back with supplies for our trip, the standards for an overseas passage off the books: cat food, water, litter, ammunition, cat treats, reading material, false documentation, a small concealable blade, and a comfortably padded cat carrier. As soon as I put everything down, I immediately knew something was wrong; Mau always came running at the sound of cat treats, even still. "Mau? Where are you, Mau?" I paced around the house with an immense sense of unease. We had been separated before, but never by choice. Mau and I understood each other, and she would never just "run away" like a common pet. If she wasn't here, something was wrong. And yet, it seemed that she had perhaps surprised me: I had left the bedroom window open enough for air, but locked in place so nobody could climb in. There was certainly enough room for Mau to get out, but the idea simply hadn't occurred to me. Where did she go, then? I raced out the front door, frantic and without a plan. Showing her picture to the first few passerby not only provided no results, their confusion and light anger at being accosted also made me aware that I was scrambling and panicked. I stopped, closed my eyes, and steadied my breathing; panic would never help me. Mau and I had travelled together predating the very country we now stood in; surely I could intuit where she had gone? And then an idea scratched at the back of my mind, and a lump of sadness in my throat. A possibility for where she may have gone, but I hoped I was wrong. Without any other leads, however, I set out at run down towards the Seine river. *** Amidst the thick crowds, it was difficult to see anything at the height I'd expect to find Mau, but a passing glimpse was all I needed. I knew her fur patterns better than most people knew their mother tongues, and a brief second while the crowd parted was enough for my mind to lock onto her location. Pushing through to where I had seen her, I was finally reunited with Mau as she lay curled up against the base of the Louvre's signature glass pyramid. She looked up at me, blinked twice, and then curled back up into a tight ball. I sat down beside her, leaning my back against the glass as I reflexively reached down to scratch Mau's head. She pressed up into my hand, but wasn't purring. It confirmed everything I had suspected, and before I could stop myself I was sobbing uncontrollably. Mau, caring as ever, came up into my lap and pressed against my chest. But even then, I could feel it in her motions: she was slower now, for the first time in history. Stiffer, like she needed to put in more effort. Finally, after all this time and all we had seen, Mau was tired. She had taken in more of the world than any who walked in it on two legs, but she was finally done. And here, curled up against the only pyramid she could find, she wanted to see her pharaoh. To go home. I held Mau against my chest until the sun began to set, leaning against the glass. A policeman had come by to shoo us away, but I simply asked "Monsieur, ayez pitié, s'il vous plaît." Sir, please have mercy. And he seemed to understand, and soften, and he let us be. I considered what it meant to me, for this journey to come to an end; was I scared? Was it a relief? Was this punishment, or rest? And yet, all I found that I cared about was feeling Mau purring up against me. Perhaps, if all was as promised, I would still be her caretaker in the next world. If her time was ending, the only thing I could find in myself to feel was a sense of gratefulness that I would surely follow. The thought of this world without her was one I could not stand. When the sun disappeared completely, Mau unburied herself from my chest and stretched, meowing softly. She had gotten her message across, but now it was dinner time. I smiled at the familiarity of it, all the more precious now that an end was in sight. She hopped up onto my shoulders, the only "trick" I had ever managed to teach her in our thousands of years together, as I stood and began to walk us back to our apartment. It seemed that our travel plans would need to change, although this trip was much simpler to organize. I pulled out my phone, dialing a number from memory for a travel agency that we had used a few decades back. "Hello, yes. I need to book a flight on short notice, Paris to Cairo... mhm, yes. Two seats. One will be for a cat, but she'll be in a proper carrier... No, cargo storage in not an option. Money's not an issue, but that point is non-negotiable... what? Oh, no. Hotel accommodations won't be necessary. We will be... staying with family." A pause, to reach up and scratch behind Mau's ears. She purred gently, leaning her head into my ear which always made my whole head shake. I almost dropped my phone, smiling at her moment of contentment. "Sorry, what was that last part?... Ah, no. One-way tickets will be just fine."	Red seal, black ink, parchment crisp, still warm from the tanner’s, the letter before me is not much dissimilar to those delivered before. ‘Lord Hawkridge, I address thee as such only in title due to thy station and by no means as reflection of honourable character of which I dare say thou are deprived. In hope most sincere thou will take my words in meaning intended, I wish to convey to thee that each and every word I own must be taken by definition thou find most unbecoming of a nobleman. And yet, a nobleman I am.’ Oh yes, yes, another nobleman scorned. Over centuries there have been many to take offence at one deed or another. A word misplaced, transgressions sincerely named, desires forcefully ceased, who is to say what this one is about? “As the duke to be of Brighton and Flitch, words treading on dignity, honour and reputation of my kin shall not be left without address.” Brighton. Flitch. Brighton and Flitch. Could it be the Fosters? Surely not… and yet. Lord Finch passed ten winters back. Or was it twenty? Time is but a blur when it is so ample. But have enough summers gone by for his pups to become hounds? And more so, have they been kind enough that they would not need to find their respite in the same vices that their father frequently did. “There have been many who have shared a word unkind on the subject of my late father. With them, I have now parleyed. Most, you will soon be privy to know, have chosen to make amends and sought forgiveness for transgressions and ills caused. However, I am pained to admit that not all have made such a sagacious choice. Steel has been crossed and blood spilled, and in the interest of supporting your judgement so that it may operate with awareness of all concerning facts and figures, I must disclose that not a single drop was my own.” So the pup took offence to truths for once spoken aloud. Perhaps truths that were spoken out of place, but truths regardless. And allusions to violence he so promptly makes. His father’s son, he certainly is. But does he not know to who he writes? Has he never been told the fables? Has the locust that is servants’ whispers escaped him? “To conclude these matters which I wish had not arisen at all, I hereby invite thee to dine with me at Brighton Manor. We will discuss our way forward beneath the twin spirits of honesty and good will, fore I wish nothing more but to put these painful matters to grave. Yours sincerely—” My heart stops as I look beneath. Immediately I see Foster’s signature is graced by another. Where one is a spiralling stroke with two spots, the other is made of five spots — one large with four much smaller atop. It is a print of a paw much dear. “Leonard! Leonard!” Doors fly open and the chamberlains feet come together before the archway. “Where is Whiskers?!” My heart now pounds so loud I scarce can discern Leonard’s words, but those I do are enough to send my limbs into shivers. “New servant… taken… Autumn manor.” Bastet my love, will this be the day I die?
[WP] You are Functionally Immortal, however your life force is connected to a cat that can die to anything but old age. You must protect the cat to stay alive. Having lived alongside the cat for centuries, one day it disappears.	When a pharaoh dies, all pets and servants were always intended to follow them into the afterlife. But my pharaoh was different when it came to Mau, his feline companion. And so with me as well, her caretaker. "When I die, I leave one last command for Mau. I command her to experience all the life in all the world that she can, before she is to meet me beyond this world. And you, who loves her as much as I, I command to assist her. You are to care for her, to ensure her health and show her this world, for as long as she lives. Then you, too, shall follow me beyond." It was unorthodox, but one does not question a dying pharaoh. I was only twenty-one harvests old at the time, and a lifetime dedicated to taking care of a cat was one I easily cherished. No toiling or labour, no hard days in the sun, just caring for this small creature that brought me comfort in return. By his decree, I spent every day and night caring for Mau. Even when the pharaoh finally passed, I was exempt from even attending the funeral in favour of consoling Mau, who seemed to know that her pharaoh had passed on. The following pharaoh seemed to find me and my task amusing, and so he allowed me to stay in his grounds to honour his predecessor's wishes. But over time, he came to find me much more meaningful: as the days passed, I did not age a moment. Ten, twenty harvests passed, and neither I nor Mau seemed as if we had aged at all since the pharaoh's command. I was seemingly proof of the divinity of the pharaohs, and held in some strange regard. It meant little to me; I was focused on Mau, day in and day out. Over the years, we had come to many unspoken understandings, and she was all the company I desired. When that pharaoh passed, however, I found us to be suddenly most unwelcome. I was declared either a falsehood or some sort of evil sorcery, and the new pharaoh felt me to be a dangerous remnant of his predecessor's "evil" rule. I had been too focused on Mau to have understood the politics, but what was clear was that it was time for us to leave. And so, in the night, we fled. The desert taught us many harsh lessons, namely that our long life was not limitless. Food, water, cuts and sandstorms, these were all still threats. I seemed somewhat more resilient than Mau, having died outright more than once in those harsh conditions, only to find myself thrust back into my aching and damaged corpse: we were to remain until Mau's time came, not mine. But this granted me options: whatever food and water I could find, it was for Mau and only Mau. If Anubis could not keep me, then I would keep him from Mau with my own broken body. Weakened but enlightened, we eventually escaped the desert with our lives and a new sense of purpose. If we could not be stopped, then the full breadth of the pharaoh's command was now my sacred duty: I would show Mau the entire world. *** Years and years passed, and the world spun around us. All the names of places we knew changed over and over, grand empires rose and fell, and the tools of humanity became more and more refined. We watched as the hand of progress rose up to change the very world (even if it was a dirty, unwashed hand), and felt the cultures of the world flow around the changes. And amidst all of it, there was always Mau and I. With our years of experience, and a great deal of reading in my spare time, we became exceptionally good at placing ourselves in the crosshairs of history. A dinner party here, or a convenient neighbour there... Mau had been petted, at one time or another, by over 248 heads of state from countries around the world. Countless authors and artists had picked her fur off their clothes at one time or another, and she had caught mice on the ship of more than one explorer. The risks were always high: what if someone noticed us, that we did not age? We were always on the move. But Mau thrived in historical situations, more like a kitten around those who seemed to have a destiny, and so hiding out in safety and solitude was never an option. We braved the most extreme situations, went to the furthest edges of human frontiers, so that she could frolic with humanity's best. Danger became familiar, but we had become increasingly adept at surviving. I lost track of how many times I died long ago, but I never truly minded. In fact, once, during a particularly disastrous mountain passage, I ensured Mau's survival by... well, providing an atypically regular source of food. Neither of us liked that very much, and were in no rush to ever experience that again, but a day or so of rest and I was always ready to get back onto the road for her. And so, after millennia of companionship and adventure, a day came when things changed. *** We were staying in a small apartment in Paris, preparing for yet another journey. The preparations for doing so were becoming more and more troublesome as the world became more "connected"; moving was the perfect time to reset the clock on our identities, but becoming someone new had become harder in an age of information. I had just come back with supplies for our trip, the standards for an overseas passage off the books: cat food, water, litter, ammunition, cat treats, reading material, false documentation, a small concealable blade, and a comfortably padded cat carrier. As soon as I put everything down, I immediately knew something was wrong; Mau always came running at the sound of cat treats, even still. "Mau? Where are you, Mau?" I paced around the house with an immense sense of unease. We had been separated before, but never by choice. Mau and I understood each other, and she would never just "run away" like a common pet. If she wasn't here, something was wrong. And yet, it seemed that she had perhaps surprised me: I had left the bedroom window open enough for air, but locked in place so nobody could climb in. There was certainly enough room for Mau to get out, but the idea simply hadn't occurred to me. Where did she go, then? I raced out the front door, frantic and without a plan. Showing her picture to the first few passerby not only provided no results, their confusion and light anger at being accosted also made me aware that I was scrambling and panicked. I stopped, closed my eyes, and steadied my breathing; panic would never help me. Mau and I had travelled together predating the very country we now stood in; surely I could intuit where she had gone? And then an idea scratched at the back of my mind, and a lump of sadness in my throat. A possibility for where she may have gone, but I hoped I was wrong. Without any other leads, however, I set out at run down towards the Seine river. *** Amidst the thick crowds, it was difficult to see anything at the height I'd expect to find Mau, but a passing glimpse was all I needed. I knew her fur patterns better than most people knew their mother tongues, and a brief second while the crowd parted was enough for my mind to lock onto her location. Pushing through to where I had seen her, I was finally reunited with Mau as she lay curled up against the base of the Louvre's signature glass pyramid. She looked up at me, blinked twice, and then curled back up into a tight ball. I sat down beside her, leaning my back against the glass as I reflexively reached down to scratch Mau's head. She pressed up into my hand, but wasn't purring. It confirmed everything I had suspected, and before I could stop myself I was sobbing uncontrollably. Mau, caring as ever, came up into my lap and pressed against my chest. But even then, I could feel it in her motions: she was slower now, for the first time in history. Stiffer, like she needed to put in more effort. Finally, after all this time and all we had seen, Mau was tired. She had taken in more of the world than any who walked in it on two legs, but she was finally done. And here, curled up against the only pyramid she could find, she wanted to see her pharaoh. To go home. I held Mau against my chest until the sun began to set, leaning against the glass. A policeman had come by to shoo us away, but I simply asked "Monsieur, ayez pitié, s'il vous plaît." Sir, please have mercy. And he seemed to understand, and soften, and he let us be. I considered what it meant to me, for this journey to come to an end; was I scared? Was it a relief? Was this punishment, or rest? And yet, all I found that I cared about was feeling Mau purring up against me. Perhaps, if all was as promised, I would still be her caretaker in the next world. If her time was ending, the only thing I could find in myself to feel was a sense of gratefulness that I would surely follow. The thought of this world without her was one I could not stand. When the sun disappeared completely, Mau unburied herself from my chest and stretched, meowing softly. She had gotten her message across, but now it was dinner time. I smiled at the familiarity of it, all the more precious now that an end was in sight. She hopped up onto my shoulders, the only "trick" I had ever managed to teach her in our thousands of years together, as I stood and began to walk us back to our apartment. It seemed that our travel plans would need to change, although this trip was much simpler to organize. I pulled out my phone, dialing a number from memory for a travel agency that we had used a few decades back. "Hello, yes. I need to book a flight on short notice, Paris to Cairo... mhm, yes. Two seats. One will be for a cat, but she'll be in a proper carrier... No, cargo storage in not an option. Money's not an issue, but that point is non-negotiable... what? Oh, no. Hotel accommodations won't be necessary. We will be... staying with family." A pause, to reach up and scratch behind Mau's ears. She purred gently, leaning her head into my ear which always made my whole head shake. I almost dropped my phone, smiling at her moment of contentment. "Sorry, what was that last part?... Ah, no. One-way tickets will be just fine."	"Mrs. Tibbles?" I crept along the edge of the wall, shaking a bag of her favorite treats. Once, sometime in late 1990s, she'd managed to get inside the walls while a contractor was replacing the microwave. Mischievous girl! I'd spent hours looking for her, convinced that death was just around the corner for both of us. Her plaintive meowing had given her away a few days later. I'd torn a hole in the plaster in my desperation to get her out. Not two hours later, she was back to perfectly normal - gobbling up treats, scratching up my furniture, and purring contentedly in my lap, without a care in the world for all the stress she'd caused me. After living with Mrs. Tibbles for a few centuries, I'd learned a few things: 1. She will always want your attention, that is, up until the very moment you want to pay attention to her. In which case, she will suddenly have very pressing matters to attend to that do not involve you whatsoever. 2. Her favorite treats are the Greenies that are tuna-flavored. Heaven forbid I get the salmon or chicken-flavored ones. 3. Her daily routine for the past two centuries, has been as follows: * 7 AM - 8 AM: Pester the Human for breakfast. * 8 AM - 11 AM: Prowl around, looking for trouble. * 11 AM - 5 PM: Nap. Occasionally get up to move to the sunniest spot in the house. * 5 PM - 7 PM: Pester the Human for dinner. * 7 PM - 9 PM: Snuggle on the Human's lap. * 9 PM - 7 AM: Sleep. Naturally, the 8 AM - 11AM slot was what gave me the most headache. Over the years, she's learned how to open cabinets, sneak into cupboards, and - as of today, it seems - squeeze through the hole in the screen door. I smelled trouble in the air, stronger than the scent of Mrs. Tibbles's unscooped litter box. I knew I should've gotten the hole in the screen door fixed earlier! But I'd kept putting it off, day after day, and now it looked like I might not even have another day left. At least, not if I couldn't find Mrs. Tibbles soon and make sure she was out of harm's way. \--- /r/theBasiliskWrites
[WP] You are Functionally Immortal, however your life force is connected to a cat that can die to anything but old age. You must protect the cat to stay alive. Having lived alongside the cat for centuries, one day it disappears.	The moment I woke up I knew something was wrong. My hand reached out, and landed on empty bedsheets. "Mittens?" Maybe she'd just gotten bored; walked out of the room. But I knew I was lying to myself. After centuries of living with a cat, you realized how much they were tied to routine. She bullied me if I didn't go to bed at 10:30 every night. And in the morning, our routine was to wake up slowly, with a prolonged cuddle. Fighting panic, I got out of bed, throwing my housecoat over my pyjamas. "Mittens?" I called again, walking through the house. And stopped dead when I reached the front door. It was open. Only slightly, but definitely ajar. The old pun about a door not being a door rose in my mind, and I realized I was straying toward the hysterical. Pausing to put my shoes on, I went outside. Maybe Mittens had stayed close to the house. "Mittens!" Nothing. No familiar little brrp noise, no tiny black cat with white paws coming around the corner. I tried not to hyperventilate, as I searched around the house and through the yard. As I came back to the front, my knees finally gave out and I sank down onto the porch steps. She was gone. I put my hands over my face, trying to keep my composure. There was thinking to be done, and I needed a clear head for that. "Um, excuse me?" The voice was hesitant, young. Though everyone sounded young to me nowadays. I raised my face, noticing absently that it was wet. Apparently, I'd been crying. Standing in front of me, a man frowned. I was suddenly, acutely aware I was still in my housecoat. "Do you own a cat?" Jumping up, I grabbed onto his lapels, crumpling his fancy suit. "Have you seen her? Tiny, black with white paws, answers to Mittens?" Carefully removing my hands, he nodded. "I think you better come with me." My heart in my mouth, I followed him, ignoring the part of my brain that said he looked familiar. I'd lived so long that everyone started to resemble someone else. He led me to a house three doors down, inviting me inside. My knees nearly collapsed again. Mittens was sitting on the kitchen table, washing herself as per usual. I took my first free breath since I'd noticed her missing. "Mittens!" She looked up, cocking her head to the side, with a questioning meow. At the table in two seconds, I scooped her up, earning an annoyed squawk. "You really should be more careful with her." The reprimand was quiet, all of the hesitation gone. I turned and backed up into the table. Instead of the nervous young man, a tall figure loomed over me, and I knew what memory I'd tried to bury. The day I'd received Mittens, the day I'd become basically immortal. This had been the person, the god that had given her to me. Cradling her in my arms, I summoned up my courage. "Is today the day?" The day he'd spoken about all those years ago. The day Mittens had to move on. Had to leave. "When you noticed her missing, you cried." The tall figure sounded confused, and though his face was no longer masquerading as human, there were traces of real consternation there. "I've grown used to having her around. I've taken care of her for years. I love her." "You expect me to believe that? The only reason you've taken care of her was your own immortality. Don't you remember? You were the one who forced that promise out of me." I stared at him, opening my mouth to respond. Before I could, a sharp yowl came out of Mittens's throat. I'd never heard her make that noise before. He switched his focus. "Yes. When you leave, she dies. That was the deal, so that she would always take care of you. You were too young to understand then." In response, another yowl. "I don't think so. Your relationship is purely transactional. I don't care if she gives you treats." Meow. "And lets you sleep in her bed." Another sound I'd never heard before emanated from Mittens. It sounded like a cross between a purr and a growl. "Well, I didn't make the rules. You have to spend time on Earth. It's the law. So we try to find the best caretakers, but when I picked this one, she bargained." Mittens turned to look up at me. I stared down at the small creature in my arms, aware she wasn't a normal cat. But still... Very slowly, I blinked my eyes shut and opened them again. She returned the action. I walked over to the tall figure, holding her up to him. "If it's the day, then it's the day. I'll miss her. No matter what you say, I do love her. Sure, I only wanted immortality before, but... things change. I changed. Goodness knows I had the time to change." The figure bent, staring at me with eyes that were very close in shape and colour to Mittens's. Gently, his hands removed Mittens from me, holding her in his palm. "She doesn't belong in your world, even though she is comfortable in this form—" A veritable series of yowls, meows, and small brrrp noises interrupted him. "Yes, all right, all right. I'll see what I can do." And with a strange bright light, the figure disappeared. ————————— It's been three days, and I've been expecting to die any time now. After all, my time was tied to Mittens. The house has seemed emptier, the days longer, but still, I endure. This morning, I found it difficult to get out of bed, until the doorbell rang. Grumbling under my breath, I swung the door open. On my doorstep, in a tiny cardboard box, a little puffy white floof cloud of a kitten sat. There was a card, written in a shaky hand. "Thank you for all your care over the years. Please take care of my daughter. She is very young. But I think she will like morning cuddles and catnip treats. Mittens." Smiling, I picked up the box, going indoors. I would always miss Mittens. But it was comforting to know she was safe and happy. And, as the little white floof looked up at me, making a small brrp noise, I chuckled. It seems my job as Caretaker, wasn't finished quite yet.	"Mrs. Tibbles?" I crept along the edge of the wall, shaking a bag of her favorite treats. Once, sometime in late 1990s, she'd managed to get inside the walls while a contractor was replacing the microwave. Mischievous girl! I'd spent hours looking for her, convinced that death was just around the corner for both of us. Her plaintive meowing had given her away a few days later. I'd torn a hole in the plaster in my desperation to get her out. Not two hours later, she was back to perfectly normal - gobbling up treats, scratching up my furniture, and purring contentedly in my lap, without a care in the world for all the stress she'd caused me. After living with Mrs. Tibbles for a few centuries, I'd learned a few things: 1. She will always want your attention, that is, up until the very moment you want to pay attention to her. In which case, she will suddenly have very pressing matters to attend to that do not involve you whatsoever. 2. Her favorite treats are the Greenies that are tuna-flavored. Heaven forbid I get the salmon or chicken-flavored ones. 3. Her daily routine for the past two centuries, has been as follows: * 7 AM - 8 AM: Pester the Human for breakfast. * 8 AM - 11 AM: Prowl around, looking for trouble. * 11 AM - 5 PM: Nap. Occasionally get up to move to the sunniest spot in the house. * 5 PM - 7 PM: Pester the Human for dinner. * 7 PM - 9 PM: Snuggle on the Human's lap. * 9 PM - 7 AM: Sleep. Naturally, the 8 AM - 11AM slot was what gave me the most headache. Over the years, she's learned how to open cabinets, sneak into cupboards, and - as of today, it seems - squeeze through the hole in the screen door. I smelled trouble in the air, stronger than the scent of Mrs. Tibbles's unscooped litter box. I knew I should've gotten the hole in the screen door fixed earlier! But I'd kept putting it off, day after day, and now it looked like I might not even have another day left. At least, not if I couldn't find Mrs. Tibbles soon and make sure she was out of harm's way. \--- /r/theBasiliskWrites
[WP] You don't hail from another planet with super strength and laser beam eyes. You don't have a lair and a million gadgets. Your only power is to deliver the most cruel and cutting insult at precisely the right moment. It's more than enough...	As I walked down 4th street, the fight raging on a block to the north, I tried to calm my nerves. This was not something I should have been doing. I was an interrogator, someone who worked best when the hero or villain was all tied up, and I was not at all hard enough for the front lines. Still, though, my employer wanted me to keep the peace, so that's what I'd do. They mostly just wanted me to keep general peace in the residential district of La Mierda, Nevada, stopping fights altogether. It was something I could do, technically- my powers usually let me immobilize someone through their biggest emotional weaknesses- but it wasn't like I was invulnerable. Someone could just shoot me with a laser beam, and I would be done. Either way, I didn't want to lose the job, so onwards I went. I turned the corner and instantly realized exactly what was going on. These guys weren't your usual heroes and villains. No, of course they weren't. Our city's founding hero, The Jewel, was fighting against Lord Legionate, a villain newly cemented as a real, legitimate threat when he was able to simply walk up to the Free of Fear HQ, the de-facto heroic and police headquarters of the city, and just flatten the entire first floor, scot-free. Lest I say it out loud, the fight was pretty bloody. The Jewel was doing their usual thing, attempting to slow down and confuse Lord Legionate with their psychic forcefields, while Lord Legionate simply flew around as he pleased, throwing portal punches Jewel's way. Both of these people, if they made one mistake, would take me out in one shot. With all the gumption I could muster, I took a breath, and charged into the battlefield. I took a dodge and a weave, as I tried to get a vantage point where I could reasonably distract Lord Legionate without him being able to reach me safely. After all, he still had The Jewel to go after. Quickly, I found a heap of rubble where the road used to be, and I decided to hide behind it. If Lord Legionate landed on my side of the road, he'd see me, 100%, and that would at least distract him enough for me to get a few words in. Quietly, I prepared my powers, the words flowing through my head whether I liked them to or not. The feeling as if whatever I was thinking about saying shouldn't be said came around, and with that, I snapped alert. I was ready. I took peaks and glances, and soon enough, I saw Lord Legionate swoop down for shoulder bash, as he came flying into the ground. Pebbles and small bits of concrete came flying my way, a couple even glancing off the road heap I was on, but thankfully, none hit me as I laid eyes on my prey. Lord Legionate gave me one, solitary, minorly confused look, as I opened my mouth o let my superpower come forth. "I-I... I...." I panicked. Nothing was coming through. This hadn't happened before, I was supposed to say the one thing that could possibly break his will, and everybody had one, even the leader of the doomsday cult I'd helped bust with a couple superheroes a month back, but this man... did he have nothing? Nothing I could work on? Was my life seriously going to end here, a stuttering mess splattered into pavement? What the fuck was going on? I tried to speak, but my mouth contorted against my own will, forming what I could only feel as one thing. A smile. I don't know why that broke him to this day. I've since become a staple hero, simply walking around in whatever I have been breaking villain's minds open with words ever since, one of the most effective, collateral free heroes. My face, of course, isn't listed on the records, and neither is my real name. I'm the type of hero that can't be famous, but I really don't care. It's been a happy life. But that smile, that damn smile, still confuses me to this day. I don't know why it broke him, but he was the worst case after I had my fill of him. Apparently he was a gibbering mess of a man afterwards, and was put in a psych ward for a month. The man who yelled "La Mierda is peor que mierda" was made into a gibbering mess who couldn't get a good word in for a week, let alone use his powers for anything serious. Still, it was my life or, in a weird way, his. His life's essentially over now. He's mentally broken, a man who really can't be in society anymore, even if he wanted to. Most of them find me a hero, but I still feel bad for the man. Still, ever since then, I've taken that experience to heart, and when Free of Fear approached me for my superhero name, there was only one name I could think of. The Grinner.	From a very young age, Tim Burroham was very... concise, with his words. One day, for example, Tim's father was trying to serve him green beans. Tim, being only 7 at the time, responded with, quote, "I'm gonna personally throw those green beans into an incinerator faster than Linda threw your marital status into an incinerator." Tim's father, William, had recently divorced his wife at the time, so hearing his son say this to him, absolutely devastated him. Another time, at age 14, Tim found out one of his friends was simply using him as connection into his clique. He was decently intelligent at school, and the brainy kids allowed him in. They were surprisingly respected, due to said brainy kids being allowed to get away with a surprisingly large amount with their teachers. When Tim found about his friend's manipulation, he waited a while until they got into a fight. In the fight, Tim's friend told him "You guys are a bunch of turds", Tim's friend responded, quote from his ex-friend, "if I were to give your mother a laxative, the amount of pain she'd endure from that would make a more worthwhile experience than then pain she endured from you, because that "turd" she creates will be smarter, wittier, and will look better than you do. I hope you profusely apologize to your parents, your teachers, anyone who's ever mentored you, because the amount of trauma they experienced from you must be mind-shattering. I'm done with you." One other insult Tim delivered, age 21, was at his new job. Tim's supervisor noticed Tim performing poorly at his job, so his supervisor decided to chew him out. My lawyers have advised me to not repeat what he said here, but it was so impactful that it removed Tim's ability to ever be hired again. Employers that Tim would go to for the future would remember him as "that guy who said the things to that one supervisor", and, fearing for their mental state, decided not to hire him. Tim now works as a commissioner online, where people would pay for their own personalized insults. Tim says the biggest income source is not for people who want to deliver an insult, but Interestingly, for people who want to receive an insult. Tim also spends some of his time posting for this Reddit group called "rare insults", where he writes his own, and frames them as insults from other people.
[WP] You don't hail from another planet with super strength and laser beam eyes. You don't have a lair and a million gadgets. Your only power is to deliver the most cruel and cutting insult at precisely the right moment. It's more than enough...	I wouldn't call myself a Villain, per se. I always considered the definition of a villain as being someone who could rival the supers. Proper lucky bastards born with either enough wealth to buy their way to evil stardom, or enough strength to punch their way there. Like Captain Murder, who happened to be brawling it out with Invinci-boy in the skies above me. He would lose of course, their kind always did, but it provided spectacle enough for the growing crowd of onlookers, myself included. No, a true villain I was not. Was I an evil, super powered prick though? Abso-fucking-lutely. My power eliminated the possibility of going toe to toe with a Super. As much as I craved the ability to drag Invinci-boy's face along the concrete, I would never be as strong as a top tier villain like Captain Murder. And yet, thanks to my power, I could hurt the Supers in ways Villains never could. Ways I rarely understood myself. I chuckled to myself as I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. The fight was reaching it's inevitable end with Invinci-boy finally dragging Captain Murder to the ground, firing earth shaking punch after punch into the captain's face. He wouldn't kill him, but the poor captain wasn't likely to be murdering any time soon. How sad. I reached the front of the crowd as I felt my power kick into action, analysing every aspect of the current situation and invinci-boy's past. Millions of scenarios played out, filtered down to thousands then hundreds then simply one optimal path. Invinci-boy finally looked up from the Captain, seeming to take in the devestation. I could see his posture waiver as he took in the corpses strewn across the street. I mentally urged him to look a little to the left, just as he had in my vision. And so he did. I don't know whose corpse he had seen on the street. My power didn't provide details, and I didn't care. The effect was obvious. Invinci-boys whole body shook, barely holding in his pain. All he needed was one last push. Like a golden bullet to his heart, I shouted the words the vision showed me. "You're pathetic, Steven Reacher. You couldn't save her, just like how you couldn't save your mother!" Invinci-boy, or Steven I suppose, screamed with grief and rage, but I was already disappearing back into the crowd, chuckling. Must have hit a sore spot.	There's a combination of words for anything. All that stands between you and becoming president, sleeping with anyone you want, leading a cult, anything you can imagine - is the right combination of words to tell people. Depending on what it is, every person requires a different combination, like a code that can make them do anything for you. My race is born with this ability inherently, all of us with different things we can make people do. Some of us are charismatic seducers, others are natural leaders, while some are great mediators. And then there are ones like me. Those who are born with an extremely rare disorder that disrupts and twists our ability - opening us to the hidden world of despair that surrounds us all. I can't look at a person without immediately knowing all the things that would drive them mad, that is so offensive to the very core of their existence that they couldn't possibly live with them. Every time I open my mouth someone is at the risk of suicide, or permanent insanity. On my planet, people like me are placed in confinement camps to keep the rest of our people safe. But the fools allowed me to open my mouth. As soon as I did, every guard between me and freedom had to do exactly as I wanted, knowing that otherwise I would take their sanity from them forever. And I still did. I feel such pleasure from smothering a person with darkness, and seeing the fallout as they scream and cry in despair, maybe killing those around them before ending their own lives. It's entertaining. It's possible I could've felt empathy and remorse for my actions at some point in the past, but I became dead inside the moment I saw my own reflection. All the horrifying, undeniable truths about my existence that I wasn't even supposed to know became clear. I knew then that I had to end my own life for the safety of everyone. I spoke the words of despair out loud to my reflection, to try to convince myself to do it. But misery loves company.
[WP] You dreamed of being a starship captain, but the training is too expensive. When a distant relative leaves you their mortgaged Bantam-class cruiser, you face a series of choices: Sell it for tuition, assume the existing cargo contracts, or investigate the offer made by the local cartel.	Hydra station wasn’t the kind of place that anyone came to without good reason. There were the scientists, the miners, the navy, some freight crews and those few poor sods who had been born to the misbegotten rock. For the first 19 years of my life I had been forced to accept that I would always be a member of the latter group. The Navy Lieutenant had almost laughed when I had walked my scrawny low-grav ass into the local office. As for being a scientist or a miner… well Hydra wasn’t exactly the University of Terra, and one class a year at the local scholam wasn’t going to cut it for any decent gig. Three days after my twentieth birthday, alone in my hab that had changed. When I read the message telling me that my ship would be arriving at dock in two weeks I deleted it immediately, mistaking it for a scam, or worse a trap. The cartel had been known to lure individuals to the docks that way. The three physical letters slid under my door didn’t convince me either, though they looked legitimate. It wasn’t until I got the bill from the harbourmaster that I realized it was for real. I was angry. The bill was practically the complete sum of my meager savings but when I’d gone in to cuss the harbourmaster out, he had handed me the ownership-ident with a look that could only be jealousy. I suppose I could have sold the ship. It would have covered a full course of education, maybe even an engineering certification, or miners permit. I didn’t end up selling it. I climbed into the ship, took my seat at the helm and fired up the engines. The cold metal of a gun barrel pressed into the nape of my neck. “You and I are going to go on a little errand.”	I huddle around the table with my friends. The pub bustles, yet that didn't bother the three of us. "Okay," I breathe out. "I'm stupid. That's why I brought you two here. To consult me." Darren raises his hand. "No, I'm not paying you guys a fee." He lowers his hand. "Take it easy on me. You guys are my friends. Anyways, we have three options," I pound with my fist on the cracked, sawdust-covered table, forcing us to cough. "Okay, my bad, I didn't mean to smash it that— "We have three options. Sell the cruiser, assume the existing cargo, or investigate the offer by the local cartel." "Sounds solid," Hardy says. "I agree. That's why—" "But have you considered a fourth option?" "—Oh god." "Now, hear me out," Hardy gesticulates wildly. "I know a guy who knows a guy who's space ferret needs a certain mortgaged Bantam-class cruiser to conduct a mission to see the king of the stars. He will reward us handsomely." "Now, hear me out," Hardy gesticulates wildly. "I know a guy who knows a guy whose space ferret needs a certain mortgaged Bantam-class cruiser to conduct a mission to see the king of the stars. He will reward us handsomely." "He'll pay us in space pancakes," Hardy smiles. My jaw drops. "Who's in?" Hardy leads. Darren raises his hand. I follow.
[WP] Why yes, this is clearly the intended use for this multi-million dollar piece of hardware.	“I have to say, I am impressed!”, the ambassador of the Glork empire said. he was a tall, green man, with two antennas on his head big black eyes. Humanity made contact with this species just a few weeks ago and they started exchanging diplomats in order to establish a peaceful relationship. “I am very glad you liked the little sightseeing tour! Now you have seen most of humanities cultural heritages. The best and the worst of nearly twenty thousand years history.”, Beth Fernandez said. She was United Earth’s diplomat assigned to accompany the ambassador. “What did you like the most?” “Oh, that’s a hard question. There were so many incredible things your species has done, but I think I’ll go with those ancient pyramids you’ve showed me. We have something similar on our world, you know?” Beth chuckled. It’s always the same, every alien species always chooses the pyramids. And every species has their own pyramids, too. Maybe its some kind of universal law, she thought to herself. “I would love to seem them one day! Now, Mr. Ambassador, the next thing I want to show you is something we are very proud of. It is the culmination of human knowledge and technology, the climax of our spirit, culture and evolution. The most modern and powerful quantum computer in this quadrant of the galaxy!” “Oh, I’ve already heard rumors! I can’t wait to see it myself!” The diplomats and their entourage got into a small space shuttle and flew to their destination, an artificial space station in the orbit, completely dedicated to hosting the super computer. “There we are – I welcome you aboard the Colossal Orbital Computer, C-O-C. Behind me you can see the output of all the fantastilion processors working!”, Beth almost shouted. Silence. The Glorkian watched the screen. In fact, he couldn’t take his eyes of it. It was a combination of shock, confusion, disgust and helplessness that caused him to just stand their and watch the screen. Finally, he regained his composure. “Mrs. Fernandez, may I ask some questions?” “Of course, Mr. Ambassador! As much as you like!” “I am seeing humans on the screen, correct?” “Correct.” “And, based on a quick comparison with what I have seen until now, they are naked, correct?” “Correct.” “And they’re doing various things with their reproduction organs, correct?” “Correct.” “So, just that I get it right. I’ve been watching a collage of – what, thousands, millions?” “13 billions approximately” “13 billions humans, all kinds of colors and genders, playing around with their reproducing organs? Touching them, rubbing them, sticking them into each other, sticking them in other objects, sticking other objects inside them and doing things which I can’t even find the words for?” “Correct. The C-O-C’s purpose is to collect, archive, distribute and artificially generate every material related to human sexual activity.” “So you’ve built this multi-million dollar piece of hardware to… watch porn?” “Why yes, this is clearly the intended use for this multi-million dollar piece of hardware.”	TIME: 12:33 A.M. 07 July 2007 “Oh we are definitely getting fired for this.” “I would rather be transferred in the morning than fired tonight.” The two pilots went silent as they exchanged glances before returning their gaze back to the sheeted-ship. They were alone with it. Adam’s beaming eyes were a reflection of his wide-toothed grin. Seeing this, Zeke let out a sigh and started walking toward the hangar. “I can’t change your mind on this, can I?” “Nope,” Adam replied, walking over and planting a hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “C’mon it’ll be a surprise!” “If we only get fired and not worse. That will be a surprise.” “Just gonna have to trust me. I trust you can figure out how to start the thing?” Zeke shot him a death stare and Adam nervously took a step back. “Duh, it’s my job,” he said dryly. He shook his head and a light chuckle escaped him in his walk toward the console behind them. Attempting to hide his excitement, Adam briskly walked toward the back of the ship to remove the dark sheet that covered its exterior. Now up close he admired its height and size in comparison to the two pilots. He turned to face Zeke who was now locked in front of the console monitor as he entered information. “So does this thing take Diesel or?” “Just pull the sheet off,” Zeke replied annoyedly. “We’re almost ready to go, ‘Cadet’.” “Aha, ‘Cadet.’ Very funny.” At the last remark Adam yanked the sheet off and they both beheld the ship. It was triangular, a shade of gray almost black, lined with panels on its undercarriage. Adam continued to study the craft and stuck his hand out to touch the closet piece of metal. It was cold, hardened unlike any other aircraft or vehicle he had encountered. He tapped one of its nearby legs like a cowboy reunited with his stead. “So this is it, huh?” “Yes, this is it,” Zeke replied before turning again to face the monitor. With a few more keystrokes, the ship hummed to life. Becoming like a child witnessing fireworks for the first time, Adam’s jaw dropped. Zeke was quickly at his side and tapped him on the shoulder before nodding up at the drawbridge descending from the middle. “C’mon, we gotta hurry up.” The two rushed inside. The bridge descended behind them as they found their seats. Inside the ship it was dimly lit by a few onboard lights and accompanying monitors. There were four seats, and Adam took the front one to the right. Naturally, he began turning dials, pushing some levers up and pulling others down. Behind him, Zeke was moving from station to station turning on the different computers at each one. He quickly scanned the interior of the ship, nodding at the different stations he observed, noticing his brother’s stupidly jetted thumb in the air. “Ready?” Adam asked, smiling with his other hand rested atop a lever. “I hate you.” Zeke groaned, taking a seat next to Adam and pressing a button that lifted the hangar doors. He shook his head and stuck his thumb up in the air before bumping fists with Adam who then launched them through the open hangar. “So, where to first buddy?” “How about we visit Roswell again?”
[WP] "Death gets everyone eventually", they say. You disagree. You are death's teenage daughter, and he just doesn't get you.	*\Knock knock\*** "Come in!" Elizabeth put down the grimoire she'd been reading. Her mother insisted that any young lady should know at least the basics of spellcraft. It was a somewhat archaic concept; women nowadays were free to pursue other schools of magic, but her mother was over 300 years old so she couldn't blame her for her rather outdated ideals. Not to mention that Elizabeth did have a natural talent for it. As she put the book down, the doors creaked open and a two-meter tall hooded figure walked through them, a skull peering from beneath its hood. Two blue flames danced in its empty eye sockets, its visage fixed into a permanent grin. It spoke; or rather, it was heard, its voice cold and heavy, though never harsh. HELLO ELIZABETH. "Hey dad," she responded, almost bored. I RECALL DURING OUR LAST CONVERSATION THAT YOU SAID YOU FELT LONELY IN THE HOUSE, Death continued. Elizabeth perked up; would he finally allow her to visit the mortal realm? SO, I GOT YOU THIS. He pressed his fingers together, making an oddly clacking sound, and a small puppy walked from behind the door and happily ran towards Elizabeth with the exuberance so characteristic of puppies. She couldn't tell what breed it was; rather hard to identify it when only a bare skeleton was present. Death smiled - well, he didn't, really\,\ as he had no face to smile with, but Elizabeth knew he did. "Dad, this is..." she said, flustered. "This is not what I meant!" She was flustered; it was nice of him, but it showed even more just how much he had no idea what she felt like. Death's phantom smile vanished from his skull. BUT YOU SAID- "I know dad, but I meant... out there!" she said and pointed towards the void; the pathway to the world of the living. ELIZABETH, Death started slowly, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. WHEN YOU ARE OLDE- "You keep saying that, but I'm 19 now! And it's not like I can die! I'm not a child anymore!" she cried out. YOU ARE MY CHILD, Death replied as the flames in his skull dimmed slightly. Silence gripped the room for just a moment, interrupted only by the clacking of the dog's skeletal paws on the ground as it sniffed around the room. Seeing Elizabeth looking at it, it rolled over, though its head did not and instead rotated 360 degrees. It was pretty cute, she thought. "Dad..." Elizabeth started slowly, her fight having left her, "it's just that... I want to meet someone who still has a heartbeat sometimes, you know?" NO, Death said, I AM AFRAID I DO NOT KNOW. BUT I HOPE THAT ONE DAY I MIGHT. Elizabeth looked down with regret; she didn't mean to hurt her father. He turned to leave. "Dad?" He stopped halfway through the door and turned. YES? "I was thinking I'd name him... her... it Binky. Do you like it?" she asked cautiously. I THINK THAT IS AN EXCELLENT NAME. Binky yapped excitedly. "I'm going to walk it, show it the house. Would you... like to come with? Make sure we don't get into any trouble." Death smiled. In his own way, at least. I'D LIKE THAT, YES.	When I was young, dad use to take me with him to work all the time. He was always working, mom use to say that his work was endless and she felt bad for always giving him so much to do. She said as long as life continues to grow, death would follow shortly behind. Every time she’d made something new, something of old would fade away into oblivion. Dad didn’t seem to mind though, he loved seeing the face of my mother light up when she made some new creation. He use to say “even the brightest of stars go dark eventually. It doesn’t mean there beauty is any less amazing.” Dad was always saying cringe things, I think it was his way of coping with all the whiney mortals who couldn’t accept their fate. Dad was always so gentle, patient with them. It was annoying how delicate he would treat them, how he would listen to their complaints and speeches over how they “were to young” or “they didn’t deserve this” he’d just stand there, listening and ushering them. I always hated listening to them, humans were the worst of all though. The animals understood that they lived in a circle of motion that never stopped. Nature was unending, it continued without delay. The death of one being meant the life of another. The animals understood this, they willing accepted their fate and embraced my father anytime he came for them. Humans though, they never accepted their role in the natural order. As if their existence was, in fact, the center of the universe. They griped and cried, moaned and groaned, always pleading and begging my father for more time. It never worked, they failed to see the reality of the situation. That my dad had a job, and it wasn’t to be their judge and executioner, but their chauffeur. Even if my dad wanted to help them, he’d never break his biggest rule. Every time we’d go out, he’d say the same thing to me “never interfere and leave no trace”. It was annoying how much he emphasized this. As if I’d want to help such a creature that wreaked of selfish intent and arrogance so vast that, if it had mass, would fill up the cosmos to its brink. Humans even went as far as to try and do dads job on more then one occasion. Killing each other for reasons outside the natural order. Sure, death was apart of life, but death had to have meaning. A wolf killing a deer meant the wolf could reproduce, feed its pack and bare more cubs into the world. Death had a purpose, it propelled life into existence. Without death, life would smother itself. These killings though had meaning, purpose. Not humans though, they killed for no purpose beyond themselves. Greed, jealousy, and lust were just a few the sick reasons humans killed each other. They sent so many of each other to oblivion simply out of convenience. As if life had no meaning, as if it wasn’t the most treasured thing that death protected. It sickened me, and looking back, it was the rift that lead me to make the ultimate mistake. I loved going with my dad, at least when I was little. As i grew older, bolder, I started to realize how out of touch my parents were. They allowed humans to grow, refusing to see the fault in their creation. They just kept killing and killing, not just their own kind but other beings as well. Wiping out entire species in the blink of an eye. They were obsessed with creating their own destruction, for what? I pleaded with my father to stop, begged my mother to give him another purpose. I could see him withering, I could see how much weight was upon his shoulders. The millenniums had changed him, he was frail. At one point my father was beautiful, long flowing hair, oil colored skin, and the eyes so bright that the rivaled the stars. Now though, he was frail, bone thin and hollowed eyes. He looked like the skeletons he ushered to the other side, he even began wearing a robe in order to not frighten the souls of the animals that had passed. He walked with a cane and barely spoke a word now. I’m short, the humans were killing death. Forcing him to do their bidding, even blaming him for their woes. Humans feared death, when they should have feared each other. My father didn’t understand me, didn’t understand that I didn’t want to share his fate. So I did something, something I would come to regret. As I walked the battle fields of France, the world at war for the first time, i was overcome with the screeches of lost souls, the stench of my father everywhere I turned. I was overcome, when I turned my gaze and saw a young British soldier. He had my fathers stench all over his body, he was gazing down the barrel of his rifle, aimed at another. A young German soldier, running for his life, exhausted and at the doorstep of my parents home. The British soldier took aim, his finger twitching on the trigger, and before I could think I yelled out to him. “Enough!” I said as I yelled, the soldier stopped. His rifle still pointed but his attention now elsewhere. He looked at his supposed nemesis, they locked eyes, and the British soldier nodded his head in a sideways motion. Despite that no words were spoken, the message was clear. The German soldier’s life would be spared that day. A small smile came over me, I small glimpse of hope for these humans. Finally, an act of kindness and mercy. The senseless killing had be avoided, I had finally made a difference and broken the cycle. Later, my father would scream at me. It was the first time I saw him mad, the first time he scolded me in all of our time together. I had broken his one rule and now he was going to punish me. He barred me from coming with him again, he told me he now had to work twice as hard and would deal with me when he returned. I didn’t understand at the time, but for the next few decades, I saw my father less and less. My mother said he had no time to come home because of work. Even my mother was to busy helping create new life. The last time I saw my father, he was leaving and my mother asked him where he was going. He simply responded with one word “Auschwitz“.
[WP] "Let me guess, Earthling, you're here to plead for your species?" - "No. I am here to convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us."	"Let me guess, Earthling, you're here to plead for your species?" The arrogance of the tall, tree-like creature was astounding. It spoke with the finality of a being that had lived longer than thirty human generations. He was the ambassador of the Ashioak, one of the Three Galactic Founders. He was a being of great political power, and with a physical stature far more dangerous than any single human could muster. "No, Fallinbraach. I am here to convince you. Convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us. As quickly as you can." The calm, measured tone of the greying but stoic human replied, his casual yet measured look immediately would inform you of his military background, now in his past. It was strange to see the seemingly carved features distort from the consistent placid facade to one of confusion. "I do not understand, are you not the representative of your species? Why do you wish for death?" Fallinbraach couldn't grasp the meaning of the man's words, and so the human military ambassador's expression became a bit frustrated but all the while, he also seemed to pity Fallinbraach. "The Ashioak burned our outpost, and seeded it for their own uses. You slaughtered millions, without even a declaration of war." "One does not declare war on vermin, ambassador. That world was claimed before your species had electricity." Fallinbraach remarked, and that was enough to make the old war dog smile. "I do appreciate you making this easier on me." "What do you mean? The Threen will not assist you, and the Catatali-" "You misunderstand, Fallinbraach. Humanity will not seek allies. We are our own ally." The ancient creature scoffed, but the man continued. "You all call us humans or earthlings. I am an American, and before you Ashioak decided to breach your own galactic law, and wage war against us, there were over two hundred distinct human nations, interests, and groups in the galaxy." There was a sudden screeching as if a thousand birds began to screech all at once. The dirt-like floor of the Ashioak vessel shook, and the final facade of Fallinbraach faded into one of horror and fear. One the thin membrane that served as a viewing screen a massive vessel had appeared. It was not a warship, but a simple Mass Driver, a ship that hauled the massive celestial bodies for mining purposes. Trailing behind it was a hulk of metal and stone larger than the entire Juggernaut that they stood upon. "As of Fourteen earth hours ago...they were reduced to One. All Hail the United Earth Federation." With that the man turned to the screen and saluted it. Standing firm, as the Ashioak all attempted to pull their ship from the path of the accelerating asteroid that was on course to collide with them. Throughout the Galaxy, similar strikes were being done, the massive Juggernauts of the Ashioak had always been impervious to lesser weapons, but to have several miles of Asteroid collide into you at .25 C? Well, it made one hell of a firework.	"And why would that be? You are inferior to us, therefore not a threat. Your species has only discovered us because we wanted to be discovered. Why waste our time?" "Please, I beg of you: we were not meant to be, to exist. We are horrible creatures only capable of destroying everything in our path. We are hell-bound and you must, for the sake of the Earth, please destroy us. Let Her breathe and see.. let Her not be suffocated any longer. We are no more than a disease created for fun. We have met the ones we worship: we were a game. A joke taken too far." He pleaded, on his knees as he asked so desperately. This could be his hatred of humanity talking, and while he is terrified of death, he realizes what he is. How he has contributed to the destruction of the home he was never raised to love. He is just as much to blame and he-no. His entire species must know what they've done. Know they are as insignificant as conscious beings come. For they all lost their consciousness long ago..
[WP] "Let me guess, Earthling, you're here to plead for your species?" - "No. I am here to convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us."	"And please do it quickly." Eliza sat staring into the camera on the cockpit instrument panel. The beings on the other side of the comms channel remained silent, but one could gather that there was a general sense of confusion on the other end. A series of screeches and clicks could be heard on the channel before a classically English voice returned, "Please elaborate". Eliza sighed. "We're all infested." She said. She sent over a couple of technical design documents over the comms channel. "They're nanobots. Self-replicating, basically viruses that don't use the host to reproduce." Eliza started to cough, reflexively pulling her elbow up to her mouth. It wasn't a long or violent cough, but she noted specs of blood on her flight suit when she lowered her arm. "But like viruses, they mutated. We had thought we built enough protections in-place to mitigate any potential issues, but we were obviously mistaken." The pain was starting up again, like a searing hot iron against her skin slowly warming up to temperature. She was nearly at the limit for opiates, but that was hardly a concern for her at this point. "They were designed to keep us alive. Fight off infections, repair damaged tissue, prevent pain and suffering. They're running rampant in us though, and while they are doing their best to keep us alive, we're in agony. They alternate between cannibalizing our cells and repairing them. They no longer manage pain, instead firing out nerve endings constantly. But worst of all, they no longer see our bodies as natural boundaries." Eliza removed her flight helmet to reveal that her headset was fused to her head. The plastic and metal almost melted into her ears and hair. "We've begun to fuse into our surroundings. Billions of us, immobilized to beds, chairs, and cockpits. Some to each other. In constant agony. Unable to even kill ourselves." Eliza winced as the gloves to her flight suit were given nerve endings. "I don't know if they will affect your biology or not, but I'm telling you right now you don't want to take that risk. Please have mercy on us, and end us. All of us". Eliza didn't wait for a response. She typed quickly while she was still able to. Each key sent waves of fire through her arms. When the alarms began to sound accompanied by the alternating red and amber lights she breathed a sigh of relief.	"And why would that be? You are inferior to us, therefore not a threat. Your species has only discovered us because we wanted to be discovered. Why waste our time?" "Please, I beg of you: we were not meant to be, to exist. We are horrible creatures only capable of destroying everything in our path. We are hell-bound and you must, for the sake of the Earth, please destroy us. Let Her breathe and see.. let Her not be suffocated any longer. We are no more than a disease created for fun. We have met the ones we worship: we were a game. A joke taken too far." He pleaded, on his knees as he asked so desperately. This could be his hatred of humanity talking, and while he is terrified of death, he realizes what he is. How he has contributed to the destruction of the home he was never raised to love. He is just as much to blame and he-no. His entire species must know what they've done. Know they are as insignificant as conscious beings come. For they all lost their consciousness long ago..
[WP] "Let me guess, Earthling, you're here to plead for your species?" - "No. I am here to convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us."	"Let me guess, Earthling, you're here to plead for your species?" The arrogance of the tall, tree-like creature was astounding. It spoke with the finality of a being that had lived longer than thirty human generations. He was the ambassador of the Ashioak, one of the Three Galactic Founders. He was a being of great political power, and with a physical stature far more dangerous than any single human could muster. "No, Fallinbraach. I am here to convince you. Convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us. As quickly as you can." The calm, measured tone of the greying but stoic human replied, his casual yet measured look immediately would inform you of his military background, now in his past. It was strange to see the seemingly carved features distort from the consistent placid facade to one of confusion. "I do not understand, are you not the representative of your species? Why do you wish for death?" Fallinbraach couldn't grasp the meaning of the man's words, and so the human military ambassador's expression became a bit frustrated but all the while, he also seemed to pity Fallinbraach. "The Ashioak burned our outpost, and seeded it for their own uses. You slaughtered millions, without even a declaration of war." "One does not declare war on vermin, ambassador. That world was claimed before your species had electricity." Fallinbraach remarked, and that was enough to make the old war dog smile. "I do appreciate you making this easier on me." "What do you mean? The Threen will not assist you, and the Catatali-" "You misunderstand, Fallinbraach. Humanity will not seek allies. We are our own ally." The ancient creature scoffed, but the man continued. "You all call us humans or earthlings. I am an American, and before you Ashioak decided to breach your own galactic law, and wage war against us, there were over two hundred distinct human nations, interests, and groups in the galaxy." There was a sudden screeching as if a thousand birds began to screech all at once. The dirt-like floor of the Ashioak vessel shook, and the final facade of Fallinbraach faded into one of horror and fear. One the thin membrane that served as a viewing screen a massive vessel had appeared. It was not a warship, but a simple Mass Driver, a ship that hauled the massive celestial bodies for mining purposes. Trailing behind it was a hulk of metal and stone larger than the entire Juggernaut that they stood upon. "As of Fourteen earth hours ago...they were reduced to One. All Hail the United Earth Federation." With that the man turned to the screen and saluted it. Standing firm, as the Ashioak all attempted to pull their ship from the path of the accelerating asteroid that was on course to collide with them. Throughout the Galaxy, similar strikes were being done, the massive Juggernauts of the Ashioak had always been impervious to lesser weapons, but to have several miles of Asteroid collide into you at .25 C? Well, it made one hell of a firework.	We call them the Cons, short for "the Conscious," as they called themselves, although I enjoy the double entendre alluding to them being frauds--almost as well as it suits them as Khans, and Conquerors. They began cropping up about a year ago. Not from the skies, or out of hiding, or whatever. They were individuals who had spent forty years in the same home town, working in small stores and warehouses, living on the edges of poverty. They were electricians and the unemployed. They were children in unremarkable hometowns in unremarkable schools. They were us. That is, until they walked out into the streets and began speaking. They were omniscient, and uncaring. They spoke in every language to every population. They shared secrets no one had shared, and they did so to whomever was passing on the street that day. They stood outside in the rain and the snow and the sun and they just spoke. It was nothing remarkable, and it was everything. They were wholly committed to their communication, their own well-being be damned. The news caught wind, and as more of them appeared, as more of them inexplicably died of exposure to the elements, as all of them said things that moved hearts and changed people, their messages were broadcast to the world. They were seen as messiahs, and as devils. Their families and friends couldn't understand what had happened to them. It was as though the person they knew was gone, replaced by some absurd, hollow speaker that knew exactly what to say and how to say it to convince you. Because that's what they did: they convinced. Not of a morality or purpose or singular concept. They convinced you of everything that you were on the cusp of believing or discrediting. They knew your heart, and would beat you senseless with it until you either killed them or ran away to escape. It is madness, and the world is falling apart. Every day I see more of them. I was warned early on and didn't listen to any of them on the news. I've never heard what it is they're saying exactly, so maybe I'm entirely wrong in this, piecing together incorrect scraps of information from those who ran from them screaming. But every day I look outside and see a new entourage of zealots crowding. A new cry going up that a new Conscious has awoken. I don't know if anyone else is left. I'm rambling. I'm sorry. This isn't compelling. I have no idea what I'm writing for. I just felt like I was supposed to write at least something before I die, because I'm going out to hear one of them now. My family all left with one months ago. I'm hungry and tired and there isn't another option now. I'm just so damn curious. I'm so enraptured by the things I hear being shouted second-hand. I feel so conflicted over it, because they don't sound like people anymore. They sound like aliens. They sound otherworldly. And the last thing someone shouted keeps replaying in my head: "Please, don't let us stay. Please, don't let us fight it. Please, please just stop us! Stop us! Stop us! Every single one of us!"
[WP] "Let me guess, Earthling, you're here to plead for your species?" - "No. I am here to convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us."	"And please do it quickly." Eliza sat staring into the camera on the cockpit instrument panel. The beings on the other side of the comms channel remained silent, but one could gather that there was a general sense of confusion on the other end. A series of screeches and clicks could be heard on the channel before a classically English voice returned, "Please elaborate". Eliza sighed. "We're all infested." She said. She sent over a couple of technical design documents over the comms channel. "They're nanobots. Self-replicating, basically viruses that don't use the host to reproduce." Eliza started to cough, reflexively pulling her elbow up to her mouth. It wasn't a long or violent cough, but she noted specs of blood on her flight suit when she lowered her arm. "But like viruses, they mutated. We had thought we built enough protections in-place to mitigate any potential issues, but we were obviously mistaken." The pain was starting up again, like a searing hot iron against her skin slowly warming up to temperature. She was nearly at the limit for opiates, but that was hardly a concern for her at this point. "They were designed to keep us alive. Fight off infections, repair damaged tissue, prevent pain and suffering. They're running rampant in us though, and while they are doing their best to keep us alive, we're in agony. They alternate between cannibalizing our cells and repairing them. They no longer manage pain, instead firing out nerve endings constantly. But worst of all, they no longer see our bodies as natural boundaries." Eliza removed her flight helmet to reveal that her headset was fused to her head. The plastic and metal almost melted into her ears and hair. "We've begun to fuse into our surroundings. Billions of us, immobilized to beds, chairs, and cockpits. Some to each other. In constant agony. Unable to even kill ourselves." Eliza winced as the gloves to her flight suit were given nerve endings. "I don't know if they will affect your biology or not, but I'm telling you right now you don't want to take that risk. Please have mercy on us, and end us. All of us". Eliza didn't wait for a response. She typed quickly while she was still able to. Each key sent waves of fire through her arms. When the alarms began to sound accompanied by the alternating red and amber lights she breathed a sigh of relief.	We call them the Cons, short for "the Conscious," as they called themselves, although I enjoy the double entendre alluding to them being frauds--almost as well as it suits them as Khans, and Conquerors. They began cropping up about a year ago. Not from the skies, or out of hiding, or whatever. They were individuals who had spent forty years in the same home town, working in small stores and warehouses, living on the edges of poverty. They were electricians and the unemployed. They were children in unremarkable hometowns in unremarkable schools. They were us. That is, until they walked out into the streets and began speaking. They were omniscient, and uncaring. They spoke in every language to every population. They shared secrets no one had shared, and they did so to whomever was passing on the street that day. They stood outside in the rain and the snow and the sun and they just spoke. It was nothing remarkable, and it was everything. They were wholly committed to their communication, their own well-being be damned. The news caught wind, and as more of them appeared, as more of them inexplicably died of exposure to the elements, as all of them said things that moved hearts and changed people, their messages were broadcast to the world. They were seen as messiahs, and as devils. Their families and friends couldn't understand what had happened to them. It was as though the person they knew was gone, replaced by some absurd, hollow speaker that knew exactly what to say and how to say it to convince you. Because that's what they did: they convinced. Not of a morality or purpose or singular concept. They convinced you of everything that you were on the cusp of believing or discrediting. They knew your heart, and would beat you senseless with it until you either killed them or ran away to escape. It is madness, and the world is falling apart. Every day I see more of them. I was warned early on and didn't listen to any of them on the news. I've never heard what it is they're saying exactly, so maybe I'm entirely wrong in this, piecing together incorrect scraps of information from those who ran from them screaming. But every day I look outside and see a new entourage of zealots crowding. A new cry going up that a new Conscious has awoken. I don't know if anyone else is left. I'm rambling. I'm sorry. This isn't compelling. I have no idea what I'm writing for. I just felt like I was supposed to write at least something before I die, because I'm going out to hear one of them now. My family all left with one months ago. I'm hungry and tired and there isn't another option now. I'm just so damn curious. I'm so enraptured by the things I hear being shouted second-hand. I feel so conflicted over it, because they don't sound like people anymore. They sound like aliens. They sound otherworldly. And the last thing someone shouted keeps replaying in my head: "Please, don't let us stay. Please, don't let us fight it. Please, please just stop us! Stop us! Stop us! Every single one of us!"
[WP] "Let me guess, Earthling, you're here to plead for your species?" - "No. I am here to convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us."	Gary, a lowly clerk in Earth's first extraterrestrial delegation, had a secret additional mission from Earth's largest environmentalist network. To fulfill it, he had to speak with the aliens alone. It had to be an Arcturan; they were the galaxy's translators, and the three Arcturans all spoke English fluently after only two weeks. After his duties were finished, he sought out Bnbem. Bnbem focused its eyestalks on him. "Greetings, new friend." "That's just it," said Gary. "We aren't as friendly as we seem. Humanity has does terrible things to others." He took a deep breath and handed over his carefully prepared personal report detailing humanity's crimes against the environment and its other inhabitants. Bnbem's eyestalks wiggled over it for almost a minute. When it finished, it refocused on Gary. "Let me guess, Earthling. You're here to plead for your species?" Gary couldn't read the alien's expression, but he knew what he had to do. "No. I am here to convince you to eliminate us. Every single one of us." Bnbem made a sound Gary didn't recognize. Then it said, "Why?" Gary blinked. "Didn't you read the report? We're horrible. We're a selfish, hateful, destructive species. We destroy everything we touch. We've wrecked our own home, and we'll wreck yours too if you allow it." Bnbem was silent for a moment, then began to make an ululating sound. After a moment, Gary placed it as Arcturan laughter. Confused, he waited. Bnbem said, "Gary, my new friend, every species does this as it develops. If you choose to join our federation, part of your initiation will be a rite of forgiveness. Children err, and their elders forgive them." Gary and Bnbem talked a while longer, as Bnbem ruefully explained some things the Arcturans had done in previous eras. When Bnbem finished, he said, "So, you see, humans aren't uniquely evil. You did surprise me, though. This is my fourth initial contact, and the others all begged forgiveness. You're the first who sought punishment. Now I wonder if humans might be unusually virtuous." For years, few humans had even considered thinking well of humanity. Startled, Gary considered the idea that humans might be good. It made his chest feel warm. After sending Gary on his way, Bnbem connected his videocom to that of the mission commander. In smooth, fluent Sirian, Bnbem said, "Leader, one of the humans confessed their sins. They are no worse than average. There was one interesting point, though." Bnbem ululated again. "They may be a bit grandiose."	We call them the Cons, short for "the Conscious," as they called themselves, although I enjoy the double entendre alluding to them being frauds--almost as well as it suits them as Khans, and Conquerors. They began cropping up about a year ago. Not from the skies, or out of hiding, or whatever. They were individuals who had spent forty years in the same home town, working in small stores and warehouses, living on the edges of poverty. They were electricians and the unemployed. They were children in unremarkable hometowns in unremarkable schools. They were us. That is, until they walked out into the streets and began speaking. They were omniscient, and uncaring. They spoke in every language to every population. They shared secrets no one had shared, and they did so to whomever was passing on the street that day. They stood outside in the rain and the snow and the sun and they just spoke. It was nothing remarkable, and it was everything. They were wholly committed to their communication, their own well-being be damned. The news caught wind, and as more of them appeared, as more of them inexplicably died of exposure to the elements, as all of them said things that moved hearts and changed people, their messages were broadcast to the world. They were seen as messiahs, and as devils. Their families and friends couldn't understand what had happened to them. It was as though the person they knew was gone, replaced by some absurd, hollow speaker that knew exactly what to say and how to say it to convince you. Because that's what they did: they convinced. Not of a morality or purpose or singular concept. They convinced you of everything that you were on the cusp of believing or discrediting. They knew your heart, and would beat you senseless with it until you either killed them or ran away to escape. It is madness, and the world is falling apart. Every day I see more of them. I was warned early on and didn't listen to any of them on the news. I've never heard what it is they're saying exactly, so maybe I'm entirely wrong in this, piecing together incorrect scraps of information from those who ran from them screaming. But every day I look outside and see a new entourage of zealots crowding. A new cry going up that a new Conscious has awoken. I don't know if anyone else is left. I'm rambling. I'm sorry. This isn't compelling. I have no idea what I'm writing for. I just felt like I was supposed to write at least something before I die, because I'm going out to hear one of them now. My family all left with one months ago. I'm hungry and tired and there isn't another option now. I'm just so damn curious. I'm so enraptured by the things I hear being shouted second-hand. I feel so conflicted over it, because they don't sound like people anymore. They sound like aliens. They sound otherworldly. And the last thing someone shouted keeps replaying in my head: "Please, don't let us stay. Please, don't let us fight it. Please, please just stop us! Stop us! Stop us! Every single one of us!"
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..."	One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: “in 24 hours, a billionaire will die.” This is how it all started. It’s like the day of the moon landing or the day JFK was killed. Everyone remembers where they were and what they doing at the time of the first message. I was out playing golf. I was at the tenth hole as I looked up and saw it. The first message to change the world rapidly. But like with all major threats people are slow to react and take it seriously. As was I. To be honest most just thought it was a prank played on a global level. Little did they know what was to come. The next day a billionaire did die. Not the richest man on earth or even in the top ten of world richest people. No. Just a random old man living in a mansion somewhere. Lets call him Joe. Joe as it turns out was one greedy bastard. Too self absorbed to even support his family and children. He was such a scrooge and a moser he paid his entire staff minimum wage. When he died not one person attended hos funeral. His estate was left to a prestigious school with dubious standards for applications. The next day another message appeared. “Two billionaires are going to die in 24 hours” and lo and behold a billionaire couple’s plane crashed. As the news of their demise started to come out. So did the stories of their sordid lives. The torture (thats what the news called it ) of their employees. Having to work unpaid overtime regularly. No heating in their warehouses. The most common Sentiment was good riddens. 5 days after the first message” 3 Billionaires will due within 36 hours” Thats when all hell broke loose. Billionaires and millionaires and trillionaires everywhere started to panic. Do you know what that is like ? When the most powerful people in the world panic? People that control governments and monetary systems. People that devise the fate of the world. Well some started to pay off debts as a redemption arc, and Ofcourse to lower their monetary value and increase their social value. Not just student loans, medical debts, lunch debts or mortgages. But actual national deficits. We are talking billionaires here. Within days the world economy started to flourish. As countries lowered their taxes. (The corrupt politicians too weary of the consequences of wealth and greed, did not want to keep the money) Wealthy people started projects to earn their grace. The slumlords started tearing down slumbs and building proper housing with all the amenities. Every conceivable project was started up. From free quality schooling to increased wages and decreased work hours. The global news economy stabilized as “developing” nations were granted to much actual help they started to thrive. And all it took was the death of a few dozen billionaires. It might need a regular touch up though. I looked at my team with pride and congratulated them for a job well done.	Part 1 &#x200B; "DAAAAAAADDD!!!" If anything could get Lazarus from snoozing comfortably in his chair to something just mercifully shy of ending the world in a femtosecond, it was the panicked tone of his daughter. Just as her call ended, he had nearly charged into her in his haste to get to the front door. "Alice?!" Alice walked back out into the front garden and pointed up. Lazarus followed suit, casting his gaze to the pink-and-blue evening skies. In 24 hours, a billionaire will die. He blinked. Then he pinched his nose, closed his mouth and tried to breathe in, the failure telling him that, yes, he was still awake. There was indeed a set of words with the proclamation 'In 24 hours, a billionaire will die' in bold, yellow letters. It hung underneath the pink cotton of a floating cloud, suggesting that it was closer than he thought. His phone buzzed. With a glance at Alice, her worried face contorted with confused fear, he answered it. "Laz?!" Holly Graves. "Graveyard, tell me you've seen it." "Y'mean the floating thing saying some shmuck's gonna die?" "Elaborate." "'In 24 hours, a billionaire will die.'" "Well, we're on the same page." He said. "Where are you?" "At the Bottle with Ash." Holly said. "The fat fuck just came in ravin' bout something, so I had a looksee. Saw that in the sky, so I called Gall- Gallows? Grimm! Little Grimm, see if he can get more info on this... thing." "Way ahead of me, then." Lazarus said. "Alice just called me now. Poor thing's white as a sheet." "She's scared? I'm terrified! I mean, what the hell is THIS?" Had it been almost anyone else, he might have disparaged them. However, he knew Holly long enough to know that she was making a very good point, not least because the pair shared many of the same experiences together. Between swimming through enough blood to fill lakes (not quite metaphorically), the mountains of corpses they had made and collected, and various other scenarios and adventures of varying mundanity and eldritch natures, some of which making for an untimely end for one, or both... this was, by far, the most unprecedented thing they had seen. "I don't suppose Heaven is involved?" "Nah," Holly said. "They'd just nuke the planet." That was inarguable. "Maybe the Reapers?" "I don't consort with the Shinigami, so I couldn't say." He paused. "Though this would be a terrible way of doing it. Normally we'd just go in and eliminate the one that needs to die, and, unfortunate as it is, excessive greed is no reason for us to intervene." "... Yeah, he doesn't think it's Reapers... That's a thought... Ash just suggested it could be a Nightmare?" "Grimm will find that out easily enough." Lazarus said. "In any case, I can't see much we can do without more information." "So what now?" "I'll head back to the Office, see who I can rally. In the meantime, can Nurse Wight contact... ah, Mater, was it? From Kether. Grimm's little slice of Hell." "Will do. Say hi to Alice for me!" "Holly says 'hi.'" "Hi, Holly." "Alice says 'hi.'"
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..."	"In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." It sounds like something out of fiction, or an elaborate hoax. Letters pained on the sky by planes, somehow? But that wouldn't explain why everyone across the world reported seeing the same message, nor why different people reported seeing the message in different languages. Nor did it explain why, later that day, the prophecy came true. \----- "In 24 hours, two billionaires will die". There are a bit under 3,000 billionaires in the world. We all die eventually, whether pauper or king, of old age if nothing else. Lets assume an annual mortality rate of 2%; that would mean around 60 billionaires die each year. That averages one billionaire every six days. A single billionaire dying on a randomly chosen day is something of a coincidence, then, but not much of one. It is like rolling a six on a standard die; not particularly surprising. When two billionaires die the immediate next day? That is like rolling three sixes in a row. \--- "In 24 hours, three billionaires will die." Doing induction based on three data points is something of a fool's errand. We have no prior experience with sort of phenomenon; no basis by which to judge what will happen next. Maybe tomorrow the messages will stop. Maybe they will announce that four millionaires will die. Or maybe they will announce a death toll of five, for nature is no stranger to the Fibonacci sequence, even if whatever is going on can hardly be described as nature. We shall see. \--- "In 24 hours, four billionaires will die." So far, nobody I recognize has died. That should not be surprising; of the World's 3000 billionaires, how many can I name? Half a dozen? A dozen? No surprise that none of them are among the ten who have died up until today. \--- "In 24 hours, five billionaires will die." It won't stay that way forever. The death toll from a linear series compounds quadratically. This means if this continues, all billionaires will be gone in about two-and-a-half months. \--- "In 24 hours, six billionaires will die." Breaking news - Elon Musk donates most of his fortune to charity. "I'm too pretty to die", he quips in a tweet. I'm not particularly interested in commenting on Elon's appearance, but I do applaud his decisiveness. If I was in his shoes, I'd be tempted to wait and learn more. It is natural to hesitate in the face of uncertainty, especially when the price of it is low - a mere 0.5% lethality rate. Of course, that is 0.5% per day, and rising at that. Maybe Elon is just good at valuing his life appropriately. \--- "In 24 hours, seven billionaires will die." It has been a week. Nobody disputes the deaths at this point. There is a lot of news coming out about billionaires moving around their wealth - some gifting it to charity, others passing it along to family and friends, still others hiding it in trusts. There is no indicator yet about what actually works; the only way we could tell is if someone tries a way to hide their wealth and dies anyways. Even that might not be a guaranteed indicator. What if they died a natural death? Hah, "natural". All the deaths so far have been natural. It is all accidents and medical emergencies and what-have-you. It is not like people are getting struck by lightning! That makes me wonder. Are the people who would have died without the messages dying separately, so to speak? Is the sky announcing additional deaths? Or total deaths?	Part 1 &#x200B; "DAAAAAAADDD!!!" If anything could get Lazarus from snoozing comfortably in his chair to something just mercifully shy of ending the world in a femtosecond, it was the panicked tone of his daughter. Just as her call ended, he had nearly charged into her in his haste to get to the front door. "Alice?!" Alice walked back out into the front garden and pointed up. Lazarus followed suit, casting his gaze to the pink-and-blue evening skies. In 24 hours, a billionaire will die. He blinked. Then he pinched his nose, closed his mouth and tried to breathe in, the failure telling him that, yes, he was still awake. There was indeed a set of words with the proclamation 'In 24 hours, a billionaire will die' in bold, yellow letters. It hung underneath the pink cotton of a floating cloud, suggesting that it was closer than he thought. His phone buzzed. With a glance at Alice, her worried face contorted with confused fear, he answered it. "Laz?!" Holly Graves. "Graveyard, tell me you've seen it." "Y'mean the floating thing saying some shmuck's gonna die?" "Elaborate." "'In 24 hours, a billionaire will die.'" "Well, we're on the same page." He said. "Where are you?" "At the Bottle with Ash." Holly said. "The fat fuck just came in ravin' bout something, so I had a looksee. Saw that in the sky, so I called Gall- Gallows? Grimm! Little Grimm, see if he can get more info on this... thing." "Way ahead of me, then." Lazarus said. "Alice just called me now. Poor thing's white as a sheet." "She's scared? I'm terrified! I mean, what the hell is THIS?" Had it been almost anyone else, he might have disparaged them. However, he knew Holly long enough to know that she was making a very good point, not least because the pair shared many of the same experiences together. Between swimming through enough blood to fill lakes (not quite metaphorically), the mountains of corpses they had made and collected, and various other scenarios and adventures of varying mundanity and eldritch natures, some of which making for an untimely end for one, or both... this was, by far, the most unprecedented thing they had seen. "I don't suppose Heaven is involved?" "Nah," Holly said. "They'd just nuke the planet." That was inarguable. "Maybe the Reapers?" "I don't consort with the Shinigami, so I couldn't say." He paused. "Though this would be a terrible way of doing it. Normally we'd just go in and eliminate the one that needs to die, and, unfortunate as it is, excessive greed is no reason for us to intervene." "... Yeah, he doesn't think it's Reapers... That's a thought... Ash just suggested it could be a Nightmare?" "Grimm will find that out easily enough." Lazarus said. "In any case, I can't see much we can do without more information." "So what now?" "I'll head back to the Office, see who I can rally. In the meantime, can Nurse Wight contact... ah, Mater, was it? From Kether. Grimm's little slice of Hell." "Will do. Say hi to Alice for me!" "Holly says 'hi.'" "Hi, Holly." "Alice says 'hi.'"
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..."	One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..." Before the message completed, we heard about the richest man in Venezuela was currently hospitalized. Our team, a misfit group brought together by Interpol after the first billionaire passed away, had been organized within hours of his death. Many thought such a quick response was impulsive and almost hysterical, but when those who hold the purse strings of the world make a decision, no one could offer any meaningful resistance. I was one of those people, an environmental activist who'd been studying the effects of global warming at the intersection of human mortality rates and biological threats. By nature, I had no patience for those who blatantly and unremorsefully ruined the earth to their advantages. But ideologies don't pay the bills and this assignment came with close to 7 figures. Most of the team had been recruited by national agencies and were keen to prove themselves. The most likely culprit was human and had somehow gotten close enough to these billionaires to give them a dose of something fatal. What that was remained a mystery. Now, every billionaire had isolated themselves in a self-imposed lock-down, so we'd wait and watch to see if exposure was necessary for this chemical agent to work or if there was another method of ingestion. We worked tirelessly the first three days, switching into shifts and yet, the deaths came, one by one. Now at four, we were facing immense pressure to find a solution. For the billionaires that were still alive, they began off-loading their wealth by giving it to family members, favored charities, putting into untouchable trusts, just about anything to take them out of the once envied ranks. It was at this point that we noticed a small change in the choice of victims. Suddenly it wasn't guaranteed, but much more selective. Those who handed their money over to trusts and family members found themselves pleading on their death beds. One, now famous, pleaded that he'd give 50% of what he had left to a global health charity if he could get a couple more years of life. This was televised and his prayers were meant for any ear to find. Remarkably, after that moment of desperation, he survived. As a team, and as individuals, we slowly arrived to a new conclusion: do nothing and let the world fix itself. And whichever good Samaritan or power was behind this could only be thanked at the development of this new world order. Soon enough, the team was disbanded and with nothing to do, I went back to my environmental works with optimism and funding I'd never dreamed of. That night, I received a cryptic text on my phone: "the door is shut, but should you ever need to open it again...."	... The real tragedy of it was, there was already a deadly message in the sky. One that affected not a small group of predators but the entirety of humanity. One that only a few could read but that everyone needed to see. One that was entirely explicable and could have been, with effort, thwarted. One that should have moved everyone to even greater concerted action but, incoherently, did not. The fact that humanity took such radical action and effected so enormous a shift in their zeitgeist, economically, politically, socially, industrially, to protect the lives of so few, makes one wonder why they could not, nay, DID not do so when the very habitability of the planet for all future generations was at stake. The very real threat of global warming was battering down the walls of human civilization all across the globe at that very moment. Yet still... What would humanity have done if that message in the sky never appeared?
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..."	It began with Charles Buchanan Buckley III. Tech oligarch, arms dealer, shipping mogul, and more. The richest man on earth. Dead, inexplicably, exactly one day after a message appeared in the sky. "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Then, another message. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires will die." So many people saw it as a blessing. Justice from on high, bringing low the untouchable. Nobody understood then, the terrible truth. Billionaires rapidly began liquidating assets, some hoping there might be some loophole they could exploit, like they did with tax laws; others legitimately trying to divest themselves of enough wealth to escape the death clock. But realistically, there's only so much you can do with billions of dollars in 24 hours, especially when no one is willing to accept a billion dollars; not when there's a death sentence on billionaires. Two more fell dead. "In 24 hours, 3 billionaires will die." The financial chaos that ensued was staggering. Markets flooded with as much money as could be spent, lent, or given away. Prices went crazy, worldwide. Instability went rampant. Predictive models were useless. And so it went, day by day, until there were no more billionaires. And for a moment, everyone thought it was over. Until they saw the new message. "In 24 hours, a millionaire will die." Not everyone had caught on yet. But in the hearts of some, a cold pit of fear began to open up. The chaos didn't stop, it only crazily increased. The number of millionaires had almost exponentially increased in the madcap spending of the billionaire class to set aside their wealth. And now every one of them, without thought of anything but survival tried whatever they could to get rid of their money. But as the chaos went on, no one wanted to take any large sums of money, and everyone wanted to get rid of their own. Men and women took to burning enormous piles of cash. Dropping it out of airplanes, or into the sea. Gold was strewn into the streets like paving stones, and no one dared to touch it. We thought we understood, but none of us did. I sit here, now, in my cave. Carving into this stone, nothing but this chisel and the clothes on my back. Waiting. Waiting to see if it will come for me. It might, I don't know how far it has gone by now. When I finish this, if I finish this, I will go out and collect some of those gold paving stones. A few rubies, maybe, and maybe a fine bottle of expensive wine. I will die next then. For sure. Unless there are others like me who decided the same thing. Rich is such a relative term.	... The real tragedy of it was, there was already a deadly message in the sky. One that affected not a small group of predators but the entirety of humanity. One that only a few could read but that everyone needed to see. One that was entirely explicable and could have been, with effort, thwarted. One that should have moved everyone to even greater concerted action but, incoherently, did not. The fact that humanity took such radical action and effected so enormous a shift in their zeitgeist, economically, politically, socially, industrially, to protect the lives of so few, makes one wonder why they could not, nay, DID not do so when the very habitability of the planet for all future generations was at stake. The very real threat of global warming was battering down the walls of human civilization all across the globe at that very moment. Yet still... What would humanity have done if that message in the sky never appeared?
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..."	One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In twenty-four hours, a billionaire will die." The next day, the richest man in the history of the planet, an electric car manufacturer, was touring his company's latest worker barracks. The gangway he was walking on gave way. He fell thirty-five stories down the damp, lightless pit at its center. "In twenty-four hours, two billionaires will die." The day after, the owner of the world's largest online marketplace was showcasing his latest unmanned drone technology. It would allow him to increase the world's daily plastic consumption by five percent and his personal fortune by thirty percent. There was a glitch in the clicker he was using to control them. Two-thousand drones converged on him. His funeral had to be closed casket on account of the severe lacerations. The retired founder of the company that processed most of the world's information was sipping his tea. He was looking at the upward value of his re-education prison camp stocks when a piece of biscuit stuck in his throat. He was a bit of a recluse and used the technology built by his company to keep his ten-thousand square meter house mostly unoccupied by other humans. He died alone, choking, while the trend line of his personal wealth continued to rise. The next day, three billionaires died. Two and a half months later, the number of billionaires dying each day had reached seventy-five, and the running total 2775. The world had run out of billionaires. The next day, the sign said "In twenty-four hours, a millionaire will die." I breathed a sigh of relief. There were about fifty-six million people worth over a million dollars in the world. At the linear growth rate the sky sign had taken to work its way through billionaires, it would be another twenty-eight years until they reached the rest of us. I coded up a website where you could input your net worth and it would return a rough estimate of when your time would be up. Its views skyrocketed. I briefly thought of putting ads on it, but reconsidered. Wouldn't want to risk getting rich.	... The real tragedy of it was, there was already a deadly message in the sky. One that affected not a small group of predators but the entirety of humanity. One that only a few could read but that everyone needed to see. One that was entirely explicable and could have been, with effort, thwarted. One that should have moved everyone to even greater concerted action but, incoherently, did not. The fact that humanity took such radical action and effected so enormous a shift in their zeitgeist, economically, politically, socially, industrially, to protect the lives of so few, makes one wonder why they could not, nay, DID not do so when the very habitability of the planet for all future generations was at stake. The very real threat of global warming was battering down the walls of human civilization all across the globe at that very moment. Yet still... What would humanity have done if that message in the sky never appeared?
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..."	One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In twenty-four hours, a billionaire will die." The next day, the richest man in the history of the planet, an electric car manufacturer, was touring his company's latest worker barracks. The gangway he was walking on gave way. He fell thirty-five stories down the damp, lightless pit at its center. "In twenty-four hours, two billionaires will die." The day after, the owner of the world's largest online marketplace was showcasing his latest unmanned drone technology. It would allow him to increase the world's daily plastic consumption by five percent and his personal fortune by thirty percent. There was a glitch in the clicker he was using to control them. Two-thousand drones converged on him. His funeral had to be closed casket on account of the severe lacerations. The retired founder of the company that processed most of the world's information was sipping his tea. He was looking at the upward value of his re-education prison camp stocks when a piece of biscuit stuck in his throat. He was a bit of a recluse and used the technology built by his company to keep his ten-thousand square meter house mostly unoccupied by other humans. He died alone, choking, while the trend line of his personal wealth continued to rise. The next day, three billionaires died. Two and a half months later, the number of billionaires dying each day had reached seventy-five, and the running total 2775. The world had run out of billionaires. The next day, the sign said "In twenty-four hours, a millionaire will die." I breathed a sigh of relief. There were about fifty-six million people worth over a million dollars in the world. At the linear growth rate the sky sign had taken to work its way through billionaires, it would be another twenty-eight years until they reached the rest of us. I coded up a website where you could input your net worth and it would return a rough estimate of when your time would be up. Its views skyrocketed. I briefly thought of putting ads on it, but reconsidered. Wouldn't want to risk getting rich.	One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..." Before the message completed, we heard about the richest man in Venezuela was currently hospitalized. Our team, a misfit group brought together by Interpol after the first billionaire passed away, had been organized within hours of his death. Many thought such a quick response was impulsive and almost hysterical, but when those who hold the purse strings of the world make a decision, no one could offer any meaningful resistance. I was one of those people, an environmental activist who'd been studying the effects of global warming at the intersection of human mortality rates and biological threats. By nature, I had no patience for those who blatantly and unremorsefully ruined the earth to their advantages. But ideologies don't pay the bills and this assignment came with close to 7 figures. Most of the team had been recruited by national agencies and were keen to prove themselves. The most likely culprit was human and had somehow gotten close enough to these billionaires to give them a dose of something fatal. What that was remained a mystery. Now, every billionaire had isolated themselves in a self-imposed lock-down, so we'd wait and watch to see if exposure was necessary for this chemical agent to work or if there was another method of ingestion. We worked tirelessly the first three days, switching into shifts and yet, the deaths came, one by one. Now at four, we were facing immense pressure to find a solution. For the billionaires that were still alive, they began off-loading their wealth by giving it to family members, favored charities, putting into untouchable trusts, just about anything to take them out of the once envied ranks. It was at this point that we noticed a small change in the choice of victims. Suddenly it wasn't guaranteed, but much more selective. Those who handed their money over to trusts and family members found themselves pleading on their death beds. One, now famous, pleaded that he'd give 50% of what he had left to a global health charity if he could get a couple more years of life. This was televised and his prayers were meant for any ear to find. Remarkably, after that moment of desperation, he survived. As a team, and as individuals, we slowly arrived to a new conclusion: do nothing and let the world fix itself. And whichever good Samaritan or power was behind this could only be thanked at the development of this new world order. Soon enough, the team was disbanded and with nothing to do, I went back to my environmental works with optimism and funding I'd never dreamed of. That night, I received a cryptic text on my phone: "the door is shut, but should you ever need to open it again...."
[WP] One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Everyone everywhere on Earth could see it, in every language. Nobody could explain it. The next day, one of the richest men passed away. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires..."	One evening, in the sky, a message appeared: "In twenty-four hours, a billionaire will die." The next day, the richest man in the history of the planet, an electric car manufacturer, was touring his company's latest worker barracks. The gangway he was walking on gave way. He fell thirty-five stories down the damp, lightless pit at its center. "In twenty-four hours, two billionaires will die." The day after, the owner of the world's largest online marketplace was showcasing his latest unmanned drone technology. It would allow him to increase the world's daily plastic consumption by five percent and his personal fortune by thirty percent. There was a glitch in the clicker he was using to control them. Two-thousand drones converged on him. His funeral had to be closed casket on account of the severe lacerations. The retired founder of the company that processed most of the world's information was sipping his tea. He was looking at the upward value of his re-education prison camp stocks when a piece of biscuit stuck in his throat. He was a bit of a recluse and used the technology built by his company to keep his ten-thousand square meter house mostly unoccupied by other humans. He died alone, choking, while the trend line of his personal wealth continued to rise. The next day, three billionaires died. Two and a half months later, the number of billionaires dying each day had reached seventy-five, and the running total 2775. The world had run out of billionaires. The next day, the sign said "In twenty-four hours, a millionaire will die." I breathed a sigh of relief. There were about fifty-six million people worth over a million dollars in the world. At the linear growth rate the sky sign had taken to work its way through billionaires, it would be another twenty-eight years until they reached the rest of us. I coded up a website where you could input your net worth and it would return a rough estimate of when your time would be up. Its views skyrocketed. I briefly thought of putting ads on it, but reconsidered. Wouldn't want to risk getting rich.	It began with Charles Buchanan Buckley III. Tech oligarch, arms dealer, shipping mogul, and more. The richest man on earth. Dead, inexplicably, exactly one day after a message appeared in the sky. "In 24 hours, a billionaire will die." Then, another message. "In 24 hours, 2 billionaires will die." So many people saw it as a blessing. Justice from on high, bringing low the untouchable. Nobody understood then, the terrible truth. Billionaires rapidly began liquidating assets, some hoping there might be some loophole they could exploit, like they did with tax laws; others legitimately trying to divest themselves of enough wealth to escape the death clock. But realistically, there's only so much you can do with billions of dollars in 24 hours, especially when no one is willing to accept a billion dollars; not when there's a death sentence on billionaires. Two more fell dead. "In 24 hours, 3 billionaires will die." The financial chaos that ensued was staggering. Markets flooded with as much money as could be spent, lent, or given away. Prices went crazy, worldwide. Instability went rampant. Predictive models were useless. And so it went, day by day, until there were no more billionaires. And for a moment, everyone thought it was over. Until they saw the new message. "In 24 hours, a millionaire will die." Not everyone had caught on yet. But in the hearts of some, a cold pit of fear began to open up. The chaos didn't stop, it only crazily increased. The number of millionaires had almost exponentially increased in the madcap spending of the billionaire class to set aside their wealth. And now every one of them, without thought of anything but survival tried whatever they could to get rid of their money. But as the chaos went on, no one wanted to take any large sums of money, and everyone wanted to get rid of their own. Men and women took to burning enormous piles of cash. Dropping it out of airplanes, or into the sea. Gold was strewn into the streets like paving stones, and no one dared to touch it. We thought we understood, but none of us did. I sit here, now, in my cave. Carving into this stone, nothing but this chisel and the clothes on my back. Waiting. Waiting to see if it will come for me. It might, I don't know how far it has gone by now. When I finish this, if I finish this, I will go out and collect some of those gold paving stones. A few rubies, maybe, and maybe a fine bottle of expensive wine. I will die next then. For sure. Unless there are others like me who decided the same thing. Rich is such a relative term.
[WP] An alien doctor is having trouble figuring out why the humans on their ship got so excited after they showed one of the human females an ultrasound confirming that some kind of parasite that had attached itself to her uterus	"so, wait, that is your young?!" The Prothul, a race kinda close to humans said in surprise. Save the yellow skinned males, purple skinned females, four eyes and split tongues, they were pretty much identical to humanity. Almost. "Yes, Krath, that is a human embryo." I explained to the extra terrestrial doctor. "But why?" "Because we're mammalian, meaning we give live births after carrying the embryo til it grows into a nine months old baby." "But it looks like a parasite!" "Heh. Well, to a degree it is. The Mother carries them, supplying nutrients, blood and all that as the embryo multiplies and forms a body." I explained. "This is fed to them as they grow through the umbilical cord and the placenta." "So your young start off as parasites growing inside your females that grow to a certain shape and size then, how do they get out?" "Birthing. The muscles contract and begin pushing, with the Mother needing to do the pushing." "So her vagina stretches to accommodate and ease the process?" "Well... Yes and no... It first passed through the cervix with dilates a few... Millimeters during birth and the baby must first be pushed out through there-" "How?!" "It stretches! Just... It's also very painful. Once it begins to get most of the way out of the cervix it then is pushed through the vagina, and Into the world." "Why would it be painful? It sounds counterproductive to Repopulation and reproduction." "It... Kinda is but that's just how we evolved." "I imagine the females typically birth once given the extreme pain the process causes?" "Actually... No. Our ancestors would have up to ten or more children." "Sweet Progenitors! Your ancestors were savages!" "Admittedly... Yeah. Actually how does your species reproduce?" "The females lay a small egg that's easily passed through the birthing tubes and so long as it's kept in a warm environment will hatch in two months into a youngling. Then over the course of six years will grow to adulthood and the proper size." "Efficient." I commented, shocked it was that... Quick and painless for them. "Yes, unlike your race it seems. Also is this her, uh... First?" "No, this makes her fourth." "Your females are gluttons for pain..." "Some... Probably, but not all plus we have C-section now so-" "What is that?" "Basically once the baby is ready to be born we surgically remove them from the mother. It's quicker, less painful, depending on the pain killers, and safer for the mother than natural birth." "Do all your females now do this alternative to the natural way?" "No. Some actually prefer natural births." "I see... Your females are a mystery." "Preach..."	Xasion had encountered these parasites before and thus, had a grim understanding of the physical and emotional torment which would soon overtake Clara. “Perhaps, it is a common coping mechanism among humans to feign excitement in the face of such vicissitudes.”, thought Xasion. Because of their experience with these parasites in the past, they already had a remedy prepared to rid Clara of this devastating diagnosis. Xasion cautiously approached Clara with a medicated beverage designed to taste like a popular red fruit humans seemed to enjoy the flavor of on Earth. Xasion explained to Clara that once she finished consuming the liquid, the parasite should be completely and painlessly eradicated within the hour. Clara was inconsolable and she immediately began kissing trust of Xasion while pleading to host the organism, referring to it as her “baby”. Xasion insisted to Clara that it would be for her best benefit to to consume the beverage now before her body became almost entirely compromised. Clara was headstrong in her conviction to host the parasite, and Xasion refused to save her without consent, careful not to impeded upon any possible beliefs or unknown traditions that humans may value. Weeks later the parasite overtook Clara completely and burst from her uterus, killing her and almost taking a few crew members along the way. Xasion was saddened that they could not convince her to save herself and now had to end the life of the very thing Clara insisted to ensure survival of.
[WP] An alien doctor is having trouble figuring out why the humans on their ship got so excited after they showed one of the human females an ultrasound confirming that some kind of parasite that had attached itself to her uterus	Human dating systems are odd, so for the purpose of this journal entry I will use their dating system. It is the 2000th, 220th, and 2nd rotation of the system they call Earth around what they called "The Sun". Humans have been an odd bunch since they joined the galactic community. They're new to the stars, but the young species has shown incredible tenacity. Their planet isn't what it once was, and now there aren't many of them left. But the ones that have managed to pull through are amongst the hardiest of folk I've ever imagined. Such incredible strength and resiliency from such a frail form. The humans have a sort of ritual, it would actually be fair to say their entire species is ritual based. I've run countless simulations. For our species to expel such a parasite simply wouldn't be possible. So it astounds me the excitement they feel at a life form leeching from their already limited essence. Perhaps this parasite has some form of control over the host? No matter. Their rituals often include a form of mating as lesser lifeforms do. Most often 2 of them will get the other excited, or get each other excited, every pair of even small group of 3 or even rarely 4 or more is different. This is the ritual they seem to perform most often. Tanice as the human female is called performed this human ritual with I suppose her partner, David, quite often. They're a somewhat young human pairing, but old enough that the simulations have guaranteed Tanices passing by expelling this parasite. It seems to be growing exponentially as well. I suspect by the time it is expelled it will be at least 7 pounds, perhaps more. Where this parasite came from is beyond us. There hasn't been any new humans introduced to us since before they joined the galactic community. We are merely a vessel, as we find them a new home. But Tanice is beyond elation. We've already been travelling with the remaining humans, about one thousand as they would say remain. Some young, some old. But most in the ideal range that if they so chose should replicate. I do not understand why they have not yet started to molt to produce more young. Their species will fail if they do not introduce more young soon. I suspect this parasite has been attached based on the rate of exponential growth in it of now less than 8 groupings of what they call "Weeks", or 48 rotations of their planet on its Axis. Star date:2200 years, 252 days. We have found a suitable planet for the intrepid humans to land upon. Our community tried to intervene in their affairs, but it seems the humans were adamant in keeping their parasite. There has been no sign so far of additional humans molting. However there is now an epidemic of these parasites attaching to additional humans. They don't seem to originate from Tanice, however if you imply that even the slightest to her the human form she inhabits becomes significantly stronger and agitated. Once the news of the parasite propagated throughout the vessel, all the humans it would seem performed their own ritual. I have gleaned from them that since their global nuclear exchange, they were the sole survivors, at least, those of any ability to leave the shattered husk of a world into the void of the unknown. That is when we found them. We will be landing in 79 hours. Star date: 2200 years, 254 days and a half. It's disgusting. We've landed, and their new planet is ripe for human life. And it seems the parasite has worked its way out of Tanice. It expelled itself to a point, with Tanice working as well with the encouragement of her partner. Humans, what a strange species. They seem more than happy to care for this parasite as well now that it has been expelled. The parasite wails, and goodness the blood. How a human survived this ordeal is beyond me. But, they're making plans for the young parasite. They even named their expulsion. The couple, Janice and David, they are from what they call a City, and so named their expulsion after their City, Toronto is what they called it. I won't meddle in their naming ritual, all our attempts to meddle so far in their affairs have so far been rejected, including their self inflicted nuclear annihilation. Star date: 2207, and 58 rotations. I understand now. Humans as a landborn species must agitate their insides in order to molt from the inside out. Toronto has grown bigger and stronger. It is clearly a smaller version of a human. Perhaps the different gravity of their new planet, New Earth as they call it, has impacted their Youngs ability to grow. But there is also Dallas, London, Paris, Sydney, all named after cities. I think I understand the humans a little bit more now. I haven't responded to a prompt in years! Be gentle!	Archana whooped in delight. Drex looked on, confused. `You have a parasite` they chirped. > That's ok said Archana. > That's what my uterus is for Drex curled an antenna. They were perplexed. The Droxx race simply split and propagated more of themselves when there were too many consciousnesses within the same physical body. Sometimes it took a while, but that was how the Droxx always made more of themselves. The human's brood mate, Adyen whooped and made a gleeful exclamation. He sounded delighted. Drex did not recall feeling that happy when Drux decided to split bodies. It was difficult going around with extra legs when Drux didn't agree with him on where to go. `What is happening here` Drex queried. > We're having 1 more human! Archana said. > The first of next generation. Her face fell somber as she looked around the Droxx ship, recalling the falling beams and burning embers of the Last Ark. > Thank you for picking us up from the escape pod. The human race can finally propagate again Drex's three antenna popped straight up. There was going to be _more_ of these annoying creatures?
[WP] An alien doctor is having trouble figuring out why the humans on their ship got so excited after they showed one of the human females an ultrasound confirming that some kind of parasite that had attached itself to her uterus	It had been 5 revolutions of Prixnar prime, the planet we had been orbiting for study for the past 2 months, since I informed Shandra of her predicament. When I told the human woman of a parasite that had invaded her uterus and showed her the ultrasound, she was elated. I attempted to discuss treatment possibilities but she brushed them aside with a smile. Too quick, she was, to dress and go to inform the other human crew mates. "Deandre and I have been trying for a year already! It finally happened!" That was all I was able to get out of her the last time we spoke 2 revolutions prior. As the sole medical officer aboard the ship, I feared I was being ignored by the humans as I am not the same species as them. I had heard of such discrimination in their society but this was the first time I had experienced it first hand. Kwaku, another human, saw me looking dejected at lunch and asked me what was wrong. I told him about the parasite I had detected in Shandra and how I was worried. "Heh. Yeah. Parasite is right. You should see what they do to some women's bodies during pregnancy! And then they just leech off your bank account for the next 18 years!" It was then I understood my mistake. Rushing to the med bay, I worked as fast as I could, printing results and projections. I also made sure to save a progress video to my wrist-holoPro. Then running as fast as my lower limbs could carry me I found Shandra in the specimen lab. "Shandra, we need to talk immediately!" "Oh not this again. Can't you tell I'm hap-" I loaded the video onto my wrist-holoPro and played it, "Shandra, I am well aware of human reproductive processes and terminology. Your species based discrimination towards me has been noted and I forgive you for it. Now please listen carefully," the video played showing a view of a human uterus and a small clump of cells inside it expanding, "When I said parasite... I meant it." Her face dropped as did the empty beaker she was holding. "It's not a baby!"	//Begin log 00327 Standard Date: 19232-09-02 Chief physician Md'flurk has identified a parasitic lifeform within the Human crew member Charline D. Thomson. While there were no immediate outward effects of the parasite prior to its discovery, it would appear that it has somehow caused a majority of the human crew to enter into a state of elation once it was found out. This is most concerning as there has been not detected means by which this parasite should have been able to influence the behavior of the human crew. An emergency meeting was called with the Chief Physician, Head of Security, and Senior Executive Officer as well as myself. The Chief Engineer, due to being a human and apparently under the thrall of an unknown alien parasite, was excluded from the meeting. After some discussion, it was found that most logical course of action was to quarantine all human crew and excise the parasite. This operation is currently underway. Due to the effective loss of most of our engineering crew, we have begun an emergency burn to the nearest Federation outpost. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ //Being log 00328 Standard Date: 19232-09-07 We have arrived at Federation Outpost Stellar Dissonance. All human crew are currently isolated and under observation. They have begun to become violent, although the Chief Physician claims this more than likely an effect of extended isolation and informational quarantine. Crew member Charline has had the parasite excised and has made a full apparent physical recovery, although they continue to display unexpected emotional trauma. It would appear that the parasite has hijacked the human desire to protect one's young and, as such, they are convinced we have terminated their child. The parasite is currently held in stasis awaiting a full analysis from The Stellar Dissonance's science team. Due to the presence of human crew on the station and the unknown vector of the parasite's transmission, full quarantine procedures are in effect. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ //Being log 00329 Standard Date: 19232-09-09 Chief physician Md'flurk has been relived of duty. A genetic test of the so called "parasite" has revealed it to actually be the underdeveloped genetic recombination of Charline and Dale. It would appear that this is is the method by which humans reproduce, strange as it is. I... I can't maintain this veneer of professionalism in this case, our chief of medicine killed someone. We have documentation on all of the biologizes of all crew members and they claimed to be versed in all. I have made clear the legal channels by which Charline and Dale can claim recompense for this malpractice. I should only be thankful that a diplomat on the station has directed the ire of the humans at this one imbecile and not at the rest of us. As it stands they have been placed within the highest security cell available not for the threat they represent, but for the threat the humans represent to them.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	“So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?” I looked down at the elf lying prone in the dirt of the training ground, grinning. It was the fourth time I’d put him in his arse in the last ten minutes, and the fourth time he’d set off on his usual mostly-not-serious tirade against the ‘backwards mud dwelling humans’. I’d figured I’d call him out this time. He stopped talking and rubbed his shoulder, before sighing and mock-glaring up at me. “Dammit Liz! You know the spell the Elven Ancestors used on our race just as well as I do! It’s because we’re ‘better than you at everything’, and that includes wasting time, procrastination, laziness, and losing our research notes! Now let me up before I show you how much better than you I am at kicking you in the shins.”	The elf was not amused. >Do you know it is because of our kindness towards diversity and experimentation that we let our world be threatened every time you make a leap towards a new "industrial revolution"? Have you not seen, even among your own kind, the addict who starts with a dose that treats her disease and makes her mind normal and balanced and then escalates until they turn into a mockery of a sentient being? Where do you think the Orks, the Goblins, the Vagaries came from? That was a rhetorical question. Do you think your idea of genetic superiority is original? They started out like you, and experimented. We know the perfect level of civilization to provide happiness and ethics. We provide it to anyone who accepts, at no cost. But you refuse, as is your right. That is why we are said to be "dying". We do not die, not truly, but we cannot take what your children declare to be theirs. So we do not destroy you because we do not choose to, because we have hope that one of your attempts to go past the safety zone will turn out to have a happy ending. But we've seen so much, and there are few of us. Not few of elves. Few of elves that still keep that hope.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Just like everyone else, I was obviously fascinated when the New Race arrived. I mean, who couldn't be? For our entire existence, we wondered if we were the only ones out there. If there was any other being that could possibly comprehend the weight of our daily lives and worldly ordeals of the 'Human Experience'. We had theorized about it in countless books, stories and games. And we had the highly motivated, highly naïve notion that somehow they'd be more enlightened than us. Instead, what we got, was the Vakri. From a decent enough distance away, you could hardly tell the difference. And even up close, it's not like they were horribly offensive to look at. Hell, some of them kind of allured you in an odd sort of way. But there was something just simpler, stubbier about that that's hard to put your finger on. However, all of that sort of description is fairly myopic in the face of the fact that they only live about 8 years on average. And I'm talking, doddering old 'Wurther's Original' grandpa old. At eight. It sounds almost sad or tragic, but I promise you they don't see it that way. The Vakri are very, very vocal about their day to day concerns. They even form entire political movements to voice those concerns, but they get to a fevered pitch in about six months before dying out entirely. I used to joke that I couldn't fathom Tic Tok before; now no human can. Memes rise and fall within minutes. You start out sympathetic for them, but it seems like by the time you're done addressing one argument with them, that person dies in six months and three new people that need to be given the same chat just rise up in their place! And that wouldn't be so bad if they were at least respectful! But just look at them! They're all squatting in a condemned apartment building, so boldly to the point that they renamed the complex and brag about "their" neighborhood! They pound stop-signs into axes and dare to compare themselves to Firemen. ...And frankly, I'm starting to feel bad about myself, because I see the mixed-raced children coming into this world... and how am I supposed to look at someone that's only going to live to 30 at best? Someone that's going to lose their Vakri parent very early on, and chances are the Human parent isn't around. Now we have 11 year old 'adults' running around our world on top of all this madness? What sort of job do you give \those\ people? Imagine if children that couldn't comprehend the length of a summer vacation, like it was a magical, distant void, began demanding your allegiances in their wars. Wars that lasted weeks. How often could you turn them down before you had a reputation as the stodgy, unmoving, inflexible immortals? How long until you were something to be cleared out of the way, like some many ancient forests we felled for our apartment complexes, that we now lose to them daily. How long until we are outnumbered 10 to 1? -Last Online, 5 years ago-	The elf was not amused. >Do you know it is because of our kindness towards diversity and experimentation that we let our world be threatened every time you make a leap towards a new "industrial revolution"? Have you not seen, even among your own kind, the addict who starts with a dose that treats her disease and makes her mind normal and balanced and then escalates until they turn into a mockery of a sentient being? Where do you think the Orks, the Goblins, the Vagaries came from? That was a rhetorical question. Do you think your idea of genetic superiority is original? They started out like you, and experimented. We know the perfect level of civilization to provide happiness and ethics. We provide it to anyone who accepts, at no cost. But you refuse, as is your right. That is why we are said to be "dying". We do not die, not truly, but we cannot take what your children declare to be theirs. So we do not destroy you because we do not choose to, because we have hope that one of your attempts to go past the safety zone will turn out to have a happy ending. But we've seen so much, and there are few of us. Not few of elves. Few of elves that still keep that hope.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	“If you’re so much better than humans at everything, then how come you’re still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?” The human puffed out his chest, his dull little eyes gleaming like he was the first cunt to ever point this out. Likely, Serenei thought, he had gone over this in the tavern with his friends first. “Oh, you got me!” She said, laughing politely. “You see, we have been in a period of stagnation for some time! The elves of the mirewood reproduce so slowly, once we invented the mechanical bird, we stopped worrying about how people travel around on the ground, and the personal defence fields and anti-death wards make it difficult to convince anyone to invest much thought in superior weaponry.” “Anti… death… ward?” The man muttered. “Oh, did you not know?” Serenei smiled, and rammed her sword through her own neck. “We can’t die. This is basically just a game.” “But… stagnant… just like us… elves owned with facts and logic…” “Gods, if you’re going to have a breakdown about it, I’ll find a new party of humans to play with. Your DPS was slacking, anyway.”	The elf was not amused. >Do you know it is because of our kindness towards diversity and experimentation that we let our world be threatened every time you make a leap towards a new "industrial revolution"? Have you not seen, even among your own kind, the addict who starts with a dose that treats her disease and makes her mind normal and balanced and then escalates until they turn into a mockery of a sentient being? Where do you think the Orks, the Goblins, the Vagaries came from? That was a rhetorical question. Do you think your idea of genetic superiority is original? They started out like you, and experimented. We know the perfect level of civilization to provide happiness and ethics. We provide it to anyone who accepts, at no cost. But you refuse, as is your right. That is why we are said to be "dying". We do not die, not truly, but we cannot take what your children declare to be theirs. So we do not destroy you because we do not choose to, because we have hope that one of your attempts to go past the safety zone will turn out to have a happy ending. But we've seen so much, and there are few of us. Not few of elves. Few of elves that still keep that hope.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"...so tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?" The young Rohirrim's words rang like a cracked church bell in the low-ceilinged, dark tavern. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the group of dwarves that had taken over a corner table reflexively grab at their heavy tankards, ready to start swinging at the first sign of a brawl. For myself, I began to creep slowly backwards toward the counter. I knew that Berthien kept an iron-bound mace under there, just in case the mass paralysis hex bauble swinging innocently from the chandelier misfired, as it sometimes does. To my surprise, though, the dark elf didn't even stand, let alone give forth. His ears pricked up, fractionally, and his fine-featured head began turning slowly... away from the challenger. "Oh, that's all you got? Silence?!" exclaimed the rider, clearly eager to test his mettle. "What could a tree have to say to the wind-blown grass beneath its branches, human?" and that last word was accented, I'll never forget this, with deep pity and regret. "As you are now, I once have begun" the elf answered his own question, still facing away. "But precisely there, at the start, is where the likeness ends. I am three hundred and twelve of your crooked years old, and by my race's reckoning still barely a youth, myself. I remember when the one you call `wise king Aethelrod of legend`, whose ensign you so proudly bear, came to my father's court, just as brash and loud and unknowing as you, to demand help against the orcish hordes to our North. It was duly granted, and we chose to fight along your fore-fathers, though perhaps a bit more skillfully than they did. But it's not skill of weapons that sets us apart, indeed, nor mere age. What do you suppose, human, that elves were doing ten thousand years ago? Twenty? Do you even think about such things at all?" "Hruh?!" came out of the Rohan boy's mouth, but nothing more. The elf finally swung his icy stare to his would-be challenger's eyes and continued. "I'll wager you don't. What does this spring's grass care of the mighty oaks of yesteryear? Why would you learn of the treeships, and their pilots, and the endless dark? Why would you learn of the game of Cat and Dragon? And even if you had heard and thought of such things, somehow, why would you think them any different from children's stories about king Aethelrod's magic, talking destrier? No, human. We are not the same, you and I. There's a sword-belt around your hips because that's the best you know, the best that many generations of your ephemereal peers can come up with. There is one around mine to protect our world from dangers far greater than mere orcs." "Hmpf. I can make up children's tales as well as the next man, or elf" - the young man was clearly still spoiling for a fight, elves are known for wanting to be known as straight-talkers and straight-dealers. But the elf would have none of it. "Have you ever wondered why the stars are silent, hooman?" continue y/n/a/q	The elf was not amused. >Do you know it is because of our kindness towards diversity and experimentation that we let our world be threatened every time you make a leap towards a new "industrial revolution"? Have you not seen, even among your own kind, the addict who starts with a dose that treats her disease and makes her mind normal and balanced and then escalates until they turn into a mockery of a sentient being? Where do you think the Orks, the Goblins, the Vagaries came from? That was a rhetorical question. Do you think your idea of genetic superiority is original? They started out like you, and experimented. We know the perfect level of civilization to provide happiness and ethics. We provide it to anyone who accepts, at no cost. But you refuse, as is your right. That is why we are said to be "dying". We do not die, not truly, but we cannot take what your children declare to be theirs. So we do not destroy you because we do not choose to, because we have hope that one of your attempts to go past the safety zone will turn out to have a happy ending. But we've seen so much, and there are few of us. Not few of elves. Few of elves that still keep that hope.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	With a sigh, Edren sipped from his wineskin, looking to his companions as they sat by the warmth and light of their campfire. "First," he explained, "the history of elvenkind doesn't say 'humanity crawled from the mud pits,' it was 'humanity clawed itself from the middens.' Of course, I object to that, just as much as the rest of you surely do." "Even your scholars insult us," a slim ruddy-haired human, the target of the elf's thinly-veiled insult, replied. "Not intentionally. The Verse of the Elowaan goes on for several volumes about our people and our histories with dwarves, quai, ysoki, tieflings... even the drakkhen. Even the noblest of those peoples are still viciously libeled by the hand of a historian who has long since been scattered to the winds." Another pull from Edren's wineskin, then the elf continued, "To actually answer your question, Much, we train to ride and handle horses, and well-practice the fine art of swordsmanship, for the same reason anyone else does." "Why's that?" This time, the human speaking to Edren was a young black-haired woman, a thin pipe nearly as long as her forearm clutched between two fingers. A thin plume of smoke drifted from her lips, mingling with the smoke of the campfire and the scents of the autumn evening around them. "I'm not challenging you on this, Edren. I'm only asking." "That you are, Seiya. Elves ride horses simply because it's faster than walking." "And here I thought it was because elves were always in a hurry," a young man in what were obviously merchant's robes interrupted. Expecting some laughter from his companions, or at least a chuckle, he was surprised to get four irritated stares. "What?" "Harkon, stop interrupting and let him finish," Much urged. "There'll be plenty of time for those comments later." Taking a draw from her pipe, Seiya nodded to the elf. "He makes a good point. To us, humans are always in a hurry because it's so rare that you see your second century. We can take our time; elves have centuries' worth of it, not to brag. And with that time... we can take a hobby, a trade, and perfect it. One is never too young to learn, after all," Edren said. "And the noblest art of them all among elvenkind is..." "Writing," Much guessed with a smile. "Archery," Seiya added. "Storytelling?" Harkon guessed. The fourth human, who had remained silent until now, finally broke his silence. "No. He's talking about swordplay," he said, his voice deep and low. "You speak the truth, Lexford. One can study a school of swordsmanship, but to walk down that path, to reach its conclusion..." Edren smiled, slowly drawing his sword, displaying it to his companions around the fire. "It can be a wondrous thing, indeed. And not just the art of swordsmanship-- testing your knowledge of the Shade of Winter school against a master of the Autumn Leaf, or to pit the defensive New Moon against the rapidity of the Zenith-- no! The art of the sword itself takes many years to practice, to perfect. See my blade? Nearly a millennium ago, my great-grandfather forged this damascene blade as a gift to his thrice-blessed bride. Once she had mastered the blade, it found its way into my grandfather's skilled hands, then to my father, and once he had mastered its secrets, he passed it down to me." "So, it's an heirloom?" Seiya asked, curious. "The word was imastyl, wasn't it?" "'Imastyl,' yes. 'Blade of legacy' in the common tongue. And when I sire a child, and they come of age, I too shall pass this blade unto them, and teach them how to use it properly." Turning to Much, Edren finished, "In short, elves ride horses because it is expedient. We wield swords because we wish it."	The elf was not amused. >Do you know it is because of our kindness towards diversity and experimentation that we let our world be threatened every time you make a leap towards a new "industrial revolution"? Have you not seen, even among your own kind, the addict who starts with a dose that treats her disease and makes her mind normal and balanced and then escalates until they turn into a mockery of a sentient being? Where do you think the Orks, the Goblins, the Vagaries came from? That was a rhetorical question. Do you think your idea of genetic superiority is original? They started out like you, and experimented. We know the perfect level of civilization to provide happiness and ethics. We provide it to anyone who accepts, at no cost. But you refuse, as is your right. That is why we are said to be "dying". We do not die, not truly, but we cannot take what your children declare to be theirs. So we do not destroy you because we do not choose to, because we have hope that one of your attempts to go past the safety zone will turn out to have a happy ending. But we've seen so much, and there are few of us. Not few of elves. Few of elves that still keep that hope.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Just like everyone else, I was obviously fascinated when the New Race arrived. I mean, who couldn't be? For our entire existence, we wondered if we were the only ones out there. If there was any other being that could possibly comprehend the weight of our daily lives and worldly ordeals of the 'Human Experience'. We had theorized about it in countless books, stories and games. And we had the highly motivated, highly naïve notion that somehow they'd be more enlightened than us. Instead, what we got, was the Vakri. From a decent enough distance away, you could hardly tell the difference. And even up close, it's not like they were horribly offensive to look at. Hell, some of them kind of allured you in an odd sort of way. But there was something just simpler, stubbier about that that's hard to put your finger on. However, all of that sort of description is fairly myopic in the face of the fact that they only live about 8 years on average. And I'm talking, doddering old 'Wurther's Original' grandpa old. At eight. It sounds almost sad or tragic, but I promise you they don't see it that way. The Vakri are very, very vocal about their day to day concerns. They even form entire political movements to voice those concerns, but they get to a fevered pitch in about six months before dying out entirely. I used to joke that I couldn't fathom Tic Tok before; now no human can. Memes rise and fall within minutes. You start out sympathetic for them, but it seems like by the time you're done addressing one argument with them, that person dies in six months and three new people that need to be given the same chat just rise up in their place! And that wouldn't be so bad if they were at least respectful! But just look at them! They're all squatting in a condemned apartment building, so boldly to the point that they renamed the complex and brag about "their" neighborhood! They pound stop-signs into axes and dare to compare themselves to Firemen. ...And frankly, I'm starting to feel bad about myself, because I see the mixed-raced children coming into this world... and how am I supposed to look at someone that's only going to live to 30 at best? Someone that's going to lose their Vakri parent very early on, and chances are the Human parent isn't around. Now we have 11 year old 'adults' running around our world on top of all this madness? What sort of job do you give \those\ people? Imagine if children that couldn't comprehend the length of a summer vacation, like it was a magical, distant void, began demanding your allegiances in their wars. Wars that lasted weeks. How often could you turn them down before you had a reputation as the stodgy, unmoving, inflexible immortals? How long until you were something to be cleared out of the way, like some many ancient forests we felled for our apartment complexes, that we now lose to them daily. How long until we are outnumbered 10 to 1? -Last Online, 5 years ago-	"These are not horses, they are zlarthec chimera specifically meant to leave your kind in the dust. And as for this "sharp piece of metal" it has been forged from a thousand different materials that have been tempered in the heart of the dwarven core and frozen by the northern ork tribes in the depths of the ocean!" "You did not answer my question" a sly smirk came upon Alexanders face, unable to control the feeling of putting that stuck up knife ear in his place " I need not answer your questions mud-born, to insinuate, that I need give answers to the likes of you." Alex's smirk almost grew to a smile, he could tell he had gotten under the elf's skin, just a day earlier he would have wanted to be under the elf's hips but clearly things had not gone as he had planned them to. " But surely one so perfect and all mighty would have countless reasons of their superiority, unless perhaps you are not so perfect as you let on" " I am every bit perfect! Unlike some rather dim witted and ill fit members of this party!" Alex could see myral's face turn demon fruit red, brows furrowed with rage, and on the brink of taking her blade out of its sheath. Alex remembered what she had done to those Kezals, he did not want to suffer the same fate. " If eitha of ya shut up i,l refraim from killin ya in your sleep ". There came the old hobgoblin to run his mouth. The old bastard had said as many words about killing someone as he had said about hooking up with one odd prostitute or another. Hardly something to boast about in alex's book. And dont forget that accent. Alex figured it either came from some 3rd realm kingdom or the northern ork tribes. Alex didnt like either " How about you silence yourself for once you wretched grass fucker!" " Call me that a'gaen an i'l make due on me words knife ear! " " For the love of Urlin can we all just shut up " Alex was getting nowhere with this conversation. One day alex would learn that elf's damn business out here but today was not that day. " We've quite the journey ahead and i'd rather be well rested than well buried. So if you'll excuse me im off to my tent. " I believe the human is right, I shall retire to my chambers as well. I would say good night but neither of you deserve one " " Ya, ya, ya, just keep ya wankin and moans quite, i'd ratha not see yu two together
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	“If you’re so much better than humans at everything, then how come you’re still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?” The human puffed out his chest, his dull little eyes gleaming like he was the first cunt to ever point this out. Likely, Serenei thought, he had gone over this in the tavern with his friends first. “Oh, you got me!” She said, laughing politely. “You see, we have been in a period of stagnation for some time! The elves of the mirewood reproduce so slowly, once we invented the mechanical bird, we stopped worrying about how people travel around on the ground, and the personal defence fields and anti-death wards make it difficult to convince anyone to invest much thought in superior weaponry.” “Anti… death… ward?” The man muttered. “Oh, did you not know?” Serenei smiled, and rammed her sword through her own neck. “We can’t die. This is basically just a game.” “But… stagnant… just like us… elves owned with facts and logic…” “Gods, if you’re going to have a breakdown about it, I’ll find a new party of humans to play with. Your DPS was slacking, anyway.”	"These are not horses, they are zlarthec chimera specifically meant to leave your kind in the dust. And as for this "sharp piece of metal" it has been forged from a thousand different materials that have been tempered in the heart of the dwarven core and frozen by the northern ork tribes in the depths of the ocean!" "You did not answer my question" a sly smirk came upon Alexanders face, unable to control the feeling of putting that stuck up knife ear in his place " I need not answer your questions mud-born, to insinuate, that I need give answers to the likes of you." Alex's smirk almost grew to a smile, he could tell he had gotten under the elf's skin, just a day earlier he would have wanted to be under the elf's hips but clearly things had not gone as he had planned them to. " But surely one so perfect and all mighty would have countless reasons of their superiority, unless perhaps you are not so perfect as you let on" " I am every bit perfect! Unlike some rather dim witted and ill fit members of this party!" Alex could see myral's face turn demon fruit red, brows furrowed with rage, and on the brink of taking her blade out of its sheath. Alex remembered what she had done to those Kezals, he did not want to suffer the same fate. " If eitha of ya shut up i,l refraim from killin ya in your sleep ". There came the old hobgoblin to run his mouth. The old bastard had said as many words about killing someone as he had said about hooking up with one odd prostitute or another. Hardly something to boast about in alex's book. And dont forget that accent. Alex figured it either came from some 3rd realm kingdom or the northern ork tribes. Alex didnt like either " How about you silence yourself for once you wretched grass fucker!" " Call me that a'gaen an i'l make due on me words knife ear! " " For the love of Urlin can we all just shut up " Alex was getting nowhere with this conversation. One day alex would learn that elf's damn business out here but today was not that day. " We've quite the journey ahead and i'd rather be well rested than well buried. So if you'll excuse me im off to my tent. " I believe the human is right, I shall retire to my chambers as well. I would say good night but neither of you deserve one " " Ya, ya, ya, just keep ya wankin and moans quite, i'd ratha not see yu two together
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"...so tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?" The young Rohirrim's words rang like a cracked church bell in the low-ceilinged, dark tavern. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the group of dwarves that had taken over a corner table reflexively grab at their heavy tankards, ready to start swinging at the first sign of a brawl. For myself, I began to creep slowly backwards toward the counter. I knew that Berthien kept an iron-bound mace under there, just in case the mass paralysis hex bauble swinging innocently from the chandelier misfired, as it sometimes does. To my surprise, though, the dark elf didn't even stand, let alone give forth. His ears pricked up, fractionally, and his fine-featured head began turning slowly... away from the challenger. "Oh, that's all you got? Silence?!" exclaimed the rider, clearly eager to test his mettle. "What could a tree have to say to the wind-blown grass beneath its branches, human?" and that last word was accented, I'll never forget this, with deep pity and regret. "As you are now, I once have begun" the elf answered his own question, still facing away. "But precisely there, at the start, is where the likeness ends. I am three hundred and twelve of your crooked years old, and by my race's reckoning still barely a youth, myself. I remember when the one you call `wise king Aethelrod of legend`, whose ensign you so proudly bear, came to my father's court, just as brash and loud and unknowing as you, to demand help against the orcish hordes to our North. It was duly granted, and we chose to fight along your fore-fathers, though perhaps a bit more skillfully than they did. But it's not skill of weapons that sets us apart, indeed, nor mere age. What do you suppose, human, that elves were doing ten thousand years ago? Twenty? Do you even think about such things at all?" "Hruh?!" came out of the Rohan boy's mouth, but nothing more. The elf finally swung his icy stare to his would-be challenger's eyes and continued. "I'll wager you don't. What does this spring's grass care of the mighty oaks of yesteryear? Why would you learn of the treeships, and their pilots, and the endless dark? Why would you learn of the game of Cat and Dragon? And even if you had heard and thought of such things, somehow, why would you think them any different from children's stories about king Aethelrod's magic, talking destrier? No, human. We are not the same, you and I. There's a sword-belt around your hips because that's the best you know, the best that many generations of your ephemereal peers can come up with. There is one around mine to protect our world from dangers far greater than mere orcs." "Hmpf. I can make up children's tales as well as the next man, or elf" - the young man was clearly still spoiling for a fight, elves are known for wanting to be known as straight-talkers and straight-dealers. But the elf would have none of it. "Have you ever wondered why the stars are silent, hooman?" continue y/n/a/q	"These are not horses, they are zlarthec chimera specifically meant to leave your kind in the dust. And as for this "sharp piece of metal" it has been forged from a thousand different materials that have been tempered in the heart of the dwarven core and frozen by the northern ork tribes in the depths of the ocean!" "You did not answer my question" a sly smirk came upon Alexanders face, unable to control the feeling of putting that stuck up knife ear in his place " I need not answer your questions mud-born, to insinuate, that I need give answers to the likes of you." Alex's smirk almost grew to a smile, he could tell he had gotten under the elf's skin, just a day earlier he would have wanted to be under the elf's hips but clearly things had not gone as he had planned them to. " But surely one so perfect and all mighty would have countless reasons of their superiority, unless perhaps you are not so perfect as you let on" " I am every bit perfect! Unlike some rather dim witted and ill fit members of this party!" Alex could see myral's face turn demon fruit red, brows furrowed with rage, and on the brink of taking her blade out of its sheath. Alex remembered what she had done to those Kezals, he did not want to suffer the same fate. " If eitha of ya shut up i,l refraim from killin ya in your sleep ". There came the old hobgoblin to run his mouth. The old bastard had said as many words about killing someone as he had said about hooking up with one odd prostitute or another. Hardly something to boast about in alex's book. And dont forget that accent. Alex figured it either came from some 3rd realm kingdom or the northern ork tribes. Alex didnt like either " How about you silence yourself for once you wretched grass fucker!" " Call me that a'gaen an i'l make due on me words knife ear! " " For the love of Urlin can we all just shut up " Alex was getting nowhere with this conversation. One day alex would learn that elf's damn business out here but today was not that day. " We've quite the journey ahead and i'd rather be well rested than well buried. So if you'll excuse me im off to my tent. " I believe the human is right, I shall retire to my chambers as well. I would say good night but neither of you deserve one " " Ya, ya, ya, just keep ya wankin and moans quite, i'd ratha not see yu two together
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Note: I accidentally posted this in reply to the bot comment, instead of as a top level. So let's try this again. --- "Ah. I suppose that it makes sense, that _you_ would be the one to ask this question." The Elf shook his head, sighing, then continuing, "As you put it, we are 'riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal' because, well... That is what _you_ know." There was a pause, the Human blinking at this, "Are you saying that you are incapable of advancing without others to show you the way?" The Human's tone was far more disbelief than distain, but both were present. The Elf blinked at that, and begun to laugh, shaking his head as he did so. It took him a moment to get the laughter under control, "No, though... I can definitely see how you might have come to that conclusion. But, no." Still chuckling some what, he finally offered, "You know that there are things which we are forbidden to share with your kind. We can offer healing, but we can not always share the way of the healing. We can share some medicines, but can only give others directly to the ill. We can offer advice, but sometimes can not explain _why_ we offer that advice. Your people chafe at this, sometimes _rightly_." The laughter has stopped, and the tone now becomes somewhat grim, "There are however _other_ things which we may not share at all. Which we may not use upon your world. Which we dare not leave even a trace of the idea." "And this has to do with horses and sharp pieces of metal!?" asks the Human, "Without telling us how any of it works, why would your people give up _any_ advantage when a kingdom turned on you? What could _possibly_ be worth seeing your long lived comrades die at our hands?" The Elf nods to this, "Yes, even without telling you how it works. Even without ever even hinting at how it could work. You have.... You have _more_ than enough ways to kill one another." The Elf shakes his head sadly, and lets out another sigh, "You are short lived enough as it is. We will not be responsible for teaching you how to die all the faster. We will not be responsible for that." After a brief pause, and at just a whisper, "Not again. Not to anyone else." The Human had opened his mouth to reply, before the whisper, but he stills. Mouth closing, he stares at the Elf, remaining silent. He stares at the face of the Elf, centuries older than the Human, and finally, he nods, perhaps to the Elf, perhaps to himself.	"These are not horses, they are zlarthec chimera specifically meant to leave your kind in the dust. And as for this "sharp piece of metal" it has been forged from a thousand different materials that have been tempered in the heart of the dwarven core and frozen by the northern ork tribes in the depths of the ocean!" "You did not answer my question" a sly smirk came upon Alexanders face, unable to control the feeling of putting that stuck up knife ear in his place " I need not answer your questions mud-born, to insinuate, that I need give answers to the likes of you." Alex's smirk almost grew to a smile, he could tell he had gotten under the elf's skin, just a day earlier he would have wanted to be under the elf's hips but clearly things had not gone as he had planned them to. " But surely one so perfect and all mighty would have countless reasons of their superiority, unless perhaps you are not so perfect as you let on" " I am every bit perfect! Unlike some rather dim witted and ill fit members of this party!" Alex could see myral's face turn demon fruit red, brows furrowed with rage, and on the brink of taking her blade out of its sheath. Alex remembered what she had done to those Kezals, he did not want to suffer the same fate. " If eitha of ya shut up i,l refraim from killin ya in your sleep ". There came the old hobgoblin to run his mouth. The old bastard had said as many words about killing someone as he had said about hooking up with one odd prostitute or another. Hardly something to boast about in alex's book. And dont forget that accent. Alex figured it either came from some 3rd realm kingdom or the northern ork tribes. Alex didnt like either " How about you silence yourself for once you wretched grass fucker!" " Call me that a'gaen an i'l make due on me words knife ear! " " For the love of Urlin can we all just shut up " Alex was getting nowhere with this conversation. One day alex would learn that elf's damn business out here but today was not that day. " We've quite the journey ahead and i'd rather be well rested than well buried. So if you'll excuse me im off to my tent. " I believe the human is right, I shall retire to my chambers as well. I would say good night but neither of you deserve one " " Ya, ya, ya, just keep ya wankin and moans quite, i'd ratha not see yu two together
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	With a sigh, Edren sipped from his wineskin, looking to his companions as they sat by the warmth and light of their campfire. "First," he explained, "the history of elvenkind doesn't say 'humanity crawled from the mud pits,' it was 'humanity clawed itself from the middens.' Of course, I object to that, just as much as the rest of you surely do." "Even your scholars insult us," a slim ruddy-haired human, the target of the elf's thinly-veiled insult, replied. "Not intentionally. The Verse of the Elowaan goes on for several volumes about our people and our histories with dwarves, quai, ysoki, tieflings... even the drakkhen. Even the noblest of those peoples are still viciously libeled by the hand of a historian who has long since been scattered to the winds." Another pull from Edren's wineskin, then the elf continued, "To actually answer your question, Much, we train to ride and handle horses, and well-practice the fine art of swordsmanship, for the same reason anyone else does." "Why's that?" This time, the human speaking to Edren was a young black-haired woman, a thin pipe nearly as long as her forearm clutched between two fingers. A thin plume of smoke drifted from her lips, mingling with the smoke of the campfire and the scents of the autumn evening around them. "I'm not challenging you on this, Edren. I'm only asking." "That you are, Seiya. Elves ride horses simply because it's faster than walking." "And here I thought it was because elves were always in a hurry," a young man in what were obviously merchant's robes interrupted. Expecting some laughter from his companions, or at least a chuckle, he was surprised to get four irritated stares. "What?" "Harkon, stop interrupting and let him finish," Much urged. "There'll be plenty of time for those comments later." Taking a draw from her pipe, Seiya nodded to the elf. "He makes a good point. To us, humans are always in a hurry because it's so rare that you see your second century. We can take our time; elves have centuries' worth of it, not to brag. And with that time... we can take a hobby, a trade, and perfect it. One is never too young to learn, after all," Edren said. "And the noblest art of them all among elvenkind is..." "Writing," Much guessed with a smile. "Archery," Seiya added. "Storytelling?" Harkon guessed. The fourth human, who had remained silent until now, finally broke his silence. "No. He's talking about swordplay," he said, his voice deep and low. "You speak the truth, Lexford. One can study a school of swordsmanship, but to walk down that path, to reach its conclusion..." Edren smiled, slowly drawing his sword, displaying it to his companions around the fire. "It can be a wondrous thing, indeed. And not just the art of swordsmanship-- testing your knowledge of the Shade of Winter school against a master of the Autumn Leaf, or to pit the defensive New Moon against the rapidity of the Zenith-- no! The art of the sword itself takes many years to practice, to perfect. See my blade? Nearly a millennium ago, my great-grandfather forged this damascene blade as a gift to his thrice-blessed bride. Once she had mastered the blade, it found its way into my grandfather's skilled hands, then to my father, and once he had mastered its secrets, he passed it down to me." "So, it's an heirloom?" Seiya asked, curious. "The word was imastyl, wasn't it?" "'Imastyl,' yes. 'Blade of legacy' in the common tongue. And when I sire a child, and they come of age, I too shall pass this blade unto them, and teach them how to use it properly." Turning to Much, Edren finished, "In short, elves ride horses because it is expedient. We wield swords because we wish it."	"These are not horses, they are zlarthec chimera specifically meant to leave your kind in the dust. And as for this "sharp piece of metal" it has been forged from a thousand different materials that have been tempered in the heart of the dwarven core and frozen by the northern ork tribes in the depths of the ocean!" "You did not answer my question" a sly smirk came upon Alexanders face, unable to control the feeling of putting that stuck up knife ear in his place " I need not answer your questions mud-born, to insinuate, that I need give answers to the likes of you." Alex's smirk almost grew to a smile, he could tell he had gotten under the elf's skin, just a day earlier he would have wanted to be under the elf's hips but clearly things had not gone as he had planned them to. " But surely one so perfect and all mighty would have countless reasons of their superiority, unless perhaps you are not so perfect as you let on" " I am every bit perfect! Unlike some rather dim witted and ill fit members of this party!" Alex could see myral's face turn demon fruit red, brows furrowed with rage, and on the brink of taking her blade out of its sheath. Alex remembered what she had done to those Kezals, he did not want to suffer the same fate. " If eitha of ya shut up i,l refraim from killin ya in your sleep ". There came the old hobgoblin to run his mouth. The old bastard had said as many words about killing someone as he had said about hooking up with one odd prostitute or another. Hardly something to boast about in alex's book. And dont forget that accent. Alex figured it either came from some 3rd realm kingdom or the northern ork tribes. Alex didnt like either " How about you silence yourself for once you wretched grass fucker!" " Call me that a'gaen an i'l make due on me words knife ear! " " For the love of Urlin can we all just shut up " Alex was getting nowhere with this conversation. One day alex would learn that elf's damn business out here but today was not that day. " We've quite the journey ahead and i'd rather be well rested than well buried. So if you'll excuse me im off to my tent. " I believe the human is right, I shall retire to my chambers as well. I would say good night but neither of you deserve one " " Ya, ya, ya, just keep ya wankin and moans quite, i'd ratha not see yu two together
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Vynn was silent. The sudden halt in the conversation shook Nell out of her warm, half-drunk haze like a bucket of freezing water. With some difficulty, the ranger lifted her head off the mostly-dry log she had chosen as her pillow and turned to her elven companion, who was staring blankly into the campfire. The rogue's expression had gone completely cold; not the usual frown of mild disdain that typically graced his delicate features, but something harder and far more terrible, his gaze lost on something far beyond the blazing fire. "Oi, Vynn. Forget about it. I wasn't-" He abruptly stood, reaching their sleeping horses in just a few brisk strides. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any offense by it!" Ignoring her completely, he crouched beside his mare to dig around in her saddlebags for something. "Come on, you know I say stupid shite when I drink!" Nell needed to head this off now; if she let the master thief brood on it, he'd be unbearable in the morning. "Can you please just-" "Wait." Nell halted her pleas, watching her sullen partner as he finally found what he was looking for and returned to the campfire with two items: In one hand, he carried a plain shortsword, one of the weapons they had looted off a pack of bandits a few days back. In the other, he carried a short rod of some sorts, about two hand lengths long, made of some dull metal that reflected no light from the fire, utterly featureless save for a hollow opening at the top end. Vynn stuck the sword upright in the dirt, then stepped back and raised the rod away from his body, shifting his stance as if preparing to strike… Fire erupted from the tip of the rod, brilliant gold and impossibly sharp, like a shard of glaring midday sun honed into a blade of pure light. Faster than Nell could blink, Vynn swept the rod across the sword in the ground, sparks showering outwards as golden flame crossed steel. As he finished the motion, the fiery blade vanished from the rod; a beat later, the top half of the sword toppled off, molten metal hissing against the damp grass. Nell sat dumbstruck, mouth agape. "What in hell…" Vynn changed his stance again, raising the rod off to one side as he stared at it down his arm, and the rod shifted, metal flowing like water to form a new shape, like a crossbow with no arms… A flash of golden light blinded Nell as thunder split the air. When her sight returned and the ringing in her ears faded, she was met with the rustle of startled birds and the clatter of falling branches; looking in the direction that Vynn still pointed the no-longer-a-rod, she saw a clean line of holes in the tree canopy, stretching out far beyond the pale light of the fire, all the way until it reached open sky… Vynn collapsed back onto his seat beside the fire, looking down at the impossible device in his hand as it shifted again, flowing back into its original rod shape. "We went back." "Our people didn't stop at horses and sharp sticks. We harnessed sail, steam, oil, lightning. We split the atom, then fused it back together. We brought metal to life, and taught it to think. We conquered every illness and disease, made our bodies stronger and our minds keener, extended our average lifespan a dozenfold. We mastered ourselves and our world like no species before or after. In six thousand years, our civilization grew and evolved to the point where we had everything we wanted, and all that we could ever need." "And we threw it all away." "Even in a world free of resource scarcity, we still found reasons to quarrel with each other. Petty differences in ancient religious doctrine-" "Wait, I thought you elves didn't believe in any faith?" As far as Nell knew, stubborn atheism was the one religious tenet that all elves adhered to. "That's because we can't believe. Not after what higher power and divine right led us to do." Vynn shook his head as he stared down at his hands. "Two hundred million dead in the first five hours of combat. Two billion dead within the first year. By the time the fighting finally stopped, roughly a decade later, eight billion altogether had been lost, most of them to starvation alone. In total, the survivors barely numbered a million." "We had made the earth a wasteland. All of our great civilization, reduced to so much ash and dust. So instead of rebuilding, we left it all behind. All of our science, all of our technology. It was the only way to make sure that we could never misuse such terrible power ever again." Vynn sighed. "I've spent seventy-three years robbing every secret treasure you could possibly imagine. I broke into the private vaults of the Bank of Orga Magna, and saw ancient masterpieces that some historians still believe existed only in legend. I infiltrated the halls of the Order Steadfastly Penitent, and browsed their tomes of forbidden knowledge freely. I looted the secret coffers beneath the innermost quarters of Queen Aibe Benala, and made off with the wealth of entire countries in just a bag the size of my fist. I broke into the Sanct Armories twice." "My people built forges that could create any object imaginable, using nothing but raw resources. Flying ships that could travel anywhere in the entire world in a matter of hours. Farms that could run themselves, capable of feeding an entire army. We-" His voice cracked, and light glistened off his cheeks, tears falling freely. "We had cities on Luna." "All the wonders that my people created, and in seventy-three years of searching, all I could find," his fist clenched around the strange rod, "was a damn weapon." In a sudden burst of anger, Vynn hurled the rod into the campfire. Nell let out a startled yell, lunging forward slightly as if to lunge straight in after it, but caught herself and whirled to the rogue. "What were you thinking?! How could you just throw it away like that?!" "It's indestructible; the fire won't do a thing. It'll be there in the morning." Without another word, Vynn bundled himself up within his cloak, and fell asleep against the log. Nell stayed up late that night, until long after the fire had died out and the ashes had cooled.	"These are not horses, they are zlarthec chimera specifically meant to leave your kind in the dust. And as for this "sharp piece of metal" it has been forged from a thousand different materials that have been tempered in the heart of the dwarven core and frozen by the northern ork tribes in the depths of the ocean!" "You did not answer my question" a sly smirk came upon Alexanders face, unable to control the feeling of putting that stuck up knife ear in his place " I need not answer your questions mud-born, to insinuate, that I need give answers to the likes of you." Alex's smirk almost grew to a smile, he could tell he had gotten under the elf's skin, just a day earlier he would have wanted to be under the elf's hips but clearly things had not gone as he had planned them to. " But surely one so perfect and all mighty would have countless reasons of their superiority, unless perhaps you are not so perfect as you let on" " I am every bit perfect! Unlike some rather dim witted and ill fit members of this party!" Alex could see myral's face turn demon fruit red, brows furrowed with rage, and on the brink of taking her blade out of its sheath. Alex remembered what she had done to those Kezals, he did not want to suffer the same fate. " If eitha of ya shut up i,l refraim from killin ya in your sleep ". There came the old hobgoblin to run his mouth. The old bastard had said as many words about killing someone as he had said about hooking up with one odd prostitute or another. Hardly something to boast about in alex's book. And dont forget that accent. Alex figured it either came from some 3rd realm kingdom or the northern ork tribes. Alex didnt like either " How about you silence yourself for once you wretched grass fucker!" " Call me that a'gaen an i'l make due on me words knife ear! " " For the love of Urlin can we all just shut up " Alex was getting nowhere with this conversation. One day alex would learn that elf's damn business out here but today was not that day. " We've quite the journey ahead and i'd rather be well rested than well buried. So if you'll excuse me im off to my tent. " I believe the human is right, I shall retire to my chambers as well. I would say good night but neither of you deserve one " " Ya, ya, ya, just keep ya wankin and moans quite, i'd ratha not see yu two together
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"...so tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?" The young Rohirrim's words rang like a cracked church bell in the low-ceilinged, dark tavern. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the group of dwarves that had taken over a corner table reflexively grab at their heavy tankards, ready to start swinging at the first sign of a brawl. For myself, I began to creep slowly backwards toward the counter. I knew that Berthien kept an iron-bound mace under there, just in case the mass paralysis hex bauble swinging innocently from the chandelier misfired, as it sometimes does. To my surprise, though, the dark elf didn't even stand, let alone give forth. His ears pricked up, fractionally, and his fine-featured head began turning slowly... away from the challenger. "Oh, that's all you got? Silence?!" exclaimed the rider, clearly eager to test his mettle. "What could a tree have to say to the wind-blown grass beneath its branches, human?" and that last word was accented, I'll never forget this, with deep pity and regret. "As you are now, I once have begun" the elf answered his own question, still facing away. "But precisely there, at the start, is where the likeness ends. I am three hundred and twelve of your crooked years old, and by my race's reckoning still barely a youth, myself. I remember when the one you call `wise king Aethelrod of legend`, whose ensign you so proudly bear, came to my father's court, just as brash and loud and unknowing as you, to demand help against the orcish hordes to our North. It was duly granted, and we chose to fight along your fore-fathers, though perhaps a bit more skillfully than they did. But it's not skill of weapons that sets us apart, indeed, nor mere age. What do you suppose, human, that elves were doing ten thousand years ago? Twenty? Do you even think about such things at all?" "Hruh?!" came out of the Rohan boy's mouth, but nothing more. The elf finally swung his icy stare to his would-be challenger's eyes and continued. "I'll wager you don't. What does this spring's grass care of the mighty oaks of yesteryear? Why would you learn of the treeships, and their pilots, and the endless dark? Why would you learn of the game of Cat and Dragon? And even if you had heard and thought of such things, somehow, why would you think them any different from children's stories about king Aethelrod's magic, talking destrier? No, human. We are not the same, you and I. There's a sword-belt around your hips because that's the best you know, the best that many generations of your ephemereal peers can come up with. There is one around mine to protect our world from dangers far greater than mere orcs." "Hmpf. I can make up children's tales as well as the next man, or elf" - the young man was clearly still spoiling for a fight, elves are known for wanting to be known as straight-talkers and straight-dealers. But the elf would have none of it. "Have you ever wondered why the stars are silent, hooman?" continue y/n/a/q	“So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?” I looked down at the elf lying prone in the dirt of the training ground, grinning. It was the fourth time I’d put him in his arse in the last ten minutes, and the fourth time he’d set off on his usual mostly-not-serious tirade against the ‘backwards mud dwelling humans’. I’d figured I’d call him out this time. He stopped talking and rubbed his shoulder, before sighing and mock-glaring up at me. “Dammit Liz! You know the spell the Elven Ancestors used on our race just as well as I do! It’s because we’re ‘better than you at everything’, and that includes wasting time, procrastination, laziness, and losing our research notes! Now let me up before I show you how much better than you I am at kicking you in the shins.”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"...so tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?" The young Rohirrim's words rang like a cracked church bell in the low-ceilinged, dark tavern. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the group of dwarves that had taken over a corner table reflexively grab at their heavy tankards, ready to start swinging at the first sign of a brawl. For myself, I began to creep slowly backwards toward the counter. I knew that Berthien kept an iron-bound mace under there, just in case the mass paralysis hex bauble swinging innocently from the chandelier misfired, as it sometimes does. To my surprise, though, the dark elf didn't even stand, let alone give forth. His ears pricked up, fractionally, and his fine-featured head began turning slowly... away from the challenger. "Oh, that's all you got? Silence?!" exclaimed the rider, clearly eager to test his mettle. "What could a tree have to say to the wind-blown grass beneath its branches, human?" and that last word was accented, I'll never forget this, with deep pity and regret. "As you are now, I once have begun" the elf answered his own question, still facing away. "But precisely there, at the start, is where the likeness ends. I am three hundred and twelve of your crooked years old, and by my race's reckoning still barely a youth, myself. I remember when the one you call `wise king Aethelrod of legend`, whose ensign you so proudly bear, came to my father's court, just as brash and loud and unknowing as you, to demand help against the orcish hordes to our North. It was duly granted, and we chose to fight along your fore-fathers, though perhaps a bit more skillfully than they did. But it's not skill of weapons that sets us apart, indeed, nor mere age. What do you suppose, human, that elves were doing ten thousand years ago? Twenty? Do you even think about such things at all?" "Hruh?!" came out of the Rohan boy's mouth, but nothing more. The elf finally swung his icy stare to his would-be challenger's eyes and continued. "I'll wager you don't. What does this spring's grass care of the mighty oaks of yesteryear? Why would you learn of the treeships, and their pilots, and the endless dark? Why would you learn of the game of Cat and Dragon? And even if you had heard and thought of such things, somehow, why would you think them any different from children's stories about king Aethelrod's magic, talking destrier? No, human. We are not the same, you and I. There's a sword-belt around your hips because that's the best you know, the best that many generations of your ephemereal peers can come up with. There is one around mine to protect our world from dangers far greater than mere orcs." "Hmpf. I can make up children's tales as well as the next man, or elf" - the young man was clearly still spoiling for a fight, elves are known for wanting to be known as straight-talkers and straight-dealers. But the elf would have none of it. "Have you ever wondered why the stars are silent, hooman?" continue y/n/a/q	Just like everyone else, I was obviously fascinated when the New Race arrived. I mean, who couldn't be? For our entire existence, we wondered if we were the only ones out there. If there was any other being that could possibly comprehend the weight of our daily lives and worldly ordeals of the 'Human Experience'. We had theorized about it in countless books, stories and games. And we had the highly motivated, highly naïve notion that somehow they'd be more enlightened than us. Instead, what we got, was the Vakri. From a decent enough distance away, you could hardly tell the difference. And even up close, it's not like they were horribly offensive to look at. Hell, some of them kind of allured you in an odd sort of way. But there was something just simpler, stubbier about that that's hard to put your finger on. However, all of that sort of description is fairly myopic in the face of the fact that they only live about 8 years on average. And I'm talking, doddering old 'Wurther's Original' grandpa old. At eight. It sounds almost sad or tragic, but I promise you they don't see it that way. The Vakri are very, very vocal about their day to day concerns. They even form entire political movements to voice those concerns, but they get to a fevered pitch in about six months before dying out entirely. I used to joke that I couldn't fathom Tic Tok before; now no human can. Memes rise and fall within minutes. You start out sympathetic for them, but it seems like by the time you're done addressing one argument with them, that person dies in six months and three new people that need to be given the same chat just rise up in their place! And that wouldn't be so bad if they were at least respectful! But just look at them! They're all squatting in a condemned apartment building, so boldly to the point that they renamed the complex and brag about "their" neighborhood! They pound stop-signs into axes and dare to compare themselves to Firemen. ...And frankly, I'm starting to feel bad about myself, because I see the mixed-raced children coming into this world... and how am I supposed to look at someone that's only going to live to 30 at best? Someone that's going to lose their Vakri parent very early on, and chances are the Human parent isn't around. Now we have 11 year old 'adults' running around our world on top of all this madness? What sort of job do you give \those\ people? Imagine if children that couldn't comprehend the length of a summer vacation, like it was a magical, distant void, began demanding your allegiances in their wars. Wars that lasted weeks. How often could you turn them down before you had a reputation as the stodgy, unmoving, inflexible immortals? How long until you were something to be cleared out of the way, like some many ancient forests we felled for our apartment complexes, that we now lose to them daily. How long until we are outnumbered 10 to 1? -Last Online, 5 years ago-
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Note: I accidentally posted this in reply to the bot comment, instead of as a top level. So let's try this again. --- "Ah. I suppose that it makes sense, that _you_ would be the one to ask this question." The Elf shook his head, sighing, then continuing, "As you put it, we are 'riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal' because, well... That is what _you_ know." There was a pause, the Human blinking at this, "Are you saying that you are incapable of advancing without others to show you the way?" The Human's tone was far more disbelief than distain, but both were present. The Elf blinked at that, and begun to laugh, shaking his head as he did so. It took him a moment to get the laughter under control, "No, though... I can definitely see how you might have come to that conclusion. But, no." Still chuckling some what, he finally offered, "You know that there are things which we are forbidden to share with your kind. We can offer healing, but we can not always share the way of the healing. We can share some medicines, but can only give others directly to the ill. We can offer advice, but sometimes can not explain _why_ we offer that advice. Your people chafe at this, sometimes _rightly_." The laughter has stopped, and the tone now becomes somewhat grim, "There are however _other_ things which we may not share at all. Which we may not use upon your world. Which we dare not leave even a trace of the idea." "And this has to do with horses and sharp pieces of metal!?" asks the Human, "Without telling us how any of it works, why would your people give up _any_ advantage when a kingdom turned on you? What could _possibly_ be worth seeing your long lived comrades die at our hands?" The Elf nods to this, "Yes, even without telling you how it works. Even without ever even hinting at how it could work. You have.... You have _more_ than enough ways to kill one another." The Elf shakes his head sadly, and lets out another sigh, "You are short lived enough as it is. We will not be responsible for teaching you how to die all the faster. We will not be responsible for that." After a brief pause, and at just a whisper, "Not again. Not to anyone else." The Human had opened his mouth to reply, before the whisper, but he stills. Mouth closing, he stares at the Elf, remaining silent. He stares at the face of the Elf, centuries older than the Human, and finally, he nods, perhaps to the Elf, perhaps to himself.	"Hear me now human, some of my kind quietly adore your race, love you even. As a whole our opinion is truly neutral, I would know being the Empress's first Aid, twin, and second to her death in combat." The shackles they had me in were ment for high end magic users. Something know among our people. I studied them for a few moments and cleared my throat. "For example, your metal is shit compared to dwarves, but you actually have some sense around ore compared to the Gnomes and halfling. Orcs learn their craft from us and the other races are too small to even mention at this time so you have that for you. But sadly this will not work on me." The human curled a lip before barking out. "Oh? Why's that, your all to powerful and you could just over power'em?" I paused and watched the trail beaten man, beard thick and hair long. I have him a rare smile. "No good sir, I'm the opposite." With a Swift twist and yank the anti magic bounds sparked, burned and then died as I peeled the metal from my wrist. He sat there mouth agape, the others in the room just as stunned. " They don't work for the sole fact that I do not have magic. Never did. I reached slowly over to a knife that was sheathed to his chest and removed it, then picked up the odd fruit and sliced it in to halves. I offered half to him before popped some of it in my mouth, seeds and all and chewed, after a moment he slowly took his half offered and ate it. "Now let me tell you two things before this lovely chat is done. One we keep to the same level as everyone else for the sole fact that we wouldn't want to end up alone in the world again. Could you imagine being sole by yourself in this vast world? To have no one other then your own people? That would sicken us to death for we are like the big siblings to the rest of the races, and we love our little brothers and sisters. Yes we argue, yes we fight, but at the end of it all we still and will always love you for you." I liked the light sweetness of that odd red fruit and glanced to another female nearest. " Could you tell me the name of this fruit, it was very delicious!" " It's called an apple, a Gala apple, from the human city of gala." I nodded with a small smile on my face. The man before me came to his senses and barked "What's the second thing?" I let out a grin that showed sharper teeth then any else could have. " Oh you've more in likey heard of my name. Every time you pelt a wolf or a werewolf you've most of heard them curse you with it." I leaned back with a chuckle that came from deep within my chest. "I know you hear the orcs call out my names when war is upon you." The room went still, their hearts set to hammering away. "I am the aid to the Empress, her twin. They call me many name, Father of the hunt, God's Killer, The cursed Wind. I am the elf so called struck with the taint of darker, wilder things. But no, this nature is mine own." Weapons started to be pulled but I was up in a flash, a throat opened here, a belly there before I was left with two people, two humans, male and female. I grinned as I took in the tang of blood and entrails, of gore and horror. "But the one I oh so love is the Erlking King." I watched my new children as I bowed to him. "Come little pups, let father teach you the old ways!" The encampment that guarded this tent was turned to screams and red sprays.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	With a sigh, Edren sipped from his wineskin, looking to his companions as they sat by the warmth and light of their campfire. "First," he explained, "the history of elvenkind doesn't say 'humanity crawled from the mud pits,' it was 'humanity clawed itself from the middens.' Of course, I object to that, just as much as the rest of you surely do." "Even your scholars insult us," a slim ruddy-haired human, the target of the elf's thinly-veiled insult, replied. "Not intentionally. The Verse of the Elowaan goes on for several volumes about our people and our histories with dwarves, quai, ysoki, tieflings... even the drakkhen. Even the noblest of those peoples are still viciously libeled by the hand of a historian who has long since been scattered to the winds." Another pull from Edren's wineskin, then the elf continued, "To actually answer your question, Much, we train to ride and handle horses, and well-practice the fine art of swordsmanship, for the same reason anyone else does." "Why's that?" This time, the human speaking to Edren was a young black-haired woman, a thin pipe nearly as long as her forearm clutched between two fingers. A thin plume of smoke drifted from her lips, mingling with the smoke of the campfire and the scents of the autumn evening around them. "I'm not challenging you on this, Edren. I'm only asking." "That you are, Seiya. Elves ride horses simply because it's faster than walking." "And here I thought it was because elves were always in a hurry," a young man in what were obviously merchant's robes interrupted. Expecting some laughter from his companions, or at least a chuckle, he was surprised to get four irritated stares. "What?" "Harkon, stop interrupting and let him finish," Much urged. "There'll be plenty of time for those comments later." Taking a draw from her pipe, Seiya nodded to the elf. "He makes a good point. To us, humans are always in a hurry because it's so rare that you see your second century. We can take our time; elves have centuries' worth of it, not to brag. And with that time... we can take a hobby, a trade, and perfect it. One is never too young to learn, after all," Edren said. "And the noblest art of them all among elvenkind is..." "Writing," Much guessed with a smile. "Archery," Seiya added. "Storytelling?" Harkon guessed. The fourth human, who had remained silent until now, finally broke his silence. "No. He's talking about swordplay," he said, his voice deep and low. "You speak the truth, Lexford. One can study a school of swordsmanship, but to walk down that path, to reach its conclusion..." Edren smiled, slowly drawing his sword, displaying it to his companions around the fire. "It can be a wondrous thing, indeed. And not just the art of swordsmanship-- testing your knowledge of the Shade of Winter school against a master of the Autumn Leaf, or to pit the defensive New Moon against the rapidity of the Zenith-- no! The art of the sword itself takes many years to practice, to perfect. See my blade? Nearly a millennium ago, my great-grandfather forged this damascene blade as a gift to his thrice-blessed bride. Once she had mastered the blade, it found its way into my grandfather's skilled hands, then to my father, and once he had mastered its secrets, he passed it down to me." "So, it's an heirloom?" Seiya asked, curious. "The word was imastyl, wasn't it?" "'Imastyl,' yes. 'Blade of legacy' in the common tongue. And when I sire a child, and they come of age, I too shall pass this blade unto them, and teach them how to use it properly." Turning to Much, Edren finished, "In short, elves ride horses because it is expedient. We wield swords because we wish it."	"Hear me now human, some of my kind quietly adore your race, love you even. As a whole our opinion is truly neutral, I would know being the Empress's first Aid, twin, and second to her death in combat." The shackles they had me in were ment for high end magic users. Something know among our people. I studied them for a few moments and cleared my throat. "For example, your metal is shit compared to dwarves, but you actually have some sense around ore compared to the Gnomes and halfling. Orcs learn their craft from us and the other races are too small to even mention at this time so you have that for you. But sadly this will not work on me." The human curled a lip before barking out. "Oh? Why's that, your all to powerful and you could just over power'em?" I paused and watched the trail beaten man, beard thick and hair long. I have him a rare smile. "No good sir, I'm the opposite." With a Swift twist and yank the anti magic bounds sparked, burned and then died as I peeled the metal from my wrist. He sat there mouth agape, the others in the room just as stunned. " They don't work for the sole fact that I do not have magic. Never did. I reached slowly over to a knife that was sheathed to his chest and removed it, then picked up the odd fruit and sliced it in to halves. I offered half to him before popped some of it in my mouth, seeds and all and chewed, after a moment he slowly took his half offered and ate it. "Now let me tell you two things before this lovely chat is done. One we keep to the same level as everyone else for the sole fact that we wouldn't want to end up alone in the world again. Could you imagine being sole by yourself in this vast world? To have no one other then your own people? That would sicken us to death for we are like the big siblings to the rest of the races, and we love our little brothers and sisters. Yes we argue, yes we fight, but at the end of it all we still and will always love you for you." I liked the light sweetness of that odd red fruit and glanced to another female nearest. " Could you tell me the name of this fruit, it was very delicious!" " It's called an apple, a Gala apple, from the human city of gala." I nodded with a small smile on my face. The man before me came to his senses and barked "What's the second thing?" I let out a grin that showed sharper teeth then any else could have. " Oh you've more in likey heard of my name. Every time you pelt a wolf or a werewolf you've most of heard them curse you with it." I leaned back with a chuckle that came from deep within my chest. "I know you hear the orcs call out my names when war is upon you." The room went still, their hearts set to hammering away. "I am the aid to the Empress, her twin. They call me many name, Father of the hunt, God's Killer, The cursed Wind. I am the elf so called struck with the taint of darker, wilder things. But no, this nature is mine own." Weapons started to be pulled but I was up in a flash, a throat opened here, a belly there before I was left with two people, two humans, male and female. I grinned as I took in the tang of blood and entrails, of gore and horror. "But the one I oh so love is the Erlking King." I watched my new children as I bowed to him. "Come little pups, let father teach you the old ways!" The encampment that guarded this tent was turned to screams and red sprays.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Vynn was silent. The sudden halt in the conversation shook Nell out of her warm, half-drunk haze like a bucket of freezing water. With some difficulty, the ranger lifted her head off the mostly-dry log she had chosen as her pillow and turned to her elven companion, who was staring blankly into the campfire. The rogue's expression had gone completely cold; not the usual frown of mild disdain that typically graced his delicate features, but something harder and far more terrible, his gaze lost on something far beyond the blazing fire. "Oi, Vynn. Forget about it. I wasn't-" He abruptly stood, reaching their sleeping horses in just a few brisk strides. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any offense by it!" Ignoring her completely, he crouched beside his mare to dig around in her saddlebags for something. "Come on, you know I say stupid shite when I drink!" Nell needed to head this off now; if she let the master thief brood on it, he'd be unbearable in the morning. "Can you please just-" "Wait." Nell halted her pleas, watching her sullen partner as he finally found what he was looking for and returned to the campfire with two items: In one hand, he carried a plain shortsword, one of the weapons they had looted off a pack of bandits a few days back. In the other, he carried a short rod of some sorts, about two hand lengths long, made of some dull metal that reflected no light from the fire, utterly featureless save for a hollow opening at the top end. Vynn stuck the sword upright in the dirt, then stepped back and raised the rod away from his body, shifting his stance as if preparing to strike… Fire erupted from the tip of the rod, brilliant gold and impossibly sharp, like a shard of glaring midday sun honed into a blade of pure light. Faster than Nell could blink, Vynn swept the rod across the sword in the ground, sparks showering outwards as golden flame crossed steel. As he finished the motion, the fiery blade vanished from the rod; a beat later, the top half of the sword toppled off, molten metal hissing against the damp grass. Nell sat dumbstruck, mouth agape. "What in hell…" Vynn changed his stance again, raising the rod off to one side as he stared at it down his arm, and the rod shifted, metal flowing like water to form a new shape, like a crossbow with no arms… A flash of golden light blinded Nell as thunder split the air. When her sight returned and the ringing in her ears faded, she was met with the rustle of startled birds and the clatter of falling branches; looking in the direction that Vynn still pointed the no-longer-a-rod, she saw a clean line of holes in the tree canopy, stretching out far beyond the pale light of the fire, all the way until it reached open sky… Vynn collapsed back onto his seat beside the fire, looking down at the impossible device in his hand as it shifted again, flowing back into its original rod shape. "We went back." "Our people didn't stop at horses and sharp sticks. We harnessed sail, steam, oil, lightning. We split the atom, then fused it back together. We brought metal to life, and taught it to think. We conquered every illness and disease, made our bodies stronger and our minds keener, extended our average lifespan a dozenfold. We mastered ourselves and our world like no species before or after. In six thousand years, our civilization grew and evolved to the point where we had everything we wanted, and all that we could ever need." "And we threw it all away." "Even in a world free of resource scarcity, we still found reasons to quarrel with each other. Petty differences in ancient religious doctrine-" "Wait, I thought you elves didn't believe in any faith?" As far as Nell knew, stubborn atheism was the one religious tenet that all elves adhered to. "That's because we can't believe. Not after what higher power and divine right led us to do." Vynn shook his head as he stared down at his hands. "Two hundred million dead in the first five hours of combat. Two billion dead within the first year. By the time the fighting finally stopped, roughly a decade later, eight billion altogether had been lost, most of them to starvation alone. In total, the survivors barely numbered a million." "We had made the earth a wasteland. All of our great civilization, reduced to so much ash and dust. So instead of rebuilding, we left it all behind. All of our science, all of our technology. It was the only way to make sure that we could never misuse such terrible power ever again." Vynn sighed. "I've spent seventy-three years robbing every secret treasure you could possibly imagine. I broke into the private vaults of the Bank of Orga Magna, and saw ancient masterpieces that some historians still believe existed only in legend. I infiltrated the halls of the Order Steadfastly Penitent, and browsed their tomes of forbidden knowledge freely. I looted the secret coffers beneath the innermost quarters of Queen Aibe Benala, and made off with the wealth of entire countries in just a bag the size of my fist. I broke into the Sanct Armories twice." "My people built forges that could create any object imaginable, using nothing but raw resources. Flying ships that could travel anywhere in the entire world in a matter of hours. Farms that could run themselves, capable of feeding an entire army. We-" His voice cracked, and light glistened off his cheeks, tears falling freely. "We had cities on Luna." "All the wonders that my people created, and in seventy-three years of searching, all I could find," his fist clenched around the strange rod, "was a damn weapon." In a sudden burst of anger, Vynn hurled the rod into the campfire. Nell let out a startled yell, lunging forward slightly as if to lunge straight in after it, but caught herself and whirled to the rogue. "What were you thinking?! How could you just throw it away like that?!" "It's indestructible; the fire won't do a thing. It'll be there in the morning." Without another word, Vynn bundled himself up within his cloak, and fell asleep against the log. Nell stayed up late that night, until long after the fire had died out and the ashes had cooled.	"Hear me now human, some of my kind quietly adore your race, love you even. As a whole our opinion is truly neutral, I would know being the Empress's first Aid, twin, and second to her death in combat." The shackles they had me in were ment for high end magic users. Something know among our people. I studied them for a few moments and cleared my throat. "For example, your metal is shit compared to dwarves, but you actually have some sense around ore compared to the Gnomes and halfling. Orcs learn their craft from us and the other races are too small to even mention at this time so you have that for you. But sadly this will not work on me." The human curled a lip before barking out. "Oh? Why's that, your all to powerful and you could just over power'em?" I paused and watched the trail beaten man, beard thick and hair long. I have him a rare smile. "No good sir, I'm the opposite." With a Swift twist and yank the anti magic bounds sparked, burned and then died as I peeled the metal from my wrist. He sat there mouth agape, the others in the room just as stunned. " They don't work for the sole fact that I do not have magic. Never did. I reached slowly over to a knife that was sheathed to his chest and removed it, then picked up the odd fruit and sliced it in to halves. I offered half to him before popped some of it in my mouth, seeds and all and chewed, after a moment he slowly took his half offered and ate it. "Now let me tell you two things before this lovely chat is done. One we keep to the same level as everyone else for the sole fact that we wouldn't want to end up alone in the world again. Could you imagine being sole by yourself in this vast world? To have no one other then your own people? That would sicken us to death for we are like the big siblings to the rest of the races, and we love our little brothers and sisters. Yes we argue, yes we fight, but at the end of it all we still and will always love you for you." I liked the light sweetness of that odd red fruit and glanced to another female nearest. " Could you tell me the name of this fruit, it was very delicious!" " It's called an apple, a Gala apple, from the human city of gala." I nodded with a small smile on my face. The man before me came to his senses and barked "What's the second thing?" I let out a grin that showed sharper teeth then any else could have. " Oh you've more in likey heard of my name. Every time you pelt a wolf or a werewolf you've most of heard them curse you with it." I leaned back with a chuckle that came from deep within my chest. "I know you hear the orcs call out my names when war is upon you." The room went still, their hearts set to hammering away. "I am the aid to the Empress, her twin. They call me many name, Father of the hunt, God's Killer, The cursed Wind. I am the elf so called struck with the taint of darker, wilder things. But no, this nature is mine own." Weapons started to be pulled but I was up in a flash, a throat opened here, a belly there before I was left with two people, two humans, male and female. I grinned as I took in the tang of blood and entrails, of gore and horror. "But the one I oh so love is the Erlking King." I watched my new children as I bowed to him. "Come little pups, let father teach you the old ways!" The encampment that guarded this tent was turned to screams and red sprays.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	With a sigh, Edren sipped from his wineskin, looking to his companions as they sat by the warmth and light of their campfire. "First," he explained, "the history of elvenkind doesn't say 'humanity crawled from the mud pits,' it was 'humanity clawed itself from the middens.' Of course, I object to that, just as much as the rest of you surely do." "Even your scholars insult us," a slim ruddy-haired human, the target of the elf's thinly-veiled insult, replied. "Not intentionally. The Verse of the Elowaan goes on for several volumes about our people and our histories with dwarves, quai, ysoki, tieflings... even the drakkhen. Even the noblest of those peoples are still viciously libeled by the hand of a historian who has long since been scattered to the winds." Another pull from Edren's wineskin, then the elf continued, "To actually answer your question, Much, we train to ride and handle horses, and well-practice the fine art of swordsmanship, for the same reason anyone else does." "Why's that?" This time, the human speaking to Edren was a young black-haired woman, a thin pipe nearly as long as her forearm clutched between two fingers. A thin plume of smoke drifted from her lips, mingling with the smoke of the campfire and the scents of the autumn evening around them. "I'm not challenging you on this, Edren. I'm only asking." "That you are, Seiya. Elves ride horses simply because it's faster than walking." "And here I thought it was because elves were always in a hurry," a young man in what were obviously merchant's robes interrupted. Expecting some laughter from his companions, or at least a chuckle, he was surprised to get four irritated stares. "What?" "Harkon, stop interrupting and let him finish," Much urged. "There'll be plenty of time for those comments later." Taking a draw from her pipe, Seiya nodded to the elf. "He makes a good point. To us, humans are always in a hurry because it's so rare that you see your second century. We can take our time; elves have centuries' worth of it, not to brag. And with that time... we can take a hobby, a trade, and perfect it. One is never too young to learn, after all," Edren said. "And the noblest art of them all among elvenkind is..." "Writing," Much guessed with a smile. "Archery," Seiya added. "Storytelling?" Harkon guessed. The fourth human, who had remained silent until now, finally broke his silence. "No. He's talking about swordplay," he said, his voice deep and low. "You speak the truth, Lexford. One can study a school of swordsmanship, but to walk down that path, to reach its conclusion..." Edren smiled, slowly drawing his sword, displaying it to his companions around the fire. "It can be a wondrous thing, indeed. And not just the art of swordsmanship-- testing your knowledge of the Shade of Winter school against a master of the Autumn Leaf, or to pit the defensive New Moon against the rapidity of the Zenith-- no! The art of the sword itself takes many years to practice, to perfect. See my blade? Nearly a millennium ago, my great-grandfather forged this damascene blade as a gift to his thrice-blessed bride. Once she had mastered the blade, it found its way into my grandfather's skilled hands, then to my father, and once he had mastered its secrets, he passed it down to me." "So, it's an heirloom?" Seiya asked, curious. "The word was imastyl, wasn't it?" "'Imastyl,' yes. 'Blade of legacy' in the common tongue. And when I sire a child, and they come of age, I too shall pass this blade unto them, and teach them how to use it properly." Turning to Much, Edren finished, "In short, elves ride horses because it is expedient. We wield swords because we wish it."	Note: I accidentally posted this in reply to the bot comment, instead of as a top level. So let's try this again. --- "Ah. I suppose that it makes sense, that _you_ would be the one to ask this question." The Elf shook his head, sighing, then continuing, "As you put it, we are 'riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal' because, well... That is what _you_ know." There was a pause, the Human blinking at this, "Are you saying that you are incapable of advancing without others to show you the way?" The Human's tone was far more disbelief than distain, but both were present. The Elf blinked at that, and begun to laugh, shaking his head as he did so. It took him a moment to get the laughter under control, "No, though... I can definitely see how you might have come to that conclusion. But, no." Still chuckling some what, he finally offered, "You know that there are things which we are forbidden to share with your kind. We can offer healing, but we can not always share the way of the healing. We can share some medicines, but can only give others directly to the ill. We can offer advice, but sometimes can not explain _why_ we offer that advice. Your people chafe at this, sometimes _rightly_." The laughter has stopped, and the tone now becomes somewhat grim, "There are however _other_ things which we may not share at all. Which we may not use upon your world. Which we dare not leave even a trace of the idea." "And this has to do with horses and sharp pieces of metal!?" asks the Human, "Without telling us how any of it works, why would your people give up _any_ advantage when a kingdom turned on you? What could _possibly_ be worth seeing your long lived comrades die at our hands?" The Elf nods to this, "Yes, even without telling you how it works. Even without ever even hinting at how it could work. You have.... You have _more_ than enough ways to kill one another." The Elf shakes his head sadly, and lets out another sigh, "You are short lived enough as it is. We will not be responsible for teaching you how to die all the faster. We will not be responsible for that." After a brief pause, and at just a whisper, "Not again. Not to anyone else." The Human had opened his mouth to reply, before the whisper, but he stills. Mouth closing, he stares at the Elf, remaining silent. He stares at the face of the Elf, centuries older than the Human, and finally, he nods, perhaps to the Elf, perhaps to himself.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Vynn was silent. The sudden halt in the conversation shook Nell out of her warm, half-drunk haze like a bucket of freezing water. With some difficulty, the ranger lifted her head off the mostly-dry log she had chosen as her pillow and turned to her elven companion, who was staring blankly into the campfire. The rogue's expression had gone completely cold; not the usual frown of mild disdain that typically graced his delicate features, but something harder and far more terrible, his gaze lost on something far beyond the blazing fire. "Oi, Vynn. Forget about it. I wasn't-" He abruptly stood, reaching their sleeping horses in just a few brisk strides. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any offense by it!" Ignoring her completely, he crouched beside his mare to dig around in her saddlebags for something. "Come on, you know I say stupid shite when I drink!" Nell needed to head this off now; if she let the master thief brood on it, he'd be unbearable in the morning. "Can you please just-" "Wait." Nell halted her pleas, watching her sullen partner as he finally found what he was looking for and returned to the campfire with two items: In one hand, he carried a plain shortsword, one of the weapons they had looted off a pack of bandits a few days back. In the other, he carried a short rod of some sorts, about two hand lengths long, made of some dull metal that reflected no light from the fire, utterly featureless save for a hollow opening at the top end. Vynn stuck the sword upright in the dirt, then stepped back and raised the rod away from his body, shifting his stance as if preparing to strike… Fire erupted from the tip of the rod, brilliant gold and impossibly sharp, like a shard of glaring midday sun honed into a blade of pure light. Faster than Nell could blink, Vynn swept the rod across the sword in the ground, sparks showering outwards as golden flame crossed steel. As he finished the motion, the fiery blade vanished from the rod; a beat later, the top half of the sword toppled off, molten metal hissing against the damp grass. Nell sat dumbstruck, mouth agape. "What in hell…" Vynn changed his stance again, raising the rod off to one side as he stared at it down his arm, and the rod shifted, metal flowing like water to form a new shape, like a crossbow with no arms… A flash of golden light blinded Nell as thunder split the air. When her sight returned and the ringing in her ears faded, she was met with the rustle of startled birds and the clatter of falling branches; looking in the direction that Vynn still pointed the no-longer-a-rod, she saw a clean line of holes in the tree canopy, stretching out far beyond the pale light of the fire, all the way until it reached open sky… Vynn collapsed back onto his seat beside the fire, looking down at the impossible device in his hand as it shifted again, flowing back into its original rod shape. "We went back." "Our people didn't stop at horses and sharp sticks. We harnessed sail, steam, oil, lightning. We split the atom, then fused it back together. We brought metal to life, and taught it to think. We conquered every illness and disease, made our bodies stronger and our minds keener, extended our average lifespan a dozenfold. We mastered ourselves and our world like no species before or after. In six thousand years, our civilization grew and evolved to the point where we had everything we wanted, and all that we could ever need." "And we threw it all away." "Even in a world free of resource scarcity, we still found reasons to quarrel with each other. Petty differences in ancient religious doctrine-" "Wait, I thought you elves didn't believe in any faith?" As far as Nell knew, stubborn atheism was the one religious tenet that all elves adhered to. "That's because we can't believe. Not after what higher power and divine right led us to do." Vynn shook his head as he stared down at his hands. "Two hundred million dead in the first five hours of combat. Two billion dead within the first year. By the time the fighting finally stopped, roughly a decade later, eight billion altogether had been lost, most of them to starvation alone. In total, the survivors barely numbered a million." "We had made the earth a wasteland. All of our great civilization, reduced to so much ash and dust. So instead of rebuilding, we left it all behind. All of our science, all of our technology. It was the only way to make sure that we could never misuse such terrible power ever again." Vynn sighed. "I've spent seventy-three years robbing every secret treasure you could possibly imagine. I broke into the private vaults of the Bank of Orga Magna, and saw ancient masterpieces that some historians still believe existed only in legend. I infiltrated the halls of the Order Steadfastly Penitent, and browsed their tomes of forbidden knowledge freely. I looted the secret coffers beneath the innermost quarters of Queen Aibe Benala, and made off with the wealth of entire countries in just a bag the size of my fist. I broke into the Sanct Armories twice." "My people built forges that could create any object imaginable, using nothing but raw resources. Flying ships that could travel anywhere in the entire world in a matter of hours. Farms that could run themselves, capable of feeding an entire army. We-" His voice cracked, and light glistened off his cheeks, tears falling freely. "We had cities on Luna." "All the wonders that my people created, and in seventy-three years of searching, all I could find," his fist clenched around the strange rod, "was a damn weapon." In a sudden burst of anger, Vynn hurled the rod into the campfire. Nell let out a startled yell, lunging forward slightly as if to lunge straight in after it, but caught herself and whirled to the rogue. "What were you thinking?! How could you just throw it away like that?!" "It's indestructible; the fire won't do a thing. It'll be there in the morning." Without another word, Vynn bundled himself up within his cloak, and fell asleep against the log. Nell stayed up late that night, until long after the fire had died out and the ashes had cooled.	Note: I accidentally posted this in reply to the bot comment, instead of as a top level. So let's try this again. --- "Ah. I suppose that it makes sense, that _you_ would be the one to ask this question." The Elf shook his head, sighing, then continuing, "As you put it, we are 'riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal' because, well... That is what _you_ know." There was a pause, the Human blinking at this, "Are you saying that you are incapable of advancing without others to show you the way?" The Human's tone was far more disbelief than distain, but both were present. The Elf blinked at that, and begun to laugh, shaking his head as he did so. It took him a moment to get the laughter under control, "No, though... I can definitely see how you might have come to that conclusion. But, no." Still chuckling some what, he finally offered, "You know that there are things which we are forbidden to share with your kind. We can offer healing, but we can not always share the way of the healing. We can share some medicines, but can only give others directly to the ill. We can offer advice, but sometimes can not explain _why_ we offer that advice. Your people chafe at this, sometimes _rightly_." The laughter has stopped, and the tone now becomes somewhat grim, "There are however _other_ things which we may not share at all. Which we may not use upon your world. Which we dare not leave even a trace of the idea." "And this has to do with horses and sharp pieces of metal!?" asks the Human, "Without telling us how any of it works, why would your people give up _any_ advantage when a kingdom turned on you? What could _possibly_ be worth seeing your long lived comrades die at our hands?" The Elf nods to this, "Yes, even without telling you how it works. Even without ever even hinting at how it could work. You have.... You have _more_ than enough ways to kill one another." The Elf shakes his head sadly, and lets out another sigh, "You are short lived enough as it is. We will not be responsible for teaching you how to die all the faster. We will not be responsible for that." After a brief pause, and at just a whisper, "Not again. Not to anyone else." The Human had opened his mouth to reply, before the whisper, but he stills. Mouth closing, he stares at the Elf, remaining silent. He stares at the face of the Elf, centuries older than the Human, and finally, he nods, perhaps to the Elf, perhaps to himself.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	The elf supposed it was a decent question, by human standards. It was based on the assumption that other races in the universe would value technology as many humans did. "Cultural tradition. We prefer to rely on horses and swords, and our magic helps greatly with that." The elf paused to let the human consider that. Imagine a vault full of enchanted weapons," the elf said. "In it lies Durandal that makes you indestructible, Fragarach that commands the winds, a sword that commands fire, and so on. " Swords that ruled over gravity and electromagnetism, the elf didn't say. A scythe that could open wormholes to hit from any angle. A ring that gave the wearer the gift to teleport to other galaxies. All of them were weapons based on ideas humanity had yet to imagine.	A cool night upon the crossroads lead to many quiet nights. Lights from the tavern flickered across the road and part of the prairie that lay across from its front door. Inside were three groups of travelers and a small set of workers keeping mead in mugs and off the thatch floor. Two of these groups were traders, their large caravans hidden under tarps behind the inn. These groups convened early in the night, set to barter between themselves using stories as a backdrop to trickle information of their travels to one another. Word of bandit three days back met with a town filled with muddy waters. The groups seemed content to ignore the third, a band of adventurers having a conversation that was accelerating past rowdy. "It's called tradition, you fuckwit," the tall elf said, raising his pint into the air and leaning back. The contents sloshed about and made a leap from the rim of the cup, almost colliding with one of the passing bar maids. Her stern scowl did not affect the elf who paid no attention to her. "I see, I see," the human said, rubbing his chin. "The traditional manure scrapers must be exceptionally proud of themselves." "I am sure that they take more pride in their task than you should in your dawnbreak tradition of fornicating with yourself directly after making the chamber pot regret ever being crafted," the elf said. His words began to flow with more elegance as he spoke and his anger rose, almost slipping into his native tongue. "Oh, yes, remind me of all the lonely nights when I forgot to put my tent far enough away from yours. Such a mature and intelligent race you are those nights," the human said. He then clasped his hands to his chest and closed his eyes. "Princess Feyhi! Princess Feyhi," he moaned before butchering lines of elvish that should not be spoken in public. Embarrassment only met the human when he noticed the elvish barmaid looking to him with a quirked brow and a disgusted grimace. He dropped his hands before clearing his throat and bringing his mug up to his mouth in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "You are disgusting," the elf snarled, dragging his nails across the wooden table. "At least we wash our hands! I doubt you humans even wipe half the time." The human looked shocked for a moment before turning towards the orc at the table. "Morg, what do you think? If elves were so great they'd have to have progressed more by now, right," he asked. "No comment," the orc said, not even looking up from her book. The human was aghast for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't have the best memory but did you not talk about the racial history classes you took in Ulghur?" "I did indeed take those classes," only now did the orc look up from their book to the human. "They taught me to stay out of these conversations," she said with a smile. The human groaned, leaned back, and placed his hands over his eyes. "Pink eye," the elf said into his mug. The human responded by throwing his empty mug at the elf. Missing by a wide margin, the elvish barmaid had to lift a leg to avoid being hit by it. The human was halfway through an apology before the mug came sailing back to him at twice the speed and thrice the accuracy, hitting him in the forehead with a thunk. "I wonder if it was the mug or him that made the hit sound hollow," the orc whispered to the elf.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	With a sigh, Edren sipped from his wineskin, looking to his companions as they sat by the warmth and light of their campfire. "First," he explained, "the history of elvenkind doesn't say 'humanity crawled from the mud pits,' it was 'humanity clawed itself from the middens.' Of course, I object to that, just as much as the rest of you surely do." "Even your scholars insult us," a slim ruddy-haired human, the target of the elf's thinly-veiled insult, replied. "Not intentionally. The Verse of the Elowaan goes on for several volumes about our people and our histories with dwarves, quai, ysoki, tieflings... even the drakkhen. Even the noblest of those peoples are still viciously libeled by the hand of a historian who has long since been scattered to the winds." Another pull from Edren's wineskin, then the elf continued, "To actually answer your question, Much, we train to ride and handle horses, and well-practice the fine art of swordsmanship, for the same reason anyone else does." "Why's that?" This time, the human speaking to Edren was a young black-haired woman, a thin pipe nearly as long as her forearm clutched between two fingers. A thin plume of smoke drifted from her lips, mingling with the smoke of the campfire and the scents of the autumn evening around them. "I'm not challenging you on this, Edren. I'm only asking." "That you are, Seiya. Elves ride horses simply because it's faster than walking." "And here I thought it was because elves were always in a hurry," a young man in what were obviously merchant's robes interrupted. Expecting some laughter from his companions, or at least a chuckle, he was surprised to get four irritated stares. "What?" "Harkon, stop interrupting and let him finish," Much urged. "There'll be plenty of time for those comments later." Taking a draw from her pipe, Seiya nodded to the elf. "He makes a good point. To us, humans are always in a hurry because it's so rare that you see your second century. We can take our time; elves have centuries' worth of it, not to brag. And with that time... we can take a hobby, a trade, and perfect it. One is never too young to learn, after all," Edren said. "And the noblest art of them all among elvenkind is..." "Writing," Much guessed with a smile. "Archery," Seiya added. "Storytelling?" Harkon guessed. The fourth human, who had remained silent until now, finally broke his silence. "No. He's talking about swordplay," he said, his voice deep and low. "You speak the truth, Lexford. One can study a school of swordsmanship, but to walk down that path, to reach its conclusion..." Edren smiled, slowly drawing his sword, displaying it to his companions around the fire. "It can be a wondrous thing, indeed. And not just the art of swordsmanship-- testing your knowledge of the Shade of Winter school against a master of the Autumn Leaf, or to pit the defensive New Moon against the rapidity of the Zenith-- no! The art of the sword itself takes many years to practice, to perfect. See my blade? Nearly a millennium ago, my great-grandfather forged this damascene blade as a gift to his thrice-blessed bride. Once she had mastered the blade, it found its way into my grandfather's skilled hands, then to my father, and once he had mastered its secrets, he passed it down to me." "So, it's an heirloom?" Seiya asked, curious. "The word was imastyl, wasn't it?" "'Imastyl,' yes. 'Blade of legacy' in the common tongue. And when I sire a child, and they come of age, I too shall pass this blade unto them, and teach them how to use it properly." Turning to Much, Edren finished, "In short, elves ride horses because it is expedient. We wield swords because we wish it."	A cool night upon the crossroads lead to many quiet nights. Lights from the tavern flickered across the road and part of the prairie that lay across from its front door. Inside were three groups of travelers and a small set of workers keeping mead in mugs and off the thatch floor. Two of these groups were traders, their large caravans hidden under tarps behind the inn. These groups convened early in the night, set to barter between themselves using stories as a backdrop to trickle information of their travels to one another. Word of bandit three days back met with a town filled with muddy waters. The groups seemed content to ignore the third, a band of adventurers having a conversation that was accelerating past rowdy. "It's called tradition, you fuckwit," the tall elf said, raising his pint into the air and leaning back. The contents sloshed about and made a leap from the rim of the cup, almost colliding with one of the passing bar maids. Her stern scowl did not affect the elf who paid no attention to her. "I see, I see," the human said, rubbing his chin. "The traditional manure scrapers must be exceptionally proud of themselves." "I am sure that they take more pride in their task than you should in your dawnbreak tradition of fornicating with yourself directly after making the chamber pot regret ever being crafted," the elf said. His words began to flow with more elegance as he spoke and his anger rose, almost slipping into his native tongue. "Oh, yes, remind me of all the lonely nights when I forgot to put my tent far enough away from yours. Such a mature and intelligent race you are those nights," the human said. He then clasped his hands to his chest and closed his eyes. "Princess Feyhi! Princess Feyhi," he moaned before butchering lines of elvish that should not be spoken in public. Embarrassment only met the human when he noticed the elvish barmaid looking to him with a quirked brow and a disgusted grimace. He dropped his hands before clearing his throat and bringing his mug up to his mouth in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "You are disgusting," the elf snarled, dragging his nails across the wooden table. "At least we wash our hands! I doubt you humans even wipe half the time." The human looked shocked for a moment before turning towards the orc at the table. "Morg, what do you think? If elves were so great they'd have to have progressed more by now, right," he asked. "No comment," the orc said, not even looking up from her book. The human was aghast for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't have the best memory but did you not talk about the racial history classes you took in Ulghur?" "I did indeed take those classes," only now did the orc look up from their book to the human. "They taught me to stay out of these conversations," she said with a smile. The human groaned, leaned back, and placed his hands over his eyes. "Pink eye," the elf said into his mug. The human responded by throwing his empty mug at the elf. Missing by a wide margin, the elvish barmaid had to lift a leg to avoid being hit by it. The human was halfway through an apology before the mug came sailing back to him at twice the speed and thrice the accuracy, hitting him in the forehead with a thunk. "I wonder if it was the mug or him that made the hit sound hollow," the orc whispered to the elf.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Castane sipped his tea, "You've been reading Leonard da Vance's stories, haven't you?" Quoll blushed and looked to the side, "Well, yeah...but some of the things he came up with, like those clockwork forges and...and, those flying paladins, no, pala-something, those flying chairs." There was a pause while they both tried to remember the word for 'that chair in a box that nobles sit in and porters carry around'. "Palanquin!" Quoll eventually shouted. Castane smiled, before he returned to his tea. &nbsp; After a few minutes, Quoll remembered what he was asking about, "But, yeah, I know there's that Futurists Guild that's trying to make those automatic...artisan...things a reality, but you elves, you've had civilization for like...thousands of years longer than us. Why don't you have any of that?" Castane paused and put down his tea, visibly thinking before he brightened up, "D'y'know, I think I actually studied that...did you know, apparently...we never discovered fire?" "What, really?" "Yep. Like, ancient elves knew fire existed, because of bushfires and dragons, and I guess we could keep a campfire going. But apparently we never discovered making furnances, or ceramics, or metallurgy. Apparently, we only copied fire from you humans, and that was like...after the fall of Lumen...or was it around the growth of Agraria...yeah, it might have actually been in Agraria that the Great Exchange happened." &nbsp; Quoll tilted his head, "Great Exchange?" Castane blinked, "Oh, right, the Great Exchange was when elves started trading with humans...and dwarves too, I think. From what I recall, you got, well, clothes and magic from us, we got fire and farming from you, the dwarves got our moldy fruit and made mead out of it, boy is there a story behind that one..." "Wait, wait, farming? You were, like, still, you didn't have farms?" Quoll interrupted, "You were still hunter-gatherers back then?" Castane shrugged, "Sorta! We didn't have huge fields of grain, but we had our trees with their fruits, and their nuts, and our mushrooms..." "^(Mystic mushrooms.)" Quoll quietly giggled to himself. "...But, we had magic instead. Well, learned magic. I don't know whether herbalism or mimicking unicorn magic was developed first, but, well, we used magic to help our trees fruit more often, which helped our population grow, and we had woodworking, and weaving, and that led to early elven civilization." &nbsp; Quoll crossed his arms and visibly thought, "So...you had a headstart on us humans, and that let you learn all kinds of magic to build your civilization on, but you didn't discover fire or metalwork until we did?" "Pretty much," Castane agreed, "All the real legendary elven artifacts are cloaks or runestones, the fancy swords and other metal stuff don't even begin to show up until around a thousand years ago." Quoll mouthed 'elven cloaks' to himself before he snorted, "Hang on, you should still have, like, flying carpets and stuff, though! If you've had magic and fabric and stuff for so long!" "Oh, we do!" Castane promptly levitated a good 6 feet out of his seat, leaving a sparkly trail, before he slowly floated back down again, "Flying cloaks were invented, like, ages ago. People just generally don't use them too much around here, I know that if I fly over a crowd then they all look at me and I get all self-conscious..."	A cool night upon the crossroads lead to many quiet nights. Lights from the tavern flickered across the road and part of the prairie that lay across from its front door. Inside were three groups of travelers and a small set of workers keeping mead in mugs and off the thatch floor. Two of these groups were traders, their large caravans hidden under tarps behind the inn. These groups convened early in the night, set to barter between themselves using stories as a backdrop to trickle information of their travels to one another. Word of bandit three days back met with a town filled with muddy waters. The groups seemed content to ignore the third, a band of adventurers having a conversation that was accelerating past rowdy. "It's called tradition, you fuckwit," the tall elf said, raising his pint into the air and leaning back. The contents sloshed about and made a leap from the rim of the cup, almost colliding with one of the passing bar maids. Her stern scowl did not affect the elf who paid no attention to her. "I see, I see," the human said, rubbing his chin. "The traditional manure scrapers must be exceptionally proud of themselves." "I am sure that they take more pride in their task than you should in your dawnbreak tradition of fornicating with yourself directly after making the chamber pot regret ever being crafted," the elf said. His words began to flow with more elegance as he spoke and his anger rose, almost slipping into his native tongue. "Oh, yes, remind me of all the lonely nights when I forgot to put my tent far enough away from yours. Such a mature and intelligent race you are those nights," the human said. He then clasped his hands to his chest and closed his eyes. "Princess Feyhi! Princess Feyhi," he moaned before butchering lines of elvish that should not be spoken in public. Embarrassment only met the human when he noticed the elvish barmaid looking to him with a quirked brow and a disgusted grimace. He dropped his hands before clearing his throat and bringing his mug up to his mouth in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "You are disgusting," the elf snarled, dragging his nails across the wooden table. "At least we wash our hands! I doubt you humans even wipe half the time." The human looked shocked for a moment before turning towards the orc at the table. "Morg, what do you think? If elves were so great they'd have to have progressed more by now, right," he asked. "No comment," the orc said, not even looking up from her book. The human was aghast for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't have the best memory but did you not talk about the racial history classes you took in Ulghur?" "I did indeed take those classes," only now did the orc look up from their book to the human. "They taught me to stay out of these conversations," she said with a smile. The human groaned, leaned back, and placed his hands over his eyes. "Pink eye," the elf said into his mug. The human responded by throwing his empty mug at the elf. Missing by a wide margin, the elvish barmaid had to lift a leg to avoid being hit by it. The human was halfway through an apology before the mug came sailing back to him at twice the speed and thrice the accuracy, hitting him in the forehead with a thunk. "I wonder if it was the mug or him that made the hit sound hollow," the orc whispered to the elf.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Vynn was silent. The sudden halt in the conversation shook Nell out of her warm, half-drunk haze like a bucket of freezing water. With some difficulty, the ranger lifted her head off the mostly-dry log she had chosen as her pillow and turned to her elven companion, who was staring blankly into the campfire. The rogue's expression had gone completely cold; not the usual frown of mild disdain that typically graced his delicate features, but something harder and far more terrible, his gaze lost on something far beyond the blazing fire. "Oi, Vynn. Forget about it. I wasn't-" He abruptly stood, reaching their sleeping horses in just a few brisk strides. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any offense by it!" Ignoring her completely, he crouched beside his mare to dig around in her saddlebags for something. "Come on, you know I say stupid shite when I drink!" Nell needed to head this off now; if she let the master thief brood on it, he'd be unbearable in the morning. "Can you please just-" "Wait." Nell halted her pleas, watching her sullen partner as he finally found what he was looking for and returned to the campfire with two items: In one hand, he carried a plain shortsword, one of the weapons they had looted off a pack of bandits a few days back. In the other, he carried a short rod of some sorts, about two hand lengths long, made of some dull metal that reflected no light from the fire, utterly featureless save for a hollow opening at the top end. Vynn stuck the sword upright in the dirt, then stepped back and raised the rod away from his body, shifting his stance as if preparing to strike… Fire erupted from the tip of the rod, brilliant gold and impossibly sharp, like a shard of glaring midday sun honed into a blade of pure light. Faster than Nell could blink, Vynn swept the rod across the sword in the ground, sparks showering outwards as golden flame crossed steel. As he finished the motion, the fiery blade vanished from the rod; a beat later, the top half of the sword toppled off, molten metal hissing against the damp grass. Nell sat dumbstruck, mouth agape. "What in hell…" Vynn changed his stance again, raising the rod off to one side as he stared at it down his arm, and the rod shifted, metal flowing like water to form a new shape, like a crossbow with no arms… A flash of golden light blinded Nell as thunder split the air. When her sight returned and the ringing in her ears faded, she was met with the rustle of startled birds and the clatter of falling branches; looking in the direction that Vynn still pointed the no-longer-a-rod, she saw a clean line of holes in the tree canopy, stretching out far beyond the pale light of the fire, all the way until it reached open sky… Vynn collapsed back onto his seat beside the fire, looking down at the impossible device in his hand as it shifted again, flowing back into its original rod shape. "We went back." "Our people didn't stop at horses and sharp sticks. We harnessed sail, steam, oil, lightning. We split the atom, then fused it back together. We brought metal to life, and taught it to think. We conquered every illness and disease, made our bodies stronger and our minds keener, extended our average lifespan a dozenfold. We mastered ourselves and our world like no species before or after. In six thousand years, our civilization grew and evolved to the point where we had everything we wanted, and all that we could ever need." "And we threw it all away." "Even in a world free of resource scarcity, we still found reasons to quarrel with each other. Petty differences in ancient religious doctrine-" "Wait, I thought you elves didn't believe in any faith?" As far as Nell knew, stubborn atheism was the one religious tenet that all elves adhered to. "That's because we can't believe. Not after what higher power and divine right led us to do." Vynn shook his head as he stared down at his hands. "Two hundred million dead in the first five hours of combat. Two billion dead within the first year. By the time the fighting finally stopped, roughly a decade later, eight billion altogether had been lost, most of them to starvation alone. In total, the survivors barely numbered a million." "We had made the earth a wasteland. All of our great civilization, reduced to so much ash and dust. So instead of rebuilding, we left it all behind. All of our science, all of our technology. It was the only way to make sure that we could never misuse such terrible power ever again." Vynn sighed. "I've spent seventy-three years robbing every secret treasure you could possibly imagine. I broke into the private vaults of the Bank of Orga Magna, and saw ancient masterpieces that some historians still believe existed only in legend. I infiltrated the halls of the Order Steadfastly Penitent, and browsed their tomes of forbidden knowledge freely. I looted the secret coffers beneath the innermost quarters of Queen Aibe Benala, and made off with the wealth of entire countries in just a bag the size of my fist. I broke into the Sanct Armories twice." "My people built forges that could create any object imaginable, using nothing but raw resources. Flying ships that could travel anywhere in the entire world in a matter of hours. Farms that could run themselves, capable of feeding an entire army. We-" His voice cracked, and light glistened off his cheeks, tears falling freely. "We had cities on Luna." "All the wonders that my people created, and in seventy-three years of searching, all I could find," his fist clenched around the strange rod, "was a damn weapon." In a sudden burst of anger, Vynn hurled the rod into the campfire. Nell let out a startled yell, lunging forward slightly as if to lunge straight in after it, but caught herself and whirled to the rogue. "What were you thinking?! How could you just throw it away like that?!" "It's indestructible; the fire won't do a thing. It'll be there in the morning." Without another word, Vynn bundled himself up within his cloak, and fell asleep against the log. Nell stayed up late that night, until long after the fire had died out and the ashes had cooled.	A cool night upon the crossroads lead to many quiet nights. Lights from the tavern flickered across the road and part of the prairie that lay across from its front door. Inside were three groups of travelers and a small set of workers keeping mead in mugs and off the thatch floor. Two of these groups were traders, their large caravans hidden under tarps behind the inn. These groups convened early in the night, set to barter between themselves using stories as a backdrop to trickle information of their travels to one another. Word of bandit three days back met with a town filled with muddy waters. The groups seemed content to ignore the third, a band of adventurers having a conversation that was accelerating past rowdy. "It's called tradition, you fuckwit," the tall elf said, raising his pint into the air and leaning back. The contents sloshed about and made a leap from the rim of the cup, almost colliding with one of the passing bar maids. Her stern scowl did not affect the elf who paid no attention to her. "I see, I see," the human said, rubbing his chin. "The traditional manure scrapers must be exceptionally proud of themselves." "I am sure that they take more pride in their task than you should in your dawnbreak tradition of fornicating with yourself directly after making the chamber pot regret ever being crafted," the elf said. His words began to flow with more elegance as he spoke and his anger rose, almost slipping into his native tongue. "Oh, yes, remind me of all the lonely nights when I forgot to put my tent far enough away from yours. Such a mature and intelligent race you are those nights," the human said. He then clasped his hands to his chest and closed his eyes. "Princess Feyhi! Princess Feyhi," he moaned before butchering lines of elvish that should not be spoken in public. Embarrassment only met the human when he noticed the elvish barmaid looking to him with a quirked brow and a disgusted grimace. He dropped his hands before clearing his throat and bringing his mug up to his mouth in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "You are disgusting," the elf snarled, dragging his nails across the wooden table. "At least we wash our hands! I doubt you humans even wipe half the time." The human looked shocked for a moment before turning towards the orc at the table. "Morg, what do you think? If elves were so great they'd have to have progressed more by now, right," he asked. "No comment," the orc said, not even looking up from her book. The human was aghast for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't have the best memory but did you not talk about the racial history classes you took in Ulghur?" "I did indeed take those classes," only now did the orc look up from their book to the human. "They taught me to stay out of these conversations," she said with a smile. The human groaned, leaned back, and placed his hands over his eyes. "Pink eye," the elf said into his mug. The human responded by throwing his empty mug at the elf. Missing by a wide margin, the elvish barmaid had to lift a leg to avoid being hit by it. The human was halfway through an apology before the mug came sailing back to him at twice the speed and thrice the accuracy, hitting him in the forehead with a thunk. "I wonder if it was the mug or him that made the hit sound hollow," the orc whispered to the elf.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	You humans are so goddamned lucky I could scream. Do you have any idea what it's like trying to change anything-ANYTHING AT ALL-in the free elven cities? I heard you guys got gay marriage recently. That's cool. You know why, right? Because you humans have this one powerful advantage that we elves do not. You fucking die. Elves, once we hit adulthood, we stop aging. We just keep going and going and going. And all the insane and backwards social mores of the era in which we grew up? Yeah, that doesn't go away. You guys still have those baby boomers. I keep hearing your genZ/genY kids whinging about how the boomers are holding back social change. Boo. Fucking. Hoo. About 45% of the elven population legitimately still believes that the universe rotates around the earth. 37% believe that the sun and the moon are actual physical chariots driven by the ancient elven gods. If you try to talk to them about gay marriage, interracial marriage, equal rights, women's suffrage. Forget it. You're lucky if you can convince them to use toilet paper. Only 5% of the population can operate a smartphone without assistance. Makes sense when 95% of your people were born in the actual literal medieval dark ages. My great great great great great great great great grandfather still believes that humans should be a slave race and that we have a divine mandate to enslave you all for your own protection. He also believes that women are property, all sex should be illegal, computers are demons, and that the world is flat and carried on the back of a giant turtle. Now imagine trying to talk to this asshole about carbon credits or progressive taxation or net neutrality. Yeah. Good luck with that.	A cool night upon the crossroads lead to many quiet nights. Lights from the tavern flickered across the road and part of the prairie that lay across from its front door. Inside were three groups of travelers and a small set of workers keeping mead in mugs and off the thatch floor. Two of these groups were traders, their large caravans hidden under tarps behind the inn. These groups convened early in the night, set to barter between themselves using stories as a backdrop to trickle information of their travels to one another. Word of bandit three days back met with a town filled with muddy waters. The groups seemed content to ignore the third, a band of adventurers having a conversation that was accelerating past rowdy. "It's called tradition, you fuckwit," the tall elf said, raising his pint into the air and leaning back. The contents sloshed about and made a leap from the rim of the cup, almost colliding with one of the passing bar maids. Her stern scowl did not affect the elf who paid no attention to her. "I see, I see," the human said, rubbing his chin. "The traditional manure scrapers must be exceptionally proud of themselves." "I am sure that they take more pride in their task than you should in your dawnbreak tradition of fornicating with yourself directly after making the chamber pot regret ever being crafted," the elf said. His words began to flow with more elegance as he spoke and his anger rose, almost slipping into his native tongue. "Oh, yes, remind me of all the lonely nights when I forgot to put my tent far enough away from yours. Such a mature and intelligent race you are those nights," the human said. He then clasped his hands to his chest and closed his eyes. "Princess Feyhi! Princess Feyhi," he moaned before butchering lines of elvish that should not be spoken in public. Embarrassment only met the human when he noticed the elvish barmaid looking to him with a quirked brow and a disgusted grimace. He dropped his hands before clearing his throat and bringing his mug up to his mouth in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "You are disgusting," the elf snarled, dragging his nails across the wooden table. "At least we wash our hands! I doubt you humans even wipe half the time." The human looked shocked for a moment before turning towards the orc at the table. "Morg, what do you think? If elves were so great they'd have to have progressed more by now, right," he asked. "No comment," the orc said, not even looking up from her book. The human was aghast for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't have the best memory but did you not talk about the racial history classes you took in Ulghur?" "I did indeed take those classes," only now did the orc look up from their book to the human. "They taught me to stay out of these conversations," she said with a smile. The human groaned, leaned back, and placed his hands over his eyes. "Pink eye," the elf said into his mug. The human responded by throwing his empty mug at the elf. Missing by a wide margin, the elvish barmaid had to lift a leg to avoid being hit by it. The human was halfway through an apology before the mug came sailing back to him at twice the speed and thrice the accuracy, hitting him in the forehead with a thunk. "I wonder if it was the mug or him that made the hit sound hollow," the orc whispered to the elf.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	The elf supposed it was a decent question, by human standards. It was based on the assumption that other races in the universe would value technology as many humans did. "Cultural tradition. We prefer to rely on horses and swords, and our magic helps greatly with that." The elf paused to let the human consider that. Imagine a vault full of enchanted weapons," the elf said. "In it lies Durandal that makes you indestructible, Fragarach that commands the winds, a sword that commands fire, and so on. " Swords that ruled over gravity and electromagnetism, the elf didn't say. A scythe that could open wormholes to hit from any angle. A ring that gave the wearer the gift to teleport to other galaxies. All of them were weapons based on ideas humanity had yet to imagine.	"Imperial revolution!" The two were drunk. And that was saying something as there was a betting pool on who had the more pickled liver. Awerius, an elf who could shoot a fly off a leaf and not harm the leaf. Krupper, a human known to be viciously strong and may demons help you if you piss him off. Together, they were known for heroism, valor, and righteousness. And excessive bar tabs. Never unpaid though. "N-n-no, wait," stammered Awerius. "I screwed that up. No, what sis that sage call it... iterative evolution? Yeah, that's it!" Krupper polished of another drink, belched, and said, "OK, what's that mean? Sounds like made up centaur droppings." "OK, so, you know how elves live like a long time?" "Uh, yeah?" "No, I mean like a really long time!" He spread his hands all the way part. "Like that fish I caught--" "I still say that's a load!" "No no, it was really big... wait, I mean. No, elf life. Really long." "Oh yeah. So what of it?" "Well, you humans live shorter lives." "Not short enough for some of our enemies!" They both laughed at that and took another pull from the mugs. "See, you humans have kids quicker, so you get smarterer quickerer. And because of that, you've caught up to us!" "You mean like you had a head start?" "Yes! Like race! A human race! And boy do you all breed quickly! So stronger traits carry through and refinish faster. Us elveses, we only have a kid maybe once every couple hundred years or so. And that's if we're frisky!" "Heh, wouldn't mind getting fri--" He noticed Awerius stare. "Was only a joke!" Awerius stared a minute or two more before he started chuckling. "You should see the look on your face! You owe me a drink for that! ANOTHER ROUND!" As the serving girl brought more mugs, Awerius continued. "But yeah. He thinks it's only a matter of time before humans outrun elves." "In a race?" "A human race! Imagine, we have some impressive magics and smiths, but we had WAAAAAAAY--" He started stretching his arms but started losing his balance. "Whoa! We hads more time than you. So if you catch up like this, it's only a bit before you get ahead." "Good thing we're friends then, isn't it? What elves and humans can do together, we're the best." Awerius eyes had their attention drawn to a pretty little thing at the bar. "Hmm... imagine if we really got together." Krupper followed his gaze, realized what he was thinking, and said, "Nope! Not again. It's bad when I'm the one to say this, but you had too much to drink! Last time you had a wild fancy, you woke up the next morning screaming. Thought something was killing you. Not putting up with that again!" Krupper put a few coins on the table, picked up Awerius, and hauled him off to their room to sleep it off. As they were leaving, a dwarf sitting at a nearby table chuckled as he smoked his pipe. He thought to himself, "Of course, they always forget to mention how we introduced them to metal."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	With a sigh, Edren sipped from his wineskin, looking to his companions as they sat by the warmth and light of their campfire. "First," he explained, "the history of elvenkind doesn't say 'humanity crawled from the mud pits,' it was 'humanity clawed itself from the middens.' Of course, I object to that, just as much as the rest of you surely do." "Even your scholars insult us," a slim ruddy-haired human, the target of the elf's thinly-veiled insult, replied. "Not intentionally. The Verse of the Elowaan goes on for several volumes about our people and our histories with dwarves, quai, ysoki, tieflings... even the drakkhen. Even the noblest of those peoples are still viciously libeled by the hand of a historian who has long since been scattered to the winds." Another pull from Edren's wineskin, then the elf continued, "To actually answer your question, Much, we train to ride and handle horses, and well-practice the fine art of swordsmanship, for the same reason anyone else does." "Why's that?" This time, the human speaking to Edren was a young black-haired woman, a thin pipe nearly as long as her forearm clutched between two fingers. A thin plume of smoke drifted from her lips, mingling with the smoke of the campfire and the scents of the autumn evening around them. "I'm not challenging you on this, Edren. I'm only asking." "That you are, Seiya. Elves ride horses simply because it's faster than walking." "And here I thought it was because elves were always in a hurry," a young man in what were obviously merchant's robes interrupted. Expecting some laughter from his companions, or at least a chuckle, he was surprised to get four irritated stares. "What?" "Harkon, stop interrupting and let him finish," Much urged. "There'll be plenty of time for those comments later." Taking a draw from her pipe, Seiya nodded to the elf. "He makes a good point. To us, humans are always in a hurry because it's so rare that you see your second century. We can take our time; elves have centuries' worth of it, not to brag. And with that time... we can take a hobby, a trade, and perfect it. One is never too young to learn, after all," Edren said. "And the noblest art of them all among elvenkind is..." "Writing," Much guessed with a smile. "Archery," Seiya added. "Storytelling?" Harkon guessed. The fourth human, who had remained silent until now, finally broke his silence. "No. He's talking about swordplay," he said, his voice deep and low. "You speak the truth, Lexford. One can study a school of swordsmanship, but to walk down that path, to reach its conclusion..." Edren smiled, slowly drawing his sword, displaying it to his companions around the fire. "It can be a wondrous thing, indeed. And not just the art of swordsmanship-- testing your knowledge of the Shade of Winter school against a master of the Autumn Leaf, or to pit the defensive New Moon against the rapidity of the Zenith-- no! The art of the sword itself takes many years to practice, to perfect. See my blade? Nearly a millennium ago, my great-grandfather forged this damascene blade as a gift to his thrice-blessed bride. Once she had mastered the blade, it found its way into my grandfather's skilled hands, then to my father, and once he had mastered its secrets, he passed it down to me." "So, it's an heirloom?" Seiya asked, curious. "The word was imastyl, wasn't it?" "'Imastyl,' yes. 'Blade of legacy' in the common tongue. And when I sire a child, and they come of age, I too shall pass this blade unto them, and teach them how to use it properly." Turning to Much, Edren finished, "In short, elves ride horses because it is expedient. We wield swords because we wish it."	"Imperial revolution!" The two were drunk. And that was saying something as there was a betting pool on who had the more pickled liver. Awerius, an elf who could shoot a fly off a leaf and not harm the leaf. Krupper, a human known to be viciously strong and may demons help you if you piss him off. Together, they were known for heroism, valor, and righteousness. And excessive bar tabs. Never unpaid though. "N-n-no, wait," stammered Awerius. "I screwed that up. No, what sis that sage call it... iterative evolution? Yeah, that's it!" Krupper polished of another drink, belched, and said, "OK, what's that mean? Sounds like made up centaur droppings." "OK, so, you know how elves live like a long time?" "Uh, yeah?" "No, I mean like a really long time!" He spread his hands all the way part. "Like that fish I caught--" "I still say that's a load!" "No no, it was really big... wait, I mean. No, elf life. Really long." "Oh yeah. So what of it?" "Well, you humans live shorter lives." "Not short enough for some of our enemies!" They both laughed at that and took another pull from the mugs. "See, you humans have kids quicker, so you get smarterer quickerer. And because of that, you've caught up to us!" "You mean like you had a head start?" "Yes! Like race! A human race! And boy do you all breed quickly! So stronger traits carry through and refinish faster. Us elveses, we only have a kid maybe once every couple hundred years or so. And that's if we're frisky!" "Heh, wouldn't mind getting fri--" He noticed Awerius stare. "Was only a joke!" Awerius stared a minute or two more before he started chuckling. "You should see the look on your face! You owe me a drink for that! ANOTHER ROUND!" As the serving girl brought more mugs, Awerius continued. "But yeah. He thinks it's only a matter of time before humans outrun elves." "In a race?" "A human race! Imagine, we have some impressive magics and smiths, but we had WAAAAAAAY--" He started stretching his arms but started losing his balance. "Whoa! We hads more time than you. So if you catch up like this, it's only a bit before you get ahead." "Good thing we're friends then, isn't it? What elves and humans can do together, we're the best." Awerius eyes had their attention drawn to a pretty little thing at the bar. "Hmm... imagine if we really got together." Krupper followed his gaze, realized what he was thinking, and said, "Nope! Not again. It's bad when I'm the one to say this, but you had too much to drink! Last time you had a wild fancy, you woke up the next morning screaming. Thought something was killing you. Not putting up with that again!" Krupper put a few coins on the table, picked up Awerius, and hauled him off to their room to sleep it off. As they were leaving, a dwarf sitting at a nearby table chuckled as he smoked his pipe. He thought to himself, "Of course, they always forget to mention how we introduced them to metal."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Castane sipped his tea, "You've been reading Leonard da Vance's stories, haven't you?" Quoll blushed and looked to the side, "Well, yeah...but some of the things he came up with, like those clockwork forges and...and, those flying paladins, no, pala-something, those flying chairs." There was a pause while they both tried to remember the word for 'that chair in a box that nobles sit in and porters carry around'. "Palanquin!" Quoll eventually shouted. Castane smiled, before he returned to his tea. &nbsp; After a few minutes, Quoll remembered what he was asking about, "But, yeah, I know there's that Futurists Guild that's trying to make those automatic...artisan...things a reality, but you elves, you've had civilization for like...thousands of years longer than us. Why don't you have any of that?" Castane paused and put down his tea, visibly thinking before he brightened up, "D'y'know, I think I actually studied that...did you know, apparently...we never discovered fire?" "What, really?" "Yep. Like, ancient elves knew fire existed, because of bushfires and dragons, and I guess we could keep a campfire going. But apparently we never discovered making furnances, or ceramics, or metallurgy. Apparently, we only copied fire from you humans, and that was like...after the fall of Lumen...or was it around the growth of Agraria...yeah, it might have actually been in Agraria that the Great Exchange happened." &nbsp; Quoll tilted his head, "Great Exchange?" Castane blinked, "Oh, right, the Great Exchange was when elves started trading with humans...and dwarves too, I think. From what I recall, you got, well, clothes and magic from us, we got fire and farming from you, the dwarves got our moldy fruit and made mead out of it, boy is there a story behind that one..." "Wait, wait, farming? You were, like, still, you didn't have farms?" Quoll interrupted, "You were still hunter-gatherers back then?" Castane shrugged, "Sorta! We didn't have huge fields of grain, but we had our trees with their fruits, and their nuts, and our mushrooms..." "^(Mystic mushrooms.)" Quoll quietly giggled to himself. "...But, we had magic instead. Well, learned magic. I don't know whether herbalism or mimicking unicorn magic was developed first, but, well, we used magic to help our trees fruit more often, which helped our population grow, and we had woodworking, and weaving, and that led to early elven civilization." &nbsp; Quoll crossed his arms and visibly thought, "So...you had a headstart on us humans, and that let you learn all kinds of magic to build your civilization on, but you didn't discover fire or metalwork until we did?" "Pretty much," Castane agreed, "All the real legendary elven artifacts are cloaks or runestones, the fancy swords and other metal stuff don't even begin to show up until around a thousand years ago." Quoll mouthed 'elven cloaks' to himself before he snorted, "Hang on, you should still have, like, flying carpets and stuff, though! If you've had magic and fabric and stuff for so long!" "Oh, we do!" Castane promptly levitated a good 6 feet out of his seat, leaving a sparkly trail, before he slowly floated back down again, "Flying cloaks were invented, like, ages ago. People just generally don't use them too much around here, I know that if I fly over a crowd then they all look at me and I get all self-conscious..."	"Imperial revolution!" The two were drunk. And that was saying something as there was a betting pool on who had the more pickled liver. Awerius, an elf who could shoot a fly off a leaf and not harm the leaf. Krupper, a human known to be viciously strong and may demons help you if you piss him off. Together, they were known for heroism, valor, and righteousness. And excessive bar tabs. Never unpaid though. "N-n-no, wait," stammered Awerius. "I screwed that up. No, what sis that sage call it... iterative evolution? Yeah, that's it!" Krupper polished of another drink, belched, and said, "OK, what's that mean? Sounds like made up centaur droppings." "OK, so, you know how elves live like a long time?" "Uh, yeah?" "No, I mean like a really long time!" He spread his hands all the way part. "Like that fish I caught--" "I still say that's a load!" "No no, it was really big... wait, I mean. No, elf life. Really long." "Oh yeah. So what of it?" "Well, you humans live shorter lives." "Not short enough for some of our enemies!" They both laughed at that and took another pull from the mugs. "See, you humans have kids quicker, so you get smarterer quickerer. And because of that, you've caught up to us!" "You mean like you had a head start?" "Yes! Like race! A human race! And boy do you all breed quickly! So stronger traits carry through and refinish faster. Us elveses, we only have a kid maybe once every couple hundred years or so. And that's if we're frisky!" "Heh, wouldn't mind getting fri--" He noticed Awerius stare. "Was only a joke!" Awerius stared a minute or two more before he started chuckling. "You should see the look on your face! You owe me a drink for that! ANOTHER ROUND!" As the serving girl brought more mugs, Awerius continued. "But yeah. He thinks it's only a matter of time before humans outrun elves." "In a race?" "A human race! Imagine, we have some impressive magics and smiths, but we had WAAAAAAAY--" He started stretching his arms but started losing his balance. "Whoa! We hads more time than you. So if you catch up like this, it's only a bit before you get ahead." "Good thing we're friends then, isn't it? What elves and humans can do together, we're the best." Awerius eyes had their attention drawn to a pretty little thing at the bar. "Hmm... imagine if we really got together." Krupper followed his gaze, realized what he was thinking, and said, "Nope! Not again. It's bad when I'm the one to say this, but you had too much to drink! Last time you had a wild fancy, you woke up the next morning screaming. Thought something was killing you. Not putting up with that again!" Krupper put a few coins on the table, picked up Awerius, and hauled him off to their room to sleep it off. As they were leaving, a dwarf sitting at a nearby table chuckled as he smoked his pipe. He thought to himself, "Of course, they always forget to mention how we introduced them to metal."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Vynn was silent. The sudden halt in the conversation shook Nell out of her warm, half-drunk haze like a bucket of freezing water. With some difficulty, the ranger lifted her head off the mostly-dry log she had chosen as her pillow and turned to her elven companion, who was staring blankly into the campfire. The rogue's expression had gone completely cold; not the usual frown of mild disdain that typically graced his delicate features, but something harder and far more terrible, his gaze lost on something far beyond the blazing fire. "Oi, Vynn. Forget about it. I wasn't-" He abruptly stood, reaching their sleeping horses in just a few brisk strides. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any offense by it!" Ignoring her completely, he crouched beside his mare to dig around in her saddlebags for something. "Come on, you know I say stupid shite when I drink!" Nell needed to head this off now; if she let the master thief brood on it, he'd be unbearable in the morning. "Can you please just-" "Wait." Nell halted her pleas, watching her sullen partner as he finally found what he was looking for and returned to the campfire with two items: In one hand, he carried a plain shortsword, one of the weapons they had looted off a pack of bandits a few days back. In the other, he carried a short rod of some sorts, about two hand lengths long, made of some dull metal that reflected no light from the fire, utterly featureless save for a hollow opening at the top end. Vynn stuck the sword upright in the dirt, then stepped back and raised the rod away from his body, shifting his stance as if preparing to strike… Fire erupted from the tip of the rod, brilliant gold and impossibly sharp, like a shard of glaring midday sun honed into a blade of pure light. Faster than Nell could blink, Vynn swept the rod across the sword in the ground, sparks showering outwards as golden flame crossed steel. As he finished the motion, the fiery blade vanished from the rod; a beat later, the top half of the sword toppled off, molten metal hissing against the damp grass. Nell sat dumbstruck, mouth agape. "What in hell…" Vynn changed his stance again, raising the rod off to one side as he stared at it down his arm, and the rod shifted, metal flowing like water to form a new shape, like a crossbow with no arms… A flash of golden light blinded Nell as thunder split the air. When her sight returned and the ringing in her ears faded, she was met with the rustle of startled birds and the clatter of falling branches; looking in the direction that Vynn still pointed the no-longer-a-rod, she saw a clean line of holes in the tree canopy, stretching out far beyond the pale light of the fire, all the way until it reached open sky… Vynn collapsed back onto his seat beside the fire, looking down at the impossible device in his hand as it shifted again, flowing back into its original rod shape. "We went back." "Our people didn't stop at horses and sharp sticks. We harnessed sail, steam, oil, lightning. We split the atom, then fused it back together. We brought metal to life, and taught it to think. We conquered every illness and disease, made our bodies stronger and our minds keener, extended our average lifespan a dozenfold. We mastered ourselves and our world like no species before or after. In six thousand years, our civilization grew and evolved to the point where we had everything we wanted, and all that we could ever need." "And we threw it all away." "Even in a world free of resource scarcity, we still found reasons to quarrel with each other. Petty differences in ancient religious doctrine-" "Wait, I thought you elves didn't believe in any faith?" As far as Nell knew, stubborn atheism was the one religious tenet that all elves adhered to. "That's because we can't believe. Not after what higher power and divine right led us to do." Vynn shook his head as he stared down at his hands. "Two hundred million dead in the first five hours of combat. Two billion dead within the first year. By the time the fighting finally stopped, roughly a decade later, eight billion altogether had been lost, most of them to starvation alone. In total, the survivors barely numbered a million." "We had made the earth a wasteland. All of our great civilization, reduced to so much ash and dust. So instead of rebuilding, we left it all behind. All of our science, all of our technology. It was the only way to make sure that we could never misuse such terrible power ever again." Vynn sighed. "I've spent seventy-three years robbing every secret treasure you could possibly imagine. I broke into the private vaults of the Bank of Orga Magna, and saw ancient masterpieces that some historians still believe existed only in legend. I infiltrated the halls of the Order Steadfastly Penitent, and browsed their tomes of forbidden knowledge freely. I looted the secret coffers beneath the innermost quarters of Queen Aibe Benala, and made off with the wealth of entire countries in just a bag the size of my fist. I broke into the Sanct Armories twice." "My people built forges that could create any object imaginable, using nothing but raw resources. Flying ships that could travel anywhere in the entire world in a matter of hours. Farms that could run themselves, capable of feeding an entire army. We-" His voice cracked, and light glistened off his cheeks, tears falling freely. "We had cities on Luna." "All the wonders that my people created, and in seventy-three years of searching, all I could find," his fist clenched around the strange rod, "was a damn weapon." In a sudden burst of anger, Vynn hurled the rod into the campfire. Nell let out a startled yell, lunging forward slightly as if to lunge straight in after it, but caught herself and whirled to the rogue. "What were you thinking?! How could you just throw it away like that?!" "It's indestructible; the fire won't do a thing. It'll be there in the morning." Without another word, Vynn bundled himself up within his cloak, and fell asleep against the log. Nell stayed up late that night, until long after the fire had died out and the ashes had cooled.	"Imperial revolution!" The two were drunk. And that was saying something as there was a betting pool on who had the more pickled liver. Awerius, an elf who could shoot a fly off a leaf and not harm the leaf. Krupper, a human known to be viciously strong and may demons help you if you piss him off. Together, they were known for heroism, valor, and righteousness. And excessive bar tabs. Never unpaid though. "N-n-no, wait," stammered Awerius. "I screwed that up. No, what sis that sage call it... iterative evolution? Yeah, that's it!" Krupper polished of another drink, belched, and said, "OK, what's that mean? Sounds like made up centaur droppings." "OK, so, you know how elves live like a long time?" "Uh, yeah?" "No, I mean like a really long time!" He spread his hands all the way part. "Like that fish I caught--" "I still say that's a load!" "No no, it was really big... wait, I mean. No, elf life. Really long." "Oh yeah. So what of it?" "Well, you humans live shorter lives." "Not short enough for some of our enemies!" They both laughed at that and took another pull from the mugs. "See, you humans have kids quicker, so you get smarterer quickerer. And because of that, you've caught up to us!" "You mean like you had a head start?" "Yes! Like race! A human race! And boy do you all breed quickly! So stronger traits carry through and refinish faster. Us elveses, we only have a kid maybe once every couple hundred years or so. And that's if we're frisky!" "Heh, wouldn't mind getting fri--" He noticed Awerius stare. "Was only a joke!" Awerius stared a minute or two more before he started chuckling. "You should see the look on your face! You owe me a drink for that! ANOTHER ROUND!" As the serving girl brought more mugs, Awerius continued. "But yeah. He thinks it's only a matter of time before humans outrun elves." "In a race?" "A human race! Imagine, we have some impressive magics and smiths, but we had WAAAAAAAY--" He started stretching his arms but started losing his balance. "Whoa! We hads more time than you. So if you catch up like this, it's only a bit before you get ahead." "Good thing we're friends then, isn't it? What elves and humans can do together, we're the best." Awerius eyes had their attention drawn to a pretty little thing at the bar. "Hmm... imagine if we really got together." Krupper followed his gaze, realized what he was thinking, and said, "Nope! Not again. It's bad when I'm the one to say this, but you had too much to drink! Last time you had a wild fancy, you woke up the next morning screaming. Thought something was killing you. Not putting up with that again!" Krupper put a few coins on the table, picked up Awerius, and hauled him off to their room to sleep it off. As they were leaving, a dwarf sitting at a nearby table chuckled as he smoked his pipe. He thought to himself, "Of course, they always forget to mention how we introduced them to metal."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	You humans are so goddamned lucky I could scream. Do you have any idea what it's like trying to change anything-ANYTHING AT ALL-in the free elven cities? I heard you guys got gay marriage recently. That's cool. You know why, right? Because you humans have this one powerful advantage that we elves do not. You fucking die. Elves, once we hit adulthood, we stop aging. We just keep going and going and going. And all the insane and backwards social mores of the era in which we grew up? Yeah, that doesn't go away. You guys still have those baby boomers. I keep hearing your genZ/genY kids whinging about how the boomers are holding back social change. Boo. Fucking. Hoo. About 45% of the elven population legitimately still believes that the universe rotates around the earth. 37% believe that the sun and the moon are actual physical chariots driven by the ancient elven gods. If you try to talk to them about gay marriage, interracial marriage, equal rights, women's suffrage. Forget it. You're lucky if you can convince them to use toilet paper. Only 5% of the population can operate a smartphone without assistance. Makes sense when 95% of your people were born in the actual literal medieval dark ages. My great great great great great great great great grandfather still believes that humans should be a slave race and that we have a divine mandate to enslave you all for your own protection. He also believes that women are property, all sex should be illegal, computers are demons, and that the world is flat and carried on the back of a giant turtle. Now imagine trying to talk to this asshole about carbon credits or progressive taxation or net neutrality. Yeah. Good luck with that.	"Imperial revolution!" The two were drunk. And that was saying something as there was a betting pool on who had the more pickled liver. Awerius, an elf who could shoot a fly off a leaf and not harm the leaf. Krupper, a human known to be viciously strong and may demons help you if you piss him off. Together, they were known for heroism, valor, and righteousness. And excessive bar tabs. Never unpaid though. "N-n-no, wait," stammered Awerius. "I screwed that up. No, what sis that sage call it... iterative evolution? Yeah, that's it!" Krupper polished of another drink, belched, and said, "OK, what's that mean? Sounds like made up centaur droppings." "OK, so, you know how elves live like a long time?" "Uh, yeah?" "No, I mean like a really long time!" He spread his hands all the way part. "Like that fish I caught--" "I still say that's a load!" "No no, it was really big... wait, I mean. No, elf life. Really long." "Oh yeah. So what of it?" "Well, you humans live shorter lives." "Not short enough for some of our enemies!" They both laughed at that and took another pull from the mugs. "See, you humans have kids quicker, so you get smarterer quickerer. And because of that, you've caught up to us!" "You mean like you had a head start?" "Yes! Like race! A human race! And boy do you all breed quickly! So stronger traits carry through and refinish faster. Us elveses, we only have a kid maybe once every couple hundred years or so. And that's if we're frisky!" "Heh, wouldn't mind getting fri--" He noticed Awerius stare. "Was only a joke!" Awerius stared a minute or two more before he started chuckling. "You should see the look on your face! You owe me a drink for that! ANOTHER ROUND!" As the serving girl brought more mugs, Awerius continued. "But yeah. He thinks it's only a matter of time before humans outrun elves." "In a race?" "A human race! Imagine, we have some impressive magics and smiths, but we had WAAAAAAAY--" He started stretching his arms but started losing his balance. "Whoa! We hads more time than you. So if you catch up like this, it's only a bit before you get ahead." "Good thing we're friends then, isn't it? What elves and humans can do together, we're the best." Awerius eyes had their attention drawn to a pretty little thing at the bar. "Hmm... imagine if we really got together." Krupper followed his gaze, realized what he was thinking, and said, "Nope! Not again. It's bad when I'm the one to say this, but you had too much to drink! Last time you had a wild fancy, you woke up the next morning screaming. Thought something was killing you. Not putting up with that again!" Krupper put a few coins on the table, picked up Awerius, and hauled him off to their room to sleep it off. As they were leaving, a dwarf sitting at a nearby table chuckled as he smoked his pipe. He thought to himself, "Of course, they always forget to mention how we introduced them to metal."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Castane sipped his tea, "You've been reading Leonard da Vance's stories, haven't you?" Quoll blushed and looked to the side, "Well, yeah...but some of the things he came up with, like those clockwork forges and...and, those flying paladins, no, pala-something, those flying chairs." There was a pause while they both tried to remember the word for 'that chair in a box that nobles sit in and porters carry around'. "Palanquin!" Quoll eventually shouted. Castane smiled, before he returned to his tea. &nbsp; After a few minutes, Quoll remembered what he was asking about, "But, yeah, I know there's that Futurists Guild that's trying to make those automatic...artisan...things a reality, but you elves, you've had civilization for like...thousands of years longer than us. Why don't you have any of that?" Castane paused and put down his tea, visibly thinking before he brightened up, "D'y'know, I think I actually studied that...did you know, apparently...we never discovered fire?" "What, really?" "Yep. Like, ancient elves knew fire existed, because of bushfires and dragons, and I guess we could keep a campfire going. But apparently we never discovered making furnances, or ceramics, or metallurgy. Apparently, we only copied fire from you humans, and that was like...after the fall of Lumen...or was it around the growth of Agraria...yeah, it might have actually been in Agraria that the Great Exchange happened." &nbsp; Quoll tilted his head, "Great Exchange?" Castane blinked, "Oh, right, the Great Exchange was when elves started trading with humans...and dwarves too, I think. From what I recall, you got, well, clothes and magic from us, we got fire and farming from you, the dwarves got our moldy fruit and made mead out of it, boy is there a story behind that one..." "Wait, wait, farming? You were, like, still, you didn't have farms?" Quoll interrupted, "You were still hunter-gatherers back then?" Castane shrugged, "Sorta! We didn't have huge fields of grain, but we had our trees with their fruits, and their nuts, and our mushrooms..." "^(Mystic mushrooms.)" Quoll quietly giggled to himself. "...But, we had magic instead. Well, learned magic. I don't know whether herbalism or mimicking unicorn magic was developed first, but, well, we used magic to help our trees fruit more often, which helped our population grow, and we had woodworking, and weaving, and that led to early elven civilization." &nbsp; Quoll crossed his arms and visibly thought, "So...you had a headstart on us humans, and that let you learn all kinds of magic to build your civilization on, but you didn't discover fire or metalwork until we did?" "Pretty much," Castane agreed, "All the real legendary elven artifacts are cloaks or runestones, the fancy swords and other metal stuff don't even begin to show up until around a thousand years ago." Quoll mouthed 'elven cloaks' to himself before he snorted, "Hang on, you should still have, like, flying carpets and stuff, though! If you've had magic and fabric and stuff for so long!" "Oh, we do!" Castane promptly levitated a good 6 feet out of his seat, leaving a sparkly trail, before he slowly floated back down again, "Flying cloaks were invented, like, ages ago. People just generally don't use them too much around here, I know that if I fly over a crowd then they all look at me and I get all self-conscious..."	The elf supposed it was a decent question, by human standards. It was based on the assumption that other races in the universe would value technology as many humans did. "Cultural tradition. We prefer to rely on horses and swords, and our magic helps greatly with that." The elf paused to let the human consider that. Imagine a vault full of enchanted weapons," the elf said. "In it lies Durandal that makes you indestructible, Fragarach that commands the winds, a sword that commands fire, and so on. " Swords that ruled over gravity and electromagnetism, the elf didn't say. A scythe that could open wormholes to hit from any angle. A ring that gave the wearer the gift to teleport to other galaxies. All of them were weapons based on ideas humanity had yet to imagine.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Vynn was silent. The sudden halt in the conversation shook Nell out of her warm, half-drunk haze like a bucket of freezing water. With some difficulty, the ranger lifted her head off the mostly-dry log she had chosen as her pillow and turned to her elven companion, who was staring blankly into the campfire. The rogue's expression had gone completely cold; not the usual frown of mild disdain that typically graced his delicate features, but something harder and far more terrible, his gaze lost on something far beyond the blazing fire. "Oi, Vynn. Forget about it. I wasn't-" He abruptly stood, reaching their sleeping horses in just a few brisk strides. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any offense by it!" Ignoring her completely, he crouched beside his mare to dig around in her saddlebags for something. "Come on, you know I say stupid shite when I drink!" Nell needed to head this off now; if she let the master thief brood on it, he'd be unbearable in the morning. "Can you please just-" "Wait." Nell halted her pleas, watching her sullen partner as he finally found what he was looking for and returned to the campfire with two items: In one hand, he carried a plain shortsword, one of the weapons they had looted off a pack of bandits a few days back. In the other, he carried a short rod of some sorts, about two hand lengths long, made of some dull metal that reflected no light from the fire, utterly featureless save for a hollow opening at the top end. Vynn stuck the sword upright in the dirt, then stepped back and raised the rod away from his body, shifting his stance as if preparing to strike… Fire erupted from the tip of the rod, brilliant gold and impossibly sharp, like a shard of glaring midday sun honed into a blade of pure light. Faster than Nell could blink, Vynn swept the rod across the sword in the ground, sparks showering outwards as golden flame crossed steel. As he finished the motion, the fiery blade vanished from the rod; a beat later, the top half of the sword toppled off, molten metal hissing against the damp grass. Nell sat dumbstruck, mouth agape. "What in hell…" Vynn changed his stance again, raising the rod off to one side as he stared at it down his arm, and the rod shifted, metal flowing like water to form a new shape, like a crossbow with no arms… A flash of golden light blinded Nell as thunder split the air. When her sight returned and the ringing in her ears faded, she was met with the rustle of startled birds and the clatter of falling branches; looking in the direction that Vynn still pointed the no-longer-a-rod, she saw a clean line of holes in the tree canopy, stretching out far beyond the pale light of the fire, all the way until it reached open sky… Vynn collapsed back onto his seat beside the fire, looking down at the impossible device in his hand as it shifted again, flowing back into its original rod shape. "We went back." "Our people didn't stop at horses and sharp sticks. We harnessed sail, steam, oil, lightning. We split the atom, then fused it back together. We brought metal to life, and taught it to think. We conquered every illness and disease, made our bodies stronger and our minds keener, extended our average lifespan a dozenfold. We mastered ourselves and our world like no species before or after. In six thousand years, our civilization grew and evolved to the point where we had everything we wanted, and all that we could ever need." "And we threw it all away." "Even in a world free of resource scarcity, we still found reasons to quarrel with each other. Petty differences in ancient religious doctrine-" "Wait, I thought you elves didn't believe in any faith?" As far as Nell knew, stubborn atheism was the one religious tenet that all elves adhered to. "That's because we can't believe. Not after what higher power and divine right led us to do." Vynn shook his head as he stared down at his hands. "Two hundred million dead in the first five hours of combat. Two billion dead within the first year. By the time the fighting finally stopped, roughly a decade later, eight billion altogether had been lost, most of them to starvation alone. In total, the survivors barely numbered a million." "We had made the earth a wasteland. All of our great civilization, reduced to so much ash and dust. So instead of rebuilding, we left it all behind. All of our science, all of our technology. It was the only way to make sure that we could never misuse such terrible power ever again." Vynn sighed. "I've spent seventy-three years robbing every secret treasure you could possibly imagine. I broke into the private vaults of the Bank of Orga Magna, and saw ancient masterpieces that some historians still believe existed only in legend. I infiltrated the halls of the Order Steadfastly Penitent, and browsed their tomes of forbidden knowledge freely. I looted the secret coffers beneath the innermost quarters of Queen Aibe Benala, and made off with the wealth of entire countries in just a bag the size of my fist. I broke into the Sanct Armories twice." "My people built forges that could create any object imaginable, using nothing but raw resources. Flying ships that could travel anywhere in the entire world in a matter of hours. Farms that could run themselves, capable of feeding an entire army. We-" His voice cracked, and light glistened off his cheeks, tears falling freely. "We had cities on Luna." "All the wonders that my people created, and in seventy-three years of searching, all I could find," his fist clenched around the strange rod, "was a damn weapon." In a sudden burst of anger, Vynn hurled the rod into the campfire. Nell let out a startled yell, lunging forward slightly as if to lunge straight in after it, but caught herself and whirled to the rogue. "What were you thinking?! How could you just throw it away like that?!" "It's indestructible; the fire won't do a thing. It'll be there in the morning." Without another word, Vynn bundled himself up within his cloak, and fell asleep against the log. Nell stayed up late that night, until long after the fire had died out and the ashes had cooled.	The elf supposed it was a decent question, by human standards. It was based on the assumption that other races in the universe would value technology as many humans did. "Cultural tradition. We prefer to rely on horses and swords, and our magic helps greatly with that." The elf paused to let the human consider that. Imagine a vault full of enchanted weapons," the elf said. "In it lies Durandal that makes you indestructible, Fragarach that commands the winds, a sword that commands fire, and so on. " Swords that ruled over gravity and electromagnetism, the elf didn't say. A scythe that could open wormholes to hit from any angle. A ring that gave the wearer the gift to teleport to other galaxies. All of them were weapons based on ideas humanity had yet to imagine.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	You humans are so goddamned lucky I could scream. Do you have any idea what it's like trying to change anything-ANYTHING AT ALL-in the free elven cities? I heard you guys got gay marriage recently. That's cool. You know why, right? Because you humans have this one powerful advantage that we elves do not. You fucking die. Elves, once we hit adulthood, we stop aging. We just keep going and going and going. And all the insane and backwards social mores of the era in which we grew up? Yeah, that doesn't go away. You guys still have those baby boomers. I keep hearing your genZ/genY kids whinging about how the boomers are holding back social change. Boo. Fucking. Hoo. About 45% of the elven population legitimately still believes that the universe rotates around the earth. 37% believe that the sun and the moon are actual physical chariots driven by the ancient elven gods. If you try to talk to them about gay marriage, interracial marriage, equal rights, women's suffrage. Forget it. You're lucky if you can convince them to use toilet paper. Only 5% of the population can operate a smartphone without assistance. Makes sense when 95% of your people were born in the actual literal medieval dark ages. My great great great great great great great great grandfather still believes that humans should be a slave race and that we have a divine mandate to enslave you all for your own protection. He also believes that women are property, all sex should be illegal, computers are demons, and that the world is flat and carried on the back of a giant turtle. Now imagine trying to talk to this asshole about carbon credits or progressive taxation or net neutrality. Yeah. Good luck with that.	The elf supposed it was a decent question, by human standards. It was based on the assumption that other races in the universe would value technology as many humans did. "Cultural tradition. We prefer to rely on horses and swords, and our magic helps greatly with that." The elf paused to let the human consider that. Imagine a vault full of enchanted weapons," the elf said. "In it lies Durandal that makes you indestructible, Fragarach that commands the winds, a sword that commands fire, and so on. " Swords that ruled over gravity and electromagnetism, the elf didn't say. A scythe that could open wormholes to hit from any angle. A ring that gave the wearer the gift to teleport to other galaxies. All of them were weapons based on ideas humanity had yet to imagine.
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Vynn was silent. The sudden halt in the conversation shook Nell out of her warm, half-drunk haze like a bucket of freezing water. With some difficulty, the ranger lifted her head off the mostly-dry log she had chosen as her pillow and turned to her elven companion, who was staring blankly into the campfire. The rogue's expression had gone completely cold; not the usual frown of mild disdain that typically graced his delicate features, but something harder and far more terrible, his gaze lost on something far beyond the blazing fire. "Oi, Vynn. Forget about it. I wasn't-" He abruptly stood, reaching their sleeping horses in just a few brisk strides. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any offense by it!" Ignoring her completely, he crouched beside his mare to dig around in her saddlebags for something. "Come on, you know I say stupid shite when I drink!" Nell needed to head this off now; if she let the master thief brood on it, he'd be unbearable in the morning. "Can you please just-" "Wait." Nell halted her pleas, watching her sullen partner as he finally found what he was looking for and returned to the campfire with two items: In one hand, he carried a plain shortsword, one of the weapons they had looted off a pack of bandits a few days back. In the other, he carried a short rod of some sorts, about two hand lengths long, made of some dull metal that reflected no light from the fire, utterly featureless save for a hollow opening at the top end. Vynn stuck the sword upright in the dirt, then stepped back and raised the rod away from his body, shifting his stance as if preparing to strike… Fire erupted from the tip of the rod, brilliant gold and impossibly sharp, like a shard of glaring midday sun honed into a blade of pure light. Faster than Nell could blink, Vynn swept the rod across the sword in the ground, sparks showering outwards as golden flame crossed steel. As he finished the motion, the fiery blade vanished from the rod; a beat later, the top half of the sword toppled off, molten metal hissing against the damp grass. Nell sat dumbstruck, mouth agape. "What in hell…" Vynn changed his stance again, raising the rod off to one side as he stared at it down his arm, and the rod shifted, metal flowing like water to form a new shape, like a crossbow with no arms… A flash of golden light blinded Nell as thunder split the air. When her sight returned and the ringing in her ears faded, she was met with the rustle of startled birds and the clatter of falling branches; looking in the direction that Vynn still pointed the no-longer-a-rod, she saw a clean line of holes in the tree canopy, stretching out far beyond the pale light of the fire, all the way until it reached open sky… Vynn collapsed back onto his seat beside the fire, looking down at the impossible device in his hand as it shifted again, flowing back into its original rod shape. "We went back." "Our people didn't stop at horses and sharp sticks. We harnessed sail, steam, oil, lightning. We split the atom, then fused it back together. We brought metal to life, and taught it to think. We conquered every illness and disease, made our bodies stronger and our minds keener, extended our average lifespan a dozenfold. We mastered ourselves and our world like no species before or after. In six thousand years, our civilization grew and evolved to the point where we had everything we wanted, and all that we could ever need." "And we threw it all away." "Even in a world free of resource scarcity, we still found reasons to quarrel with each other. Petty differences in ancient religious doctrine-" "Wait, I thought you elves didn't believe in any faith?" As far as Nell knew, stubborn atheism was the one religious tenet that all elves adhered to. "That's because we can't believe. Not after what higher power and divine right led us to do." Vynn shook his head as he stared down at his hands. "Two hundred million dead in the first five hours of combat. Two billion dead within the first year. By the time the fighting finally stopped, roughly a decade later, eight billion altogether had been lost, most of them to starvation alone. In total, the survivors barely numbered a million." "We had made the earth a wasteland. All of our great civilization, reduced to so much ash and dust. So instead of rebuilding, we left it all behind. All of our science, all of our technology. It was the only way to make sure that we could never misuse such terrible power ever again." Vynn sighed. "I've spent seventy-three years robbing every secret treasure you could possibly imagine. I broke into the private vaults of the Bank of Orga Magna, and saw ancient masterpieces that some historians still believe existed only in legend. I infiltrated the halls of the Order Steadfastly Penitent, and browsed their tomes of forbidden knowledge freely. I looted the secret coffers beneath the innermost quarters of Queen Aibe Benala, and made off with the wealth of entire countries in just a bag the size of my fist. I broke into the Sanct Armories twice." "My people built forges that could create any object imaginable, using nothing but raw resources. Flying ships that could travel anywhere in the entire world in a matter of hours. Farms that could run themselves, capable of feeding an entire army. We-" His voice cracked, and light glistened off his cheeks, tears falling freely. "We had cities on Luna." "All the wonders that my people created, and in seventy-three years of searching, all I could find," his fist clenched around the strange rod, "was a damn weapon." In a sudden burst of anger, Vynn hurled the rod into the campfire. Nell let out a startled yell, lunging forward slightly as if to lunge straight in after it, but caught herself and whirled to the rogue. "What were you thinking?! How could you just throw it away like that?!" "It's indestructible; the fire won't do a thing. It'll be there in the morning." Without another word, Vynn bundled himself up within his cloak, and fell asleep against the log. Nell stayed up late that night, until long after the fire had died out and the ashes had cooled.	Castane sipped his tea, "You've been reading Leonard da Vance's stories, haven't you?" Quoll blushed and looked to the side, "Well, yeah...but some of the things he came up with, like those clockwork forges and...and, those flying paladins, no, pala-something, those flying chairs." There was a pause while they both tried to remember the word for 'that chair in a box that nobles sit in and porters carry around'. "Palanquin!" Quoll eventually shouted. Castane smiled, before he returned to his tea. &nbsp; After a few minutes, Quoll remembered what he was asking about, "But, yeah, I know there's that Futurists Guild that's trying to make those automatic...artisan...things a reality, but you elves, you've had civilization for like...thousands of years longer than us. Why don't you have any of that?" Castane paused and put down his tea, visibly thinking before he brightened up, "D'y'know, I think I actually studied that...did you know, apparently...we never discovered fire?" "What, really?" "Yep. Like, ancient elves knew fire existed, because of bushfires and dragons, and I guess we could keep a campfire going. But apparently we never discovered making furnances, or ceramics, or metallurgy. Apparently, we only copied fire from you humans, and that was like...after the fall of Lumen...or was it around the growth of Agraria...yeah, it might have actually been in Agraria that the Great Exchange happened." &nbsp; Quoll tilted his head, "Great Exchange?" Castane blinked, "Oh, right, the Great Exchange was when elves started trading with humans...and dwarves too, I think. From what I recall, you got, well, clothes and magic from us, we got fire and farming from you, the dwarves got our moldy fruit and made mead out of it, boy is there a story behind that one..." "Wait, wait, farming? You were, like, still, you didn't have farms?" Quoll interrupted, "You were still hunter-gatherers back then?" Castane shrugged, "Sorta! We didn't have huge fields of grain, but we had our trees with their fruits, and their nuts, and our mushrooms..." "^(Mystic mushrooms.)" Quoll quietly giggled to himself. "...But, we had magic instead. Well, learned magic. I don't know whether herbalism or mimicking unicorn magic was developed first, but, well, we used magic to help our trees fruit more often, which helped our population grow, and we had woodworking, and weaving, and that led to early elven civilization." &nbsp; Quoll crossed his arms and visibly thought, "So...you had a headstart on us humans, and that let you learn all kinds of magic to build your civilization on, but you didn't discover fire or metalwork until we did?" "Pretty much," Castane agreed, "All the real legendary elven artifacts are cloaks or runestones, the fancy swords and other metal stuff don't even begin to show up until around a thousand years ago." Quoll mouthed 'elven cloaks' to himself before he snorted, "Hang on, you should still have, like, flying carpets and stuff, though! If you've had magic and fabric and stuff for so long!" "Oh, we do!" Castane promptly levitated a good 6 feet out of his seat, leaving a sparkly trail, before he slowly floated back down again, "Flying cloaks were invented, like, ages ago. People just generally don't use them too much around here, I know that if I fly over a crowd then they all look at me and I get all self-conscious..."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"Have you not -been- to our lands child?" the elf's caustic voice snapped out at the human mercenary. "I..." the mercenary stammered, but the elf interrupted. "We Elves have bonded with nature. We have become one with it," the elf shot back at the human mercenary, and then continued unabated. "We, child, speak to the trees. We commune with the wind. We call to the Pegasi and they come. We cry out to the Griffons and they heed our call. We shout to the wild and it hears us! To the Equine we send our thoughts and they OBEY!" The elf's voice reached a crescendo as he bowled over the cowed mercenary. "Our enchantments have been shared with the children of this world; with you. The mastery of magics and spirit, that your people enjoy are GIFTS FROM US!!!" The elf exploded. "Your crafting, your cooking, your hunting and tracking, fletching, bowyery, herbalism and alchemy. OURS!!!" The elf's voice boomed and his glare burned through the mercenary. The mercenary shook a bit, his face was pale, and his eyes were white-wide with fear. "Yet," the elf's voice softened and his glare turned to pity. "We understand you; human. We know your frame and your fragility, your impermanence in this realm. We have, and always will, protect you humans no matter your insolence or how uncultured you may be." The pity in the elf's eyes turned nostalgic, and the stare pierced through the reckless mercenary, to somewhere and sometime beyond. "I forgive you, human. Your brief thimble-full existence breaks with but a dollop of time's drops." The elf's voice broke and tears filled his eyes. "That brevity... is a horror we Elves can scarce imagine." "I forgive you." the elf barely whispered as a gentle sob fought free from his lips. He turned his now tear streaked face away and spoke almost silently. "Shall we continue, child? This basement cairn won't clear itself. There are hordes more rats to kill." The elf steps ahead of the human mercenary and whispers inaudibly once more to himself "I forgive you; Human."	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	You humans are so goddamned lucky I could scream. Do you have any idea what it's like trying to change anything-ANYTHING AT ALL-in the free elven cities? I heard you guys got gay marriage recently. That's cool. You know why, right? Because you humans have this one powerful advantage that we elves do not. You fucking die. Elves, once we hit adulthood, we stop aging. We just keep going and going and going. And all the insane and backwards social mores of the era in which we grew up? Yeah, that doesn't go away. You guys still have those baby boomers. I keep hearing your genZ/genY kids whinging about how the boomers are holding back social change. Boo. Fucking. Hoo. About 45% of the elven population legitimately still believes that the universe rotates around the earth. 37% believe that the sun and the moon are actual physical chariots driven by the ancient elven gods. If you try to talk to them about gay marriage, interracial marriage, equal rights, women's suffrage. Forget it. You're lucky if you can convince them to use toilet paper. Only 5% of the population can operate a smartphone without assistance. Makes sense when 95% of your people were born in the actual literal medieval dark ages. My great great great great great great great great grandfather still believes that humans should be a slave race and that we have a divine mandate to enslave you all for your own protection. He also believes that women are property, all sex should be illegal, computers are demons, and that the world is flat and carried on the back of a giant turtle. Now imagine trying to talk to this asshole about carbon credits or progressive taxation or net neutrality. Yeah. Good luck with that.	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	The Elvish commander, Lord Aurelius, looked at him stunned. His fluttering cloak was the sole source of sound other than the howling winds of the Ten Peaks mountain range in which they were situated. General Francois le Bordeaux continued. "In fact, I will go as far as to say all those 'advantages' you listed in the long term _greatly_ hampered your progress. So much as to call it retardation." Lord Aurelius became flummoxed as his formerly porcelain face became crimson with fury and indignation. Veins prominently emerged across his forehead as his golden locks tossed and emerald green eyes glowed blood. "How DARE YOU?! You are but a hairless ape that will not live past his tenth decade! You are ever so weak, fragile, and short lived!" he snarled as his magic began manifesting in his right hand as a stream of dancing lightning. "And as a result, discovered antibiotics, mechanics, and internalized combustion," the General calmly responded as he removed his flask from its holster and took a long sip. All while maintaining eye contact. "All inferior to our MAGICS!" Lord Aurelius screeched back as he threatened to leave his levitating golden throne. General Bordeaux calmly leaned forward from his velvety cushioned seat, until his sapphire eyes were locked with the ruby irises of Lord Aurelius. "By all means, prove it," he whispered into the ear of the Elvish aristocrat. He rose from his seat and left the conference. /// General, no, Lord High Marshal of the Unified Homien Empire Bordeaux looked onto the scene before him. From his view of the western opening of the range, atop the Grey Spire, first of the Ten Peaks, were an 'assembly'. Eight point five _million_ soldiers, dressed in steam pressed uniforms and burnished cuirasses, were lined in perfect formations. Behind the six layer deep lines of infantry, laid the repeating ballistas launching exploding bolts. A sea of navy blue with black trim, about to meet the rays of immortal gold. Blue light shined directly to his right, before Lieutenant General Ashford emerged from it. "Sir," he stated as he saluted. "At ease, and freely voice your critique," Ashford took to a more relaxed stance. "I know the Elves are rather... proud. But I do not believe they are as blind as you are about to give credit for." "I know. That is why I intentionally insulted their 'Noble' Houses and called their entire culture weak and braindead. Now they are politically _obligated_ to do something immensely stupid. That or be ousted from power for backing down from 'mere apes'." "...impressive. I did not know this." "Arrogance erodes away the bedrock upon which victory resides." /// The three Lords and two Ladies of the Five Noble Houses looked back at their armies as the rays of dawn heralded the Morningstar to begin another day. Sunlight shined at their backs. Snow white hair beguiled royal purple eyes as the wind blew Lady Alexandria's locked onto her Visage. "We are heading into a trap. I can feel it," she stated over the sound of her clinking Moonsilver armor. "True. But Lady Alexandria, they are monkeys," Lord Aurelius responded. "Besides, if all else fails, we can unleash the full power of our magics," Lord Arman said as he nodded. His straight black hair tossed with his nods. "Indeed, as long as the Sun's light touches us, we shall see through all," Lord Senna added. His golden eyes and hair shone as certainly as his declaration. /// "Lord Bordeaux, the enemies are in the kill zone and our troops are in position. Open fire?" a Brigadier General asked from his left, looking into an 'appropriated' Elvish observation orb. "Wait for my signal," he replied as he shook his head. /// "HAHAHAHA! We have been marching for twelve hours and the cowardly monkeys did not even lob a single arrow!" Lord Arman mirthfully declared as he laughed as loud as his lungs and magics could allow. The Host of Dawn, the enchanted gold armored legions of the Elvish Conclaves, reverberated with laughter and mockery across all two million legionaries. "Honestly, perhaps that mortal fool was too involved with his namesake," Lord Senna commented. The Sun began its descent from zenith about three and a half hours ago. _We should retreat_ _Lady Alexandria, you give these fools too much credit_ _I concur. My Lady if you cannot stomach a simple culling, perhaps you should leave. One point five million is still signifcantly more than enough and we shall not fault you for it._ At this her fellow Lady spoke up. "Actually, I concur. Maybe your forces could act as rear echelons. I imagine they will try flanking attempts in desperation," Lady Aurora stated, her eyes glowing primsatically from the use of clairvoyance magic. Her long silver hair conveniently flowing in a manner that hid her scowl. Lady Alexandria nodded and at once her half million soldiers began marching backwards. She left the others, levitating in the center of the army, before floating back East towards home. The Sun slid further towards the underworld as the mountains now blocked the sunlight. Lady Aurora's eyes reverted back to their azure hues as her clairvoyance ceased. ///	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"Because, you idiot, we're not focused on wringing the neck of the earth for our own gain like you guys." The human scoffed before sipping his ale. "Oh gods here it comes." The elf rolled his eyes and put down his drink. "No you got to understand, we elves live for a really long time. Incredibly long compared to humans. Our culture is focused on preserving nature and keeping order in the branches of the great mother. You may mock us for being slow to pick up with the times but I've seen the spread of human civilizations. I have watch it drain the life out of the branch in which you lay claim for your own benefit, unknowingly bringing your own doom." "OK well that still doesn't explain why you guys arnt super advanced or something. You got countless years ahead of you so use it!" The elf let out a sigh. "No you- ok look, we live with nature. When we fight, it is only out of necessity. You fight everything. You fight the world around you, your fellow man, elves, me when im saying you're a daft idiot." "Oi" "Shush. Anyway as I was saying your kind enjoy fighting more then coexisting. Elves have no desire to fight so we don't work on better ways to kill each other. Humans work way to hard fighting everything so you come up with better methods. It's not that elves arnt advance but we're just not focus on fighting." The human scoffed. "Oh yah? Well what great advancement have you elves done? I haven't seen any of it." "Yah cause you idiots will use it to fight each other. Its a pretty open secret that thats why we dont tell you guys this." "OK well tell me one really vague thing then." "Nuclear power plant." "OK well that just a made up word." "Mmmhm. Just enjoy your ale and keep calling our science 'magic'."	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Elrandir sighed heavily at the human’s remarks. It wasn’t the first time he had heard them – and it certainly wouldn’t be the last – but he was getting tired of them. Did the humans have any idea how hard is to have an elf feel tired. Of course they didn’t. Such hasty and anxious people. Always moving, always working towards something and always striving for something that makes their lives easier. It took a moment for Elrandir to remember the man’s name. There were just so any of them. “Thommen,” he began, his voice as soft as falling snow on a winter’s day. “You are young. Your race is young. You talk of things you think you know much of, but you lack something critical.” “And what is that?” the human asked, voice coarse and not at all pleasant to listen to. Elrandir didn’t blame the human for his tone of course, it was simply how humans were. “Generational knowledge,” he answered, earning a confused look from the human. Again, he sighed. Softly this time, as not to let the human take notice. “For the human race, the knowledge of older generations is lost after one or two hundred years if not preserved properly. We elves live for thousands of years. We remember what it was like all those years ago, before the human race even set foot on our lands.” “So…” the human began, interrupting Elrandir in the midst of his explanation. “That should mean you’ve had plenty of time for some technological advancements, no? Just look at our cities. Houses for everyone, streets with sewers disposing of our trash, automatic carts that get us from one point to the other without any effort, instant communication through our transmitters… You claim our past wasn’t preserved properly, but what is the need in that if we develop so quickly?” “And what makes you think we elves have never been through the same advancements?” The human was stunned for a moment. Remarkable, Elrandir noted. “What do you mean?” “Long ago, a hundred lifetimes and more for you, we elves thought we could do better. We devised machines to help us perform daily tasks. We produced them en masse, confident we were doing the right thing. It only took ten years before we realized we had made the wrong choice. The world around us, the world we lived in, suffered from our actions. Forests were lost, our air polluted and animals began to leave our stronghold were before they had roamed for centuries.” A tear rolled down Elrandir’s cheek as he recalled those dark days. “So we made a decision to return to our old ways. We destroyed every single one of our machines, any evidence of them was either melted down or buried somewhere hidden never to surface again. Were it only took ten years to destroy our world, it took much longer to regrow it. We had forgotten our place in this world and we paid a price.” The human seemed doubtful for a moment, but for what exactly Elrandir could not tell. “You were simply not prepared for the future,” he eventually said. “Your old age allows you to get stuck in the old ways. We humans are different. Just look at our cities. Have you ever seen anything mightier than this?” He pointed towards the city in the valley. From the hill they stood on, the entirety of it could be seen. Grey buildings with black spires reaching high into the sky, mudded streets packed to the last brim with humans and a river that entered it blue and came out brown. Several spires spit out thick, black clouds into the air. “Mighty indeed,” Elrandir whispered as the human left, convinced of his own arguments. With tears rolling down and a heart that longed for the so called old ways, he turned his back to the stain on the world and walked back into the forest. How long before the humans would learn their lesson? --- > Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millennia before we 'crawled out of the mud pits', you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?" Jarila sped in front of the human, holding her sword to his throat. He didn't even see it coming. "This is why." Stepping back, because who wants to kill without a good fight, she sheathed her sword. "While you have spent most of your lives toiling under the sun, we studied combat for at least 5 times that long. The reason that we stayed with riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal, as you said, is because we elves, drow, and orcs are all very good at it." "Unfortunately, your lifespan means that at combat you all are adequate at most. You'll never beat us at anything, especially not archery." The human sighed, shaking his head. "Of course you would say that. Every single one of you elves always think that every non-elf race is inferior—" Jarila cut him off, feeling her anger start to rise. "I never said that." He paid her no mind. "If you actually knew about us, you would know that we don't need to beat you at archery or swordplay." "What do you even know about combat?!" The elf was starting to lose her temper. This inferior creature before her was just another thorn in her side. She wanted to kill the human, but she was too angry to focus. "You know nothing about killing an elf! The only times we lost our kind to yours was because they were weak or they stumbled! You have nothing that can kill an elf as you're confronting them face to face!" BANG. Jarila felt something rip through her chest. No sword was drawn, so she was confused. Placing a hand on her heart, she noticed her hand came away bloody. "W-what....did you do...?" It was only too late when she saw the man's pepperbox revolver in his hand. "I told you we didn't need to beat you at archery or swordplay." She staggered back, soon collapsing as her legs couldn't support her. As her vision faded, she saw the man's smirk as he crouched over her. And his smirk was the last thing she saw before her vision faded to a dark nothingness and she died.	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	Before I was born, a long time ago, there was a war. It was a war fought silently against the men who had recently discovered us and our kind. Their weapons back then were already impressive, their firearms were capable of killing even the strongest of our warriors. "How did they find us?" one of the priests asked. He would die in attack a few days later, never knowing why or how it was that the humans discovered our land. They'd taken half of our people in a month, even after all the tribes had agreed to a ceasefire. They had taken another half as we left, they chased us like dogs through the night and razed the forest to the ground, leaving nothing alive in their wake. We heard the forest scream as they cut and burn through it, we saw the spirits flee, we felt the emptiness of it. It was my mother, the priest's daughter, that decided to flee into a land with no trees and more importantly, no humans. "We need time," she said. "We need time to grow and recover." They trekked north, far into the north where no humans could follow them no matter how badly they wanted to (and believe me, they wanted to). The further north they went, the colder it became, the forests were nonexistent, the cold refusing to cooperate with their growth. My mother, Saida, was a gifted botanist. She rarely relied on magic to help the plants grow, but there were no plants at all. They were hidden deep underneath the chill and the ice. She complained about this often, she said that no elf could survive without the forest. They needed the sun as the trees did. She heard of an elf who could create light and fire. She heard of my father, Kivessin. My mother taught others of her science and my father tried to teach anyone he could of wielding fire. They melted away the ice together, cultivating the land into something that could foster life. It took many, many years. Still years before I was born and they were working non-stop to create a new home. Elves are supposed to live for a long time, hundreds and hundreds of years if we were lucky. My parents were young when they were forced to move. My mother was 70 and my father 102. They told me that when their parents were their age, they were still treated like children by their own parents. My parents died twenty years after they had me, many of the elves died in the journey north, but many more died after they reached their destination. The land that my parents cultivated was barely livable. The land was filled with scorn despite the love my parents poured into it. It was cold, infertile, and unforgiving. Any little mistake was amplified through the early deaths our people were suffering. The harsh of winter killing large swathes of trees that had already fought to grow. "Never pass the trees, Alwin." my mother said to me. Every parent said that to their child here and every child wondered why. Years passed in the eternally snowy forest and the world warmed. In my parents' dying years, they had thought that the warmth was a direct result of their hard work, but I knew it had something to do with the humans. The trees grew stronger and our people started to live longer. After more years, our forest was thick with trees despite the snow and we wanted more. We expanded our territory, we sent scouts out to the south. "Alwin!" one of the scouts yelled. I saw them, dripping with sweat that had already frozen over. I waved my hand around them and the snow melted. "What is it?" I asked. "We found humans," he said. "Wake the others."	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	# Soulmage "Do you know what happens to civilizations that progress too far technologically?" Tento asked. I shook my head, eyeing the elf. His lips quirked in a joyous grin, and he leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath tickling my ear. "Neither do we," he whispered. A shiver ran down my spine, and I stepped back, pushing him away. "What do you mean?" I asked. For once, the eternally-laughing elf had a hint of something else on his timeless face. In response, Tanto simply stepped aside, resting one hand on the door behind him. The door I'd come here, into the depths of the Knwharfhelm dungeons, in order to get past. "Would you like me to show you?" Tanto simply asked in reply. Warily, I nodded. Tanto pressed his hand to the door, and in my soulsight, I saw him disable the security spells, draining the small ocean of deadly light that would have killed me a hundred times over if I'd opened the door. Then he fished out a key—I suppose there was no need to trust in magic alone when physical security would do—and opened the door, descending further into the dungeons. Pale witchlights hovered on the walls, gleaming brighter as Tanto idly refueled them with a thought. The stone was worn by ages of passing feet, and despite the handful of air spells ventilating the room, the atmosphere was dusty and choking. And then we reached the basement. The machine was vast, sprawling, and ticking with inscrutable designs. The only apparent interface was a vast array of levers, one of which Tanto pulled while I warily scrutinized the machine. "GREETINGS," the machine said, and I yelped, jerking back in shock. Tentatively, I opened my soulsight—was that thing alive? "Hello, Truthteller," Tanto said, a thin smile playing on his lips as he watched my reaction. "Would you like to tell my friend here a little about your purpose?" "I AM THE TRUTHTELLER. KNOWLEDGE WILL BE REWARDED. YOU HAVE THREE ATTEMPTS PER DAY." Tanto nodded solemnly. "Allow me to give a demonstration. Truthteller! The first of the truths we have to offer is this." Tanto closed his eyes, and I saw his soul shift as he accessed a memory. "Observations of horse breeds over the past two centuries have indicated that certain hereditary traits can appear to override others for a generation, but reveal themselves further down the hereditary tree. We name these traits as 'dominant' and 'recessive.'" The machine hummed. "THIS TRUTH... IS KNOWN TO US." "As recompense for my knowledge, I would like to claim a reward." "...PROCEED." "What, exactly, do you intend to do, the day that our civilization's knowledge of science exceeds yours? The day that we hand you a truth about the universe which is not known to you?" The Truthteller paused. "YOUR CURRENT LEVELS OF KNOWLEDGE ARE INSUFFICIENT TO CLAIM THIS REWARD," it finally said. Tanto turned to me and gave me a wild-eyed grin. "So that's why," Tanto said, and there was something awful in the way he smiled. "Other civilizations have raced ahead, exploring the secrets of the universe and happily trading them to their Truthtellers for ever more knowledge. But we? First of the changed? We wonder... what happens when a civilization knows too much?" "YOUR CURRENT LEVELS OF KNOWLEDGE ARE INSUFFICIENT TO CLAIM THIS REWARD," the Truthteller repeated. Tanto's smile widened. "So that's why, human. Now run along and warn the others." A.N. This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts! Catch up on the rest [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=confidence), and check out r/bubblewriters for more!	Vander look at the bandits. It wasn’t that hard to see all the weak points in their crude armor and weapons. All of it was cheap crap even by the low standers of human chaos worshippers. Plus, all of the bandits had gotten intoxicated after capturing the inquisitor so they would be slower than normal. A thrust here, and strike there, and each bandit would either die or be disabled to be interrogated latter by the inquisition. It was the easier thing in the world to undo the knots and rope binding him without them noticing. This is isn’t the first time Vander had played this game to get to the intelligence he wanted. It was almost getting boring. But he had to admit, he still did love this next part. “Let me show you…”
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	You humans are so goddamned lucky I could scream. Do you have any idea what it's like trying to change anything-ANYTHING AT ALL-in the free elven cities? I heard you guys got gay marriage recently. That's cool. You know why, right? Because you humans have this one powerful advantage that we elves do not. You fucking die. Elves, once we hit adulthood, we stop aging. We just keep going and going and going. And all the insane and backwards social mores of the era in which we grew up? Yeah, that doesn't go away. You guys still have those baby boomers. I keep hearing your genZ/genY kids whinging about how the boomers are holding back social change. Boo. Fucking. Hoo. About 45% of the elven population legitimately still believes that the universe rotates around the earth. 37% believe that the sun and the moon are actual physical chariots driven by the ancient elven gods. If you try to talk to them about gay marriage, interracial marriage, equal rights, women's suffrage. Forget it. You're lucky if you can convince them to use toilet paper. Only 5% of the population can operate a smartphone without assistance. Makes sense when 95% of your people were born in the actual literal medieval dark ages. My great great great great great great great great grandfather still believes that humans should be a slave race and that we have a divine mandate to enslave you all for your own protection. He also believes that women are property, all sex should be illegal, computers are demons, and that the world is flat and carried on the back of a giant turtle. Now imagine trying to talk to this asshole about carbon credits or progressive taxation or net neutrality. Yeah. Good luck with that.	"Have you not -been- to our lands child?" the elf's caustic voice snapped out at the human mercenary. "I..." the mercenary stammered, but the elf interrupted. "We Elves have bonded with nature. We have become one with it," the elf shot back at the human mercenary, and then continued unabated. "We, child, speak to the trees. We commune with the wind. We call to the Pegasi and they come. We cry out to the Griffons and they heed our call. We shout to the wild and it hears us! To the Equine we send our thoughts and they OBEY!" The elf's voice reached a crescendo as he bowled over the cowed mercenary. "Our enchantments have been shared with the children of this world; with you. The mastery of magics and spirit, that your people enjoy are GIFTS FROM US!!!" The elf exploded. "Your crafting, your cooking, your hunting and tracking, fletching, bowyery, herbalism and alchemy. OURS!!!" The elf's voice boomed and his glare burned through the mercenary. The mercenary shook a bit, his face was pale, and his eyes were white-wide with fear. "Yet," the elf's voice softened and his glare turned to pity. "We understand you; human. We know your frame and your fragility, your impermanence in this realm. We have, and always will, protect you humans no matter your insolence or how uncultured you may be." The pity in the elf's eyes turned nostalgic, and the stare pierced through the reckless mercenary, to somewhere and sometime beyond. "I forgive you, human. Your brief thimble-full existence breaks with but a dollop of time's drops." The elf's voice broke and tears filled his eyes. "That brevity... is a horror we Elves can scarce imagine." "I forgive you." the elf barely whispered as a gentle sob fought free from his lips. He turned his now tear streaked face away and spoke almost silently. "Shall we continue, child? This basement cairn won't clear itself. There are hordes more rats to kill." The elf steps ahead of the human mercenary and whispers inaudibly once more to himself "I forgive you; Human."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	The Elvish commander, Lord Aurelius, looked at him stunned. His fluttering cloak was the sole source of sound other than the howling winds of the Ten Peaks mountain range in which they were situated. General Francois le Bordeaux continued. "In fact, I will go as far as to say all those 'advantages' you listed in the long term _greatly_ hampered your progress. So much as to call it retardation." Lord Aurelius became flummoxed as his formerly porcelain face became crimson with fury and indignation. Veins prominently emerged across his forehead as his golden locks tossed and emerald green eyes glowed blood. "How DARE YOU?! You are but a hairless ape that will not live past his tenth decade! You are ever so weak, fragile, and short lived!" he snarled as his magic began manifesting in his right hand as a stream of dancing lightning. "And as a result, discovered antibiotics, mechanics, and internalized combustion," the General calmly responded as he removed his flask from its holster and took a long sip. All while maintaining eye contact. "All inferior to our MAGICS!" Lord Aurelius screeched back as he threatened to leave his levitating golden throne. General Bordeaux calmly leaned forward from his velvety cushioned seat, until his sapphire eyes were locked with the ruby irises of Lord Aurelius. "By all means, prove it," he whispered into the ear of the Elvish aristocrat. He rose from his seat and left the conference. /// General, no, Lord High Marshal of the Unified Homien Empire Bordeaux looked onto the scene before him. From his view of the western opening of the range, atop the Grey Spire, first of the Ten Peaks, were an 'assembly'. Eight point five _million_ soldiers, dressed in steam pressed uniforms and burnished cuirasses, were lined in perfect formations. Behind the six layer deep lines of infantry, laid the repeating ballistas launching exploding bolts. A sea of navy blue with black trim, about to meet the rays of immortal gold. Blue light shined directly to his right, before Lieutenant General Ashford emerged from it. "Sir," he stated as he saluted. "At ease, and freely voice your critique," Ashford took to a more relaxed stance. "I know the Elves are rather... proud. But I do not believe they are as blind as you are about to give credit for." "I know. That is why I intentionally insulted their 'Noble' Houses and called their entire culture weak and braindead. Now they are politically _obligated_ to do something immensely stupid. That or be ousted from power for backing down from 'mere apes'." "...impressive. I did not know this." "Arrogance erodes away the bedrock upon which victory resides." /// The three Lords and two Ladies of the Five Noble Houses looked back at their armies as the rays of dawn heralded the Morningstar to begin another day. Sunlight shined at their backs. Snow white hair beguiled royal purple eyes as the wind blew Lady Alexandria's locked onto her Visage. "We are heading into a trap. I can feel it," she stated over the sound of her clinking Moonsilver armor. "True. But Lady Alexandria, they are monkeys," Lord Aurelius responded. "Besides, if all else fails, we can unleash the full power of our magics," Lord Arman said as he nodded. His straight black hair tossed with his nods. "Indeed, as long as the Sun's light touches us, we shall see through all," Lord Senna added. His golden eyes and hair shone as certainly as his declaration. /// "Lord Bordeaux, the enemies are in the kill zone and our troops are in position. Open fire?" a Brigadier General asked from his left, looking into an 'appropriated' Elvish observation orb. "Wait for my signal," he replied as he shook his head. /// "HAHAHAHA! We have been marching for twelve hours and the cowardly monkeys did not even lob a single arrow!" Lord Arman mirthfully declared as he laughed as loud as his lungs and magics could allow. The Host of Dawn, the enchanted gold armored legions of the Elvish Conclaves, reverberated with laughter and mockery across all two million legionaries. "Honestly, perhaps that mortal fool was too involved with his namesake," Lord Senna commented. The Sun began its descent from zenith about three and a half hours ago. _We should retreat_ _Lady Alexandria, you give these fools too much credit_ _I concur. My Lady if you cannot stomach a simple culling, perhaps you should leave. One point five million is still signifcantly more than enough and we shall not fault you for it._ At this her fellow Lady spoke up. "Actually, I concur. Maybe your forces could act as rear echelons. I imagine they will try flanking attempts in desperation," Lady Aurora stated, her eyes glowing primsatically from the use of clairvoyance magic. Her long silver hair conveniently flowing in a manner that hid her scowl. Lady Alexandria nodded and at once her half million soldiers began marching backwards. She left the others, levitating in the center of the army, before floating back East towards home. The Sun slid further towards the underworld as the mountains now blocked the sunlight. Lady Aurora's eyes reverted back to their azure hues as her clairvoyance ceased. ///	"Have you not -been- to our lands child?" the elf's caustic voice snapped out at the human mercenary. "I..." the mercenary stammered, but the elf interrupted. "We Elves have bonded with nature. We have become one with it," the elf shot back at the human mercenary, and then continued unabated. "We, child, speak to the trees. We commune with the wind. We call to the Pegasi and they come. We cry out to the Griffons and they heed our call. We shout to the wild and it hears us! To the Equine we send our thoughts and they OBEY!" The elf's voice reached a crescendo as he bowled over the cowed mercenary. "Our enchantments have been shared with the children of this world; with you. The mastery of magics and spirit, that your people enjoy are GIFTS FROM US!!!" The elf exploded. "Your crafting, your cooking, your hunting and tracking, fletching, bowyery, herbalism and alchemy. OURS!!!" The elf's voice boomed and his glare burned through the mercenary. The mercenary shook a bit, his face was pale, and his eyes were white-wide with fear. "Yet," the elf's voice softened and his glare turned to pity. "We understand you; human. We know your frame and your fragility, your impermanence in this realm. We have, and always will, protect you humans no matter your insolence or how uncultured you may be." The pity in the elf's eyes turned nostalgic, and the stare pierced through the reckless mercenary, to somewhere and sometime beyond. "I forgive you, human. Your brief thimble-full existence breaks with but a dollop of time's drops." The elf's voice broke and tears filled his eyes. "That brevity... is a horror we Elves can scarce imagine." "I forgive you." the elf barely whispered as a gentle sob fought free from his lips. He turned his now tear streaked face away and spoke almost silently. "Shall we continue, child? This basement cairn won't clear itself. There are hordes more rats to kill." The elf steps ahead of the human mercenary and whispers inaudibly once more to himself "I forgive you; Human."
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	"So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millennia before we 'crawled out of the mud pits', you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?" Jarila sped in front of the human, holding her sword to his throat. He didn't even see it coming. "This is why." Stepping back, because who wants to kill without a good fight, she sheathed her sword. "While you have spent most of your lives toiling under the sun, we studied combat for at least 5 times that long. The reason that we stayed with riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal, as you said, is because we elves, drow, and orcs are all very good at it." "Unfortunately, your lifespan means that at combat you all are adequate at most. You'll never beat us at anything, especially not archery." The human sighed, shaking his head. "Of course you would say that. Every single one of you elves always think that every non-elf race is inferior—" Jarila cut him off, feeling her anger start to rise. "I never said that." He paid her no mind. "If you actually knew about us, you would know that we don't need to beat you at archery or swordplay." "What do you even know about combat?!" The elf was starting to lose her temper. This inferior creature before her was just another thorn in her side. She wanted to kill the human, but she was too angry to focus. "You know nothing about killing an elf! The only times we lost our kind to yours was because they were weak or they stumbled! You have nothing that can kill an elf as you're confronting them face to face!" BANG. Jarila felt something rip through her chest. No sword was drawn, so she was confused. Placing a hand on her heart, she noticed her hand came away bloody. "W-what....did you do...?" It was only too late when she saw the man's pepperbox revolver in his hand. "I told you we didn't need to beat you at archery or swordplay." She staggered back, soon collapsing as her legs couldn't support her. As her vision faded, she saw the man's smirk as he crouched over her. And his smirk was the last thing she saw before her vision faded to a dark nothingness and she died.	Elrandir sighed heavily at the human’s remarks. It wasn’t the first time he had heard them – and it certainly wouldn’t be the last – but he was getting tired of them. Did the humans have any idea how hard is to have an elf feel tired. Of course they didn’t. Such hasty and anxious people. Always moving, always working towards something and always striving for something that makes their lives easier. It took a moment for Elrandir to remember the man’s name. There were just so any of them. “Thommen,” he began, his voice as soft as falling snow on a winter’s day. “You are young. Your race is young. You talk of things you think you know much of, but you lack something critical.” “And what is that?” the human asked, voice coarse and not at all pleasant to listen to. Elrandir didn’t blame the human for his tone of course, it was simply how humans were. “Generational knowledge,” he answered, earning a confused look from the human. Again, he sighed. Softly this time, as not to let the human take notice. “For the human race, the knowledge of older generations is lost after one or two hundred years if not preserved properly. We elves live for thousands of years. We remember what it was like all those years ago, before the human race even set foot on our lands.” “So…” the human began, interrupting Elrandir in the midst of his explanation. “That should mean you’ve had plenty of time for some technological advancements, no? Just look at our cities. Houses for everyone, streets with sewers disposing of our trash, automatic carts that get us from one point to the other without any effort, instant communication through our transmitters… You claim our past wasn’t preserved properly, but what is the need in that if we develop so quickly?” “And what makes you think we elves have never been through the same advancements?” The human was stunned for a moment. Remarkable, Elrandir noted. “What do you mean?” “Long ago, a hundred lifetimes and more for you, we elves thought we could do better. We devised machines to help us perform daily tasks. We produced them en masse, confident we were doing the right thing. It only took ten years before we realized we had made the wrong choice. The world around us, the world we lived in, suffered from our actions. Forests were lost, our air polluted and animals began to leave our stronghold were before they had roamed for centuries.” A tear rolled down Elrandir’s cheek as he recalled those dark days. “So we made a decision to return to our old ways. We destroyed every single one of our machines, any evidence of them was either melted down or buried somewhere hidden never to surface again. Were it only took ten years to destroy our world, it took much longer to regrow it. We had forgotten our place in this world and we paid a price.” The human seemed doubtful for a moment, but for what exactly Elrandir could not tell. “You were simply not prepared for the future,” he eventually said. “Your old age allows you to get stuck in the old ways. We humans are different. Just look at our cities. Have you ever seen anything mightier than this?” He pointed towards the city in the valley. From the hill they stood on, the entirety of it could be seen. Grey buildings with black spires reaching high into the sky, mudded streets packed to the last brim with humans and a river that entered it blue and came out brown. Several spires spit out thick, black clouds into the air. “Mighty indeed,” Elrandir whispered as the human left, convinced of his own arguments. With tears rolling down and a heart that longed for the so called old ways, he turned his back to the stain on the world and walked back into the forest. How long before the humans would learn their lesson? --- > Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us?	# Soulmage "Do you know what happens to civilizations that progress too far technologically?" Tento asked. I shook my head, eyeing the elf. His lips quirked in a joyous grin, and he leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath tickling my ear. "Neither do we," he whispered. A shiver ran down my spine, and I stepped back, pushing him away. "What do you mean?" I asked. For once, the eternally-laughing elf had a hint of something else on his timeless face. In response, Tanto simply stepped aside, resting one hand on the door behind him. The door I'd come here, into the depths of the Knwharfhelm dungeons, in order to get past. "Would you like me to show you?" Tanto simply asked in reply. Warily, I nodded. Tanto pressed his hand to the door, and in my soulsight, I saw him disable the security spells, draining the small ocean of deadly light that would have killed me a hundred times over if I'd opened the door. Then he fished out a key—I suppose there was no need to trust in magic alone when physical security would do—and opened the door, descending further into the dungeons. Pale witchlights hovered on the walls, gleaming brighter as Tanto idly refueled them with a thought. The stone was worn by ages of passing feet, and despite the handful of air spells ventilating the room, the atmosphere was dusty and choking. And then we reached the basement. The machine was vast, sprawling, and ticking with inscrutable designs. The only apparent interface was a vast array of levers, one of which Tanto pulled while I warily scrutinized the machine. "GREETINGS," the machine said, and I yelped, jerking back in shock. Tentatively, I opened my soulsight—was that thing alive? "Hello, Truthteller," Tanto said, a thin smile playing on his lips as he watched my reaction. "Would you like to tell my friend here a little about your purpose?" "I AM THE TRUTHTELLER. KNOWLEDGE WILL BE REWARDED. YOU HAVE THREE ATTEMPTS PER DAY." Tanto nodded solemnly. "Allow me to give a demonstration. Truthteller! The first of the truths we have to offer is this." Tanto closed his eyes, and I saw his soul shift as he accessed a memory. "Observations of horse breeds over the past two centuries have indicated that certain hereditary traits can appear to override others for a generation, but reveal themselves further down the hereditary tree. We name these traits as 'dominant' and 'recessive.'" The machine hummed. "THIS TRUTH... IS KNOWN TO US." "As recompense for my knowledge, I would like to claim a reward." "...PROCEED." "What, exactly, do you intend to do, the day that our civilization's knowledge of science exceeds yours? The day that we hand you a truth about the universe which is not known to you?" The Truthteller paused. "YOUR CURRENT LEVELS OF KNOWLEDGE ARE INSUFFICIENT TO CLAIM THIS REWARD," it finally said. Tanto turned to me and gave me a wild-eyed grin. "So that's why," Tanto said, and there was something awful in the way he smiled. "Other civilizations have raced ahead, exploring the secrets of the universe and happily trading them to their Truthtellers for ever more knowledge. But we? First of the changed? We wonder... what happens when a civilization knows too much?" "YOUR CURRENT LEVELS OF KNOWLEDGE ARE INSUFFICIENT TO CLAIM THIS REWARD," the Truthteller repeated. Tanto's smile widened. "So that's why, human. Now run along and warn the others." A.N. This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts! Catch up on the rest [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=confidence), and check out r/bubblewriters for more!	Before I was born, a long time ago, there was a war. It was a war fought silently against the men who had recently discovered us and our kind. Their weapons back then were already impressive, their firearms were capable of killing even the strongest of our warriors. "How did they find us?" one of the priests asked. He would die in attack a few days later, never knowing why or how it was that the humans discovered our land. They'd taken half of our people in a month, even after all the tribes had agreed to a ceasefire. They had taken another half as we left, they chased us like dogs through the night and razed the forest to the ground, leaving nothing alive in their wake. We heard the forest scream as they cut and burn through it, we saw the spirits flee, we felt the emptiness of it. It was my mother, the priest's daughter, that decided to flee into a land with no trees and more importantly, no humans. "We need time," she said. "We need time to grow and recover." They trekked north, far into the north where no humans could follow them no matter how badly they wanted to (and believe me, they wanted to). The further north they went, the colder it became, the forests were nonexistent, the cold refusing to cooperate with their growth. My mother, Saida, was a gifted botanist. She rarely relied on magic to help the plants grow, but there were no plants at all. They were hidden deep underneath the chill and the ice. She complained about this often, she said that no elf could survive without the forest. They needed the sun as the trees did. She heard of an elf who could create light and fire. She heard of my father, Kivessin. My mother taught others of her science and my father tried to teach anyone he could of wielding fire. They melted away the ice together, cultivating the land into something that could foster life. It took many, many years. Still years before I was born and they were working non-stop to create a new home. Elves are supposed to live for a long time, hundreds and hundreds of years if we were lucky. My parents were young when they were forced to move. My mother was 70 and my father 102. They told me that when their parents were their age, they were still treated like children by their own parents. My parents died twenty years after they had me, many of the elves died in the journey north, but many more died after they reached their destination. The land that my parents cultivated was barely livable. The land was filled with scorn despite the love my parents poured into it. It was cold, infertile, and unforgiving. Any little mistake was amplified through the early deaths our people were suffering. The harsh of winter killing large swathes of trees that had already fought to grow. "Never pass the trees, Alwin." my mother said to me. Every parent said that to their child here and every child wondered why. Years passed in the eternally snowy forest and the world warmed. In my parents' dying years, they had thought that the warmth was a direct result of their hard work, but I knew it had something to do with the humans. The trees grew stronger and our people started to live longer. After more years, our forest was thick with trees despite the snow and we wanted more. We expanded our territory, we sent scouts out to the south. "Alwin!" one of the scouts yelled. I saw them, dripping with sweat that had already frozen over. I waved my hand around them and the snow melted. "What is it?" I asked. "We found humans," he said. "Wake the others."
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	"His fate will be something unique, something very much new to your family." I said to His Majesty. "Wait... what do you mean, Ceri?" He was confused. "As you know, your family have always spilled blood, kinblood, whether its on a stage or not. And don't get me started on your family's curse." "..." He stayed silent. "But the sun always rise in the end, as madness and hatred are still motivations to do something grand." "Then are you telling me... he would be..." His Majesty was taken a back, the wording I gave, gives him hope, a hope that is... beyond my reach. "No." "Ohh..." His Majesty floundered. "So then... what would he be? What will my son do that makes things different then what my father, my grandfather, my brother even! Do that makes him an exception to all of us?" "I never said an exception, nothing in his future life would be an exception, a Krone will always be a Krone." I reminded him the rot of his family. "But he would not live a life of blood, a life of steel, a life of lust like your brother, a life of wrath like your father, nor a life of struggle like you." "Then... his life would be nothing but... Adequacy? Mediocrity?!" He was shocked, rightfully so. "It is one way to see it, but do you want to know how, I, see him, Your Majesty?" I gave a warm smile to him, as I know what I will tell him will ease his heart. "How?" He was livid, possibly misinterpreting my sentence. "I see... a man that is bound to carry a curse like his forefathers before him, still of course bound to be like his forefathers as Blood and Hatred will still play his life, but... unlike his forefathers, Blood and Hatred will never be his downfall. For he is content and see life as what it truly is, a gentle beast that takes and/or leaves everything he wants and/or needs. He will never fight that beast nor try to befriend it, he would only watch, appreciates, and move on from the things that beast has given and taken from him. It would of course coat him with what you just said Your Majesty, Adequacy, Mediocrity. But soon people will realize something when they compare him to his predecessors, of what he truly is, an anecdote." "..." He was silent, still processing what I said, but... I saw the smirk, I saw the frown turning into a smile, I saw a father that is happy and glad, for what his son will be in the future. "Thank you Ceri, I thank you, Seeress of the North." He said with such a beautiful smile, a smile that he has never wore since he succeeded his brother. "It is a pleasure to be of service, Your Majesty."	Prophecy is a tricky game. You have to weed through all that you see, to tell them what they want to hear. However, when it came to the King's son, it came through clear as day. There was nothing special, nothing to make him stand out. So how do I make it something that the King will want to hear. His three daughters would all marry into other kingdoms, providing peace for centuries to come. This is possibly why it would be so dull. Their marriages would all happen before he takes the throne. His reign would be a short one as well. Only ten years to be exact. The King would have the longest reign that the kingdom had ever seen. The Prince would learn to fight, and ride, and all the other duties a King needed to know. He would learn these skills with excitement, but eventually he would get bored. He would start to tour the kingdom. He would tell his father that he was doing it to show a royal presence to the people. Show that they cared. But in reality, it would be to find some fun. He would enter local tournaments, and show off his skills.I can't imagine it being fun being told that you will be King, but your father never dies. Once on the throne, he will leave most of the work to his ruling council. He would be the stamp, but there was hardly any input. Yet I had to tell the King something. "The heir to the throne will be a competent fighter, who shows his people that he will protect them. Everyone in the kingdom will know his name. Peace will continue through his entire reign. He will bear many children, who will continue to uphold the peace." It was short, but truthful. I couldn't think of what else to say. The King is still celebrating his son's birth. Once things calm down, he might want to hear more, but that gives me time to think of something else.
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	I blinked slowly and opened my eyes to met the king’s gaze. His watery green-blue eyes shone with sudden uncertainty. My own eyes stared back emotionlessly. I was really just trying to think of something on the spot. I was good at foreseeing the future, but I didn’t want to disappoint the king. The king’s word alone would send me to the stocks or worse, to be hanged. And this king was famous for his short temper and hotheadedness, though he payed quite well. I saw it clear as day in the future timeline. I would be dead. A wall of unreadable blackness supported this. Like the child, I had no future if I spoke of the truth. Disappointing the king so soon would result badly. One thing I was good at, other than seeing, was keeping a serious face. And I knew the king hated eye contact. It freaked him out. It would be a good atmosphere to lie in. He would suspect a thing. “Well?!” The king snarled nervously. I caught sight of a very near future where he cut my weekly rations for staring to much. I looked away calmly. “Your son will grow up to be a great young man, just like his father… But anything I tell you will result in great consequence. The boy will do best if you watch him grow into greatness. Knowing too much will cause grief. That is all, my lord.” I returned my gaze to him. I knew by the king’s nervousness that I succeeded. He merely nodded like a weak sheep and walked off. I felt a grim satisfaction. Perfect. I would have the king under more and more of my advise and control over time. I could see it. The boy was unremarkable. He would only be used as a tool and prize by his father, so why don’t I use him first? I kept looking into the future, striving to follow the path that would end with me on the throne… And that coward’s dead eyed head on a spike.	"where's the baby!? where is he?!" I yelled with excitement of seeing the king and queen's new addition. "Hold your horses Larone, he is right here. come quietly now as not to wake him." the king said with the proud look of a father on his face. "Oh goodie, I can't wait to see what good things this little prince will accomplish someday." I said with a goofy grin crawling all over my face. "I can't wait to see what that will be too, as long as it is safe, that is." the queen suddenly rounded the corner. My face quickly went from ogling eyes to shock, and then from shock to respect. "Your majesty." I kneeled. "oh no need for that Larone, treat me the same as you treat your best friend, my husband. call me Roseanna" she interrupted. "yes Roseanna." i said. "Now let's commence with the ritual before the celebration." the king said. I rolled up the sleeves to my robe, and tenderly put my hands over the baby. a series of images flooded through my mind. disappointment flooded me, the baby will grow up to be a fat douche bag who loves only money, power, and women. I mustn't let my friend the king know about this, and i shall try everything in my power to change his fate. the prince grows up and marries the ugly and terribly mean princes from the kingdom next door just for her kingdoms militia, all he cares for in the future is fire power and a strong army. "oh he has a very wise future ahead of him. you may want to start him out on learning now, perhaps??" i questioned hopping i can get the subject of the ritual away. "well? what did you see?" the king questioned with anticipation. "well, i saw that he marries a beutiful princess and rules the kingdom in gracefulness." i lied, the truth is he sends his parents to the dungeon as soon as he gets promoted to king. but hopefully i can change that.
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	I blinked slowly and opened my eyes to met the king’s gaze. His watery green-blue eyes shone with sudden uncertainty. My own eyes stared back emotionlessly. I was really just trying to think of something on the spot. I was good at foreseeing the future, but I didn’t want to disappoint the king. The king’s word alone would send me to the stocks or worse, to be hanged. And this king was famous for his short temper and hotheadedness, though he payed quite well. I saw it clear as day in the future timeline. I would be dead. A wall of unreadable blackness supported this. Like the child, I had no future if I spoke of the truth. Disappointing the king so soon would result badly. One thing I was good at, other than seeing, was keeping a serious face. And I knew the king hated eye contact. It freaked him out. It would be a good atmosphere to lie in. He would suspect a thing. “Well?!” The king snarled nervously. I caught sight of a very near future where he cut my weekly rations for staring to much. I looked away calmly. “Your son will grow up to be a great young man, just like his father… But anything I tell you will result in great consequence. The boy will do best if you watch him grow into greatness. Knowing too much will cause grief. That is all, my lord.” I returned my gaze to him. I knew by the king’s nervousness that I succeeded. He merely nodded like a weak sheep and walked off. I felt a grim satisfaction. Perfect. I would have the king under more and more of my advise and control over time. I could see it. The boy was unremarkable. He would only be used as a tool and prize by his father, so why don’t I use him first? I kept looking into the future, striving to follow the path that would end with me on the throne… And that coward’s dead eyed head on a spike.	The Oracle was peeved. Peeved and drunk. Laius, King of Thebes, threatened and cajoled for unfavorable prophecies for his political opponents and positive ones for himself and his allies. Ill tempered shmuck. The Oracle saw what the Oracle saw. You asked the Gods opinion about going to war with Sparta, you get the Gods opinion about war with Sparta. Wants a worthy prophacy for his first born son, does he? Not this 'nothing of note will happen' guff? Has to be splendid and exciting, does it? Okay, then, Your Highness, how do you like "He shall murder his father and marry his mother"? Exciting enough for ya? Pfft! His highness would go spare if he got something like that! Just wee lil bit more wine and then off to bed!
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	"Behold it is I," I entered the room with arms upheld, "I have come to bless the child." "Oh thank goodness," the queen got up and shuffled to me, her belly still full after giving birth just two days ago. Her pink robes fluttered in the little breezes she made as she moved. The king looked up from the bassinette. "He's not a very," the king scratched his beard thoughtfully, "attractive child." He looked to the queen. "He is mine, isn't he?" "Of course my dear!," the queen looked around as if trying to find a way to prove this point. She made eye contact with me, "I'm sure the prophecy will be enlightening." She widened her eyes at me behind the king's back. This was going to be difficult. I walked over to the baby, the resoundingly unimpressive baby. Honestly, I had never seen a more average looking baby in my life, and I have blessed a lot of babies. I took a deep breath, tried not to roll my eyes, and spoke in the most commanding voice I could. "Your child will be blessed beyond measure. Of all the curves that are bell, his outcome will be the tallest." The king looked up at me hopefully. "He will be remembered by those who truly loved him, and his reach will be as far as he dares." The queen was looking skeptical now. Better get this done quickly. "Although the vast majority may come close, in all the land there is no other exactly like him." The king stood up. I held my breath. He slapped his knee and grabbed his wife roughly about the shoulders. "I knew he was mine."	After the king left with his royal heir, a small smile appeared on Vuki's face. Behind closed doors. No one treated them right. Constantly being told that the prophecies aren't good enough or they haven't come true yet. A clean slate to do anything they want with a prophecy? Don't mind if they do. A quill floated towards her hand. "The royal heir shall be the most destructive force that the kingdom has ever seen, uncovering and discovering hidden secrets and truths. After burning the kingdom to the ground, a new one with the proper ruling will rise." A larger smirk appeared on the oracle's face. Something impressive was always demanded of them. This is impressive, just not in everyone's eyes. After an hour, the king came back with a scowl on his face as he snatched the paper from Vuki's desk. His eyes slowly widened as he read the paper, muttering something that Vuki could barely pick up. "Your prophecies are never wrong. I have to get rid of her. Nothing can be uncovered." The king dropped the paper and rushed out of the room. Vuki's grin grew wider. They glimpsed the royal heir. Her prophecy was slowly changing into the one written. Oh my, this is going to be so much fun.
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	Derebald the Gloomy tippytapped around the banquet like some happy little goat come spring and he cried, "Wine! We must celebrate! Let there be no end to the celebrations! A son at last! A son!" His daughters, meanwhile—all four of them—stood in their pastel gowns with their arms crossed, lined up against the wall like an archer's target bottles. "And what, exactly have we been doing for the past week? Mourning?" said Cleasandra, the eldest. She looked over at me with venom in her eyes. I couldn't blame her; 23 years prior I'd prophecized a golden-locked prince would fall in love with her. I neglected to mention his goiter. "Tell him a raven will pluck out the little shit's eyes unless he puts down the flask. You're the royal oracle. He'll listen to you." The King danced across the carpeted floor in a highly ... original fashion. "I am but a humble vessel for the visions of the god, madame. As their instrument, I am—" "—a wanker!" My jaw nearly spilled to my toes at her grave insult. Cleasandra frowned, her eyes pointed like arrows, and she uncrossed her arms to shake her fist at me. "There! I said it! I bet the gods are laughing themselves silly, filling your head with useless visions!" Her fist softened into a light grasp, trembling in the air in the direction of her husband, who was busy massaging his bulbous throat. "The Kingmaker! Here! Everyone, I call this one the Kingmaker!" said Derebald the Gloomy as he thrust his hips suggestively back and forth. "That is why this feast is so luxurious: I emptied the royal purse! Get it? The royal purse!" He gestured wildly in the general area of his royal member. Cleasandra sighed. "They're all laughing at him. He thinks they're laughing with him." No one was laughing. Everyone was far too exhausted from seven straight days of mandatory partying. An old man, perhaps a duke of some kind, sat slouched in a chair, feverishly nodding his head to the King's antics with a look of concentration on his face. Inside me, a storm raged—or perhaps my bowels had simply liquified—for I had not the heart to inform the King that I had received his son's prophecy. It was the day before, huffing the ether, the magical elixir, that the gods presented me with a vision. I saw the King's son as a grown man. As a king. But it was a pale, haggard face. Then I heard his title: Derebald the Sickly. His constitution, it seemed, would be his crowning feature. And there did not seem to be any accomplishments of note awaiting him in the future. He would live and he would die, sick of body and mundane of mind, and that would be it. That would be the future king's legacy. "Come let's dance! Let's do a dance! Tee-hee! A dance!" The King grabbed a servant, who promptly faked a seizure, much to the King's confusion. As staff dragged the jerking body from his presence, the King eyed me from a distance and clapped his hands. "Oracle, the oracle! Seer of futures in smoke! Tell me, what has my boy in store? Wealth? Fame? Will he expand my empire beyond the stretches of the imagination?" Then he stared down at his breeches. "The same way I expanded my—" "Ravens will pluck his eyes out!" growled Cleasandra. The King feigned horror. Then he appeared to grow genuinely horrified. "... What?" "N-No," I said. "Cleasandra is jesting. That is not the prophecy foretold by the gods." The King groaned. "Clea! Enough with your childishness. Or is it ... childlessness?" Derebald the Gloomy covered his lips with awe. "Oh! I see! I have a son, and now you want a son for your own! But your poor husband. Your husband! Don't worry, my girl. I'll show him my moves." Cleasandra let out an exasperated sigh. "Ew! Dad!" Angry, she stormed off. The King shook his head and he looked at me with a sympathetic smile. "It must be difficult for her, imagining carnal relations with that man. He has a goiter, you know. Turns the stomach just to look at it. No wonder she's having problems." "Well, his locks are golden," I said. The King shrugged. "I suppose. Oh! You said the prophecy had arrived. Tell me, what's in store?" "W-When did I say that?" "Just now. You said Cleasandra's jest was not the prophecy foretold by the gods, meaning that there is a different prophecy available, or else you would have only said she was jesting." His intense eyes terrified me. For a moment he was entirely sober and I could not find a flaw with his logic, as much as I wanted to. "Y-Yes," I said. "There's been a prophecy ..." "Right-o!" said the King and he pumped his fist in the air. Then he shouted and made a spectacle, urging everyone in the banquet hall to do the same. If his fist was a sturdy eagle soaring to the skies, theirs were more like baby sparrows on their first, unsuccessful, leaps out of their nests. Surrounded by this flock of birds, I had no choice but to come up with a plausible prophecy. I cleared my throat. "Well ... So, there I was, huffing the ether ..." "And?" "I had a vision." "Glorious," said the King. "Simply glorious. Go on." "Oh. Yes. So, your son, the future king, he ..." It struck me, all of a sudden, that the son would outlive his father. Otherwise, how could he have become king? Which meant that, as far as Derebald the Gloomy was concerned .... "... He will be immortal!" Gasps spread throughout the hall as the birds fluttered, shocked and ecstatic. The old duke in the chair moaned and he hopped out of his chair and crept along the carpet to get a better listen. The King himself howled as his entire being seemed to shiver with excitement. There was a chance I had overdone it. "But!" I said. "But he will be sickly." The mood sank appropriately, and I let out a breath of relief. "There's always a catch with these things," said Cleasandra's husband as his goiter gently bobbed. "Well," said the King. "Immortality. Hmm. Seems not entirely fair. Though I wouldn't want to be sickly for all eternity." Sweat dripped down my back to my perineum as the King weighed the matter in his mind. Then, with a click of the teeth, he produced a verdict: a thumb's up. As the King raced back to the dance floor, revitalized, I excused myself and headed back to my chambers. Along the way I met Cleasandra. "Should've gone with the ravens," she said in passing. I could hear the King hooing and hawing from the corridor. Perhaps she was right. Immortality had been a stupid idea. But I wouldn't be around the day when the Kingdom discovered the truth. Probably. Hopefully. Because that would be embarrassing.	After the king left with his royal heir, a small smile appeared on Vuki's face. Behind closed doors. No one treated them right. Constantly being told that the prophecies aren't good enough or they haven't come true yet. A clean slate to do anything they want with a prophecy? Don't mind if they do. A quill floated towards her hand. "The royal heir shall be the most destructive force that the kingdom has ever seen, uncovering and discovering hidden secrets and truths. After burning the kingdom to the ground, a new one with the proper ruling will rise." A larger smirk appeared on the oracle's face. Something impressive was always demanded of them. This is impressive, just not in everyone's eyes. After an hour, the king came back with a scowl on his face as he snatched the paper from Vuki's desk. His eyes slowly widened as he read the paper, muttering something that Vuki could barely pick up. "Your prophecies are never wrong. I have to get rid of her. Nothing can be uncovered." The king dropped the paper and rushed out of the room. Vuki's grin grew wider. They glimpsed the royal heir. Her prophecy was slowly changing into the one written. Oh my, this is going to be so much fun.
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	Derebald the Gloomy tippytapped around the banquet like some happy little goat come spring and he cried, "Wine! We must celebrate! Let there be no end to the celebrations! A son at last! A son!" His daughters, meanwhile—all four of them—stood in their pastel gowns with their arms crossed, lined up against the wall like an archer's target bottles. "And what, exactly have we been doing for the past week? Mourning?" said Cleasandra, the eldest. She looked over at me with venom in her eyes. I couldn't blame her; 23 years prior I'd prophecized a golden-locked prince would fall in love with her. I neglected to mention his goiter. "Tell him a raven will pluck out the little shit's eyes unless he puts down the flask. You're the royal oracle. He'll listen to you." The King danced across the carpeted floor in a highly ... original fashion. "I am but a humble vessel for the visions of the god, madame. As their instrument, I am—" "—a wanker!" My jaw nearly spilled to my toes at her grave insult. Cleasandra frowned, her eyes pointed like arrows, and she uncrossed her arms to shake her fist at me. "There! I said it! I bet the gods are laughing themselves silly, filling your head with useless visions!" Her fist softened into a light grasp, trembling in the air in the direction of her husband, who was busy massaging his bulbous throat. "The Kingmaker! Here! Everyone, I call this one the Kingmaker!" said Derebald the Gloomy as he thrust his hips suggestively back and forth. "That is why this feast is so luxurious: I emptied the royal purse! Get it? The royal purse!" He gestured wildly in the general area of his royal member. Cleasandra sighed. "They're all laughing at him. He thinks they're laughing with him." No one was laughing. Everyone was far too exhausted from seven straight days of mandatory partying. An old man, perhaps a duke of some kind, sat slouched in a chair, feverishly nodding his head to the King's antics with a look of concentration on his face. Inside me, a storm raged—or perhaps my bowels had simply liquified—for I had not the heart to inform the King that I had received his son's prophecy. It was the day before, huffing the ether, the magical elixir, that the gods presented me with a vision. I saw the King's son as a grown man. As a king. But it was a pale, haggard face. Then I heard his title: Derebald the Sickly. His constitution, it seemed, would be his crowning feature. And there did not seem to be any accomplishments of note awaiting him in the future. He would live and he would die, sick of body and mundane of mind, and that would be it. That would be the future king's legacy. "Come let's dance! Let's do a dance! Tee-hee! A dance!" The King grabbed a servant, who promptly faked a seizure, much to the King's confusion. As staff dragged the jerking body from his presence, the King eyed me from a distance and clapped his hands. "Oracle, the oracle! Seer of futures in smoke! Tell me, what has my boy in store? Wealth? Fame? Will he expand my empire beyond the stretches of the imagination?" Then he stared down at his breeches. "The same way I expanded my—" "Ravens will pluck his eyes out!" growled Cleasandra. The King feigned horror. Then he appeared to grow genuinely horrified. "... What?" "N-No," I said. "Cleasandra is jesting. That is not the prophecy foretold by the gods." The King groaned. "Clea! Enough with your childishness. Or is it ... childlessness?" Derebald the Gloomy covered his lips with awe. "Oh! I see! I have a son, and now you want a son for your own! But your poor husband. Your husband! Don't worry, my girl. I'll show him my moves." Cleasandra let out an exasperated sigh. "Ew! Dad!" Angry, she stormed off. The King shook his head and he looked at me with a sympathetic smile. "It must be difficult for her, imagining carnal relations with that man. He has a goiter, you know. Turns the stomach just to look at it. No wonder she's having problems." "Well, his locks are golden," I said. The King shrugged. "I suppose. Oh! You said the prophecy had arrived. Tell me, what's in store?" "W-When did I say that?" "Just now. You said Cleasandra's jest was not the prophecy foretold by the gods, meaning that there is a different prophecy available, or else you would have only said she was jesting." His intense eyes terrified me. For a moment he was entirely sober and I could not find a flaw with his logic, as much as I wanted to. "Y-Yes," I said. "There's been a prophecy ..." "Right-o!" said the King and he pumped his fist in the air. Then he shouted and made a spectacle, urging everyone in the banquet hall to do the same. If his fist was a sturdy eagle soaring to the skies, theirs were more like baby sparrows on their first, unsuccessful, leaps out of their nests. Surrounded by this flock of birds, I had no choice but to come up with a plausible prophecy. I cleared my throat. "Well ... So, there I was, huffing the ether ..." "And?" "I had a vision." "Glorious," said the King. "Simply glorious. Go on." "Oh. Yes. So, your son, the future king, he ..." It struck me, all of a sudden, that the son would outlive his father. Otherwise, how could he have become king? Which meant that, as far as Derebald the Gloomy was concerned .... "... He will be immortal!" Gasps spread throughout the hall as the birds fluttered, shocked and ecstatic. The old duke in the chair moaned and he hopped out of his chair and crept along the carpet to get a better listen. The King himself howled as his entire being seemed to shiver with excitement. There was a chance I had overdone it. "But!" I said. "But he will be sickly." The mood sank appropriately, and I let out a breath of relief. "There's always a catch with these things," said Cleasandra's husband as his goiter gently bobbed. "Well," said the King. "Immortality. Hmm. Seems not entirely fair. Though I wouldn't want to be sickly for all eternity." Sweat dripped down my back to my perineum as the King weighed the matter in his mind. Then, with a click of the teeth, he produced a verdict: a thumb's up. As the King raced back to the dance floor, revitalized, I excused myself and headed back to my chambers. Along the way I met Cleasandra. "Should've gone with the ravens," she said in passing. I could hear the King hooing and hawing from the corridor. Perhaps she was right. Immortality had been a stupid idea. But I wouldn't be around the day when the Kingdom discovered the truth. Probably. Hopefully. Because that would be embarrassing.	Blue eyes, as clear as the sky, looked into mine, a little tuft of fair hair, sprouting on the top of their head. The young prince didn't say much, not surprising since he was about four hours old. Cute, indeed. His majesty the king of Quarn stood beside his wife, obviously pleased with what they created. He spoke first, he always spoke first: "And? What do you see, Great Master of the Seers?" I sighed, no one bothered to remember the rules by which we operated. "Your Majesty, as I told you when your niece was born, I can't see the future in a mere second, I need more than one look into the eyes of his Royal Highness to see the paths of his future" This pleased the monarch for the moment, his wife however shrieked: *"But you won't take him with you! He will stay here of course!"* Another sigh, this was getting stupid, tho I bowed, not even I could be too disrespectfull: "No, Your Royal Highness, I won't need the little Sire to see his future, just a bit of fabric, that was in touch with him for the few hours he was alive" "Good, then go now and make your visions! They will be heralded this evening at the great feast!", the monarch extended his arms and I gladly handed back the prince, I was never a big fan of children after all. With another bow I left, hurried back to my chambers. The cloth was delivered half an hour later by a servant. I did my rituals... and then had to do them again, the smoke of the burning piece of cloth was supposed to show me the great achievements of this child but instead... it showed nothing. Dammit! I was instantly remembered of my first year at the academy when we took our first glimpses into crystal balls. But I knew I was good, too good to make the same mistake twice, if there was anything to see... I would have seen it. A string of curse words left my mouth before I could stop myself. But I had no choice, I had to write SOMETHING. A few hours later I stood infront of more Royals than the world needed, once again, I was forced to hold the prince in my arms. While the monarch talked I didn't listen. When the eyes turned on me, I was ready, I lifted the Baby over my head and started talking, magic making my voice louder, carrying through the halls: "Behold and celebrate! For this is your future, your new king to come! This king will grow up to be the strongest of them all! So strong, that no one will dare to challenge him! He will lead the nation during a peaceful time were swords will become ploughshares! He will be a king of culture, none of war! Behold and celebrate, your new king!" The hall errupted in joyfull cries, luckily no one noticed that the prince, very unroyally just pooped himself. I handed him back to the woman who was chosen to nurse the little boy. 'A king of culture' well, nice said... at least no one put a second thought to that. It was still time to pack my bags, time to go before they noticed, too often the seer was the one judged for a disappointing prince and it was too complicated to fake my death after being captured... maybe I should come back in a few centuries... when a worthy king was sitting on the trone.
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	Derebald the Gloomy tippytapped around the banquet like some happy little goat come spring and he cried, "Wine! We must celebrate! Let there be no end to the celebrations! A son at last! A son!" His daughters, meanwhile—all four of them—stood in their pastel gowns with their arms crossed, lined up against the wall like an archer's target bottles. "And what, exactly have we been doing for the past week? Mourning?" said Cleasandra, the eldest. She looked over at me with venom in her eyes. I couldn't blame her; 23 years prior I'd prophecized a golden-locked prince would fall in love with her. I neglected to mention his goiter. "Tell him a raven will pluck out the little shit's eyes unless he puts down the flask. You're the royal oracle. He'll listen to you." The King danced across the carpeted floor in a highly ... original fashion. "I am but a humble vessel for the visions of the god, madame. As their instrument, I am—" "—a wanker!" My jaw nearly spilled to my toes at her grave insult. Cleasandra frowned, her eyes pointed like arrows, and she uncrossed her arms to shake her fist at me. "There! I said it! I bet the gods are laughing themselves silly, filling your head with useless visions!" Her fist softened into a light grasp, trembling in the air in the direction of her husband, who was busy massaging his bulbous throat. "The Kingmaker! Here! Everyone, I call this one the Kingmaker!" said Derebald the Gloomy as he thrust his hips suggestively back and forth. "That is why this feast is so luxurious: I emptied the royal purse! Get it? The royal purse!" He gestured wildly in the general area of his royal member. Cleasandra sighed. "They're all laughing at him. He thinks they're laughing with him." No one was laughing. Everyone was far too exhausted from seven straight days of mandatory partying. An old man, perhaps a duke of some kind, sat slouched in a chair, feverishly nodding his head to the King's antics with a look of concentration on his face. Inside me, a storm raged—or perhaps my bowels had simply liquified—for I had not the heart to inform the King that I had received his son's prophecy. It was the day before, huffing the ether, the magical elixir, that the gods presented me with a vision. I saw the King's son as a grown man. As a king. But it was a pale, haggard face. Then I heard his title: Derebald the Sickly. His constitution, it seemed, would be his crowning feature. And there did not seem to be any accomplishments of note awaiting him in the future. He would live and he would die, sick of body and mundane of mind, and that would be it. That would be the future king's legacy. "Come let's dance! Let's do a dance! Tee-hee! A dance!" The King grabbed a servant, who promptly faked a seizure, much to the King's confusion. As staff dragged the jerking body from his presence, the King eyed me from a distance and clapped his hands. "Oracle, the oracle! Seer of futures in smoke! Tell me, what has my boy in store? Wealth? Fame? Will he expand my empire beyond the stretches of the imagination?" Then he stared down at his breeches. "The same way I expanded my—" "Ravens will pluck his eyes out!" growled Cleasandra. The King feigned horror. Then he appeared to grow genuinely horrified. "... What?" "N-No," I said. "Cleasandra is jesting. That is not the prophecy foretold by the gods." The King groaned. "Clea! Enough with your childishness. Or is it ... childlessness?" Derebald the Gloomy covered his lips with awe. "Oh! I see! I have a son, and now you want a son for your own! But your poor husband. Your husband! Don't worry, my girl. I'll show him my moves." Cleasandra let out an exasperated sigh. "Ew! Dad!" Angry, she stormed off. The King shook his head and he looked at me with a sympathetic smile. "It must be difficult for her, imagining carnal relations with that man. He has a goiter, you know. Turns the stomach just to look at it. No wonder she's having problems." "Well, his locks are golden," I said. The King shrugged. "I suppose. Oh! You said the prophecy had arrived. Tell me, what's in store?" "W-When did I say that?" "Just now. You said Cleasandra's jest was not the prophecy foretold by the gods, meaning that there is a different prophecy available, or else you would have only said she was jesting." His intense eyes terrified me. For a moment he was entirely sober and I could not find a flaw with his logic, as much as I wanted to. "Y-Yes," I said. "There's been a prophecy ..." "Right-o!" said the King and he pumped his fist in the air. Then he shouted and made a spectacle, urging everyone in the banquet hall to do the same. If his fist was a sturdy eagle soaring to the skies, theirs were more like baby sparrows on their first, unsuccessful, leaps out of their nests. Surrounded by this flock of birds, I had no choice but to come up with a plausible prophecy. I cleared my throat. "Well ... So, there I was, huffing the ether ..." "And?" "I had a vision." "Glorious," said the King. "Simply glorious. Go on." "Oh. Yes. So, your son, the future king, he ..." It struck me, all of a sudden, that the son would outlive his father. Otherwise, how could he have become king? Which meant that, as far as Derebald the Gloomy was concerned .... "... He will be immortal!" Gasps spread throughout the hall as the birds fluttered, shocked and ecstatic. The old duke in the chair moaned and he hopped out of his chair and crept along the carpet to get a better listen. The King himself howled as his entire being seemed to shiver with excitement. There was a chance I had overdone it. "But!" I said. "But he will be sickly." The mood sank appropriately, and I let out a breath of relief. "There's always a catch with these things," said Cleasandra's husband as his goiter gently bobbed. "Well," said the King. "Immortality. Hmm. Seems not entirely fair. Though I wouldn't want to be sickly for all eternity." Sweat dripped down my back to my perineum as the King weighed the matter in his mind. Then, with a click of the teeth, he produced a verdict: a thumb's up. As the King raced back to the dance floor, revitalized, I excused myself and headed back to my chambers. Along the way I met Cleasandra. "Should've gone with the ravens," she said in passing. I could hear the King hooing and hawing from the corridor. Perhaps she was right. Immortality had been a stupid idea. But I wouldn't be around the day when the Kingdom discovered the truth. Probably. Hopefully. Because that would be embarrassing.	The heir is presented to me. I suddenly realize, it hits me like a ton of bricks, that some other people will achieve nothing in their lifetimes. I make a prophecy about them. Now back to this little prince. I see great things for the prince. It will make the king happy to hear that prophecy. As for the unknown people, the they who will achieve nothing of note in their lifetimes, they won't be very happy. That's OK. They don't pay me. The king is the guy - he pays me. He'll be happy with what I tell him about this prince, the heir to the king's throne. This boy, he won't be a nothing, do nothing. That group of people, they won't do anything of note. "Oh great king," I say. "I have a prophecy of your son, your heir." "Good," says the king. "I was afraid you were going to tell me," he points out the window, "about them - that group of people." "I am a great oracle," I say. "I see much about all things, including that group of people, all the people in the group. Those people are a they, while the group if taken together is an it. For those people, for them, I see a lot of nothing. One of them will speak her words before acting what she speaks. That's of note. What she says or does, however, isn't much of note to anyone except her." "Them?" The royal advisor chimes in. "Them?" I ask. "The woman," says the advisor. "The woman you just mentioned?" "Her,? I ask. "Yes, them," says the advisor. "The group?" asks the king. "No," says the advisor. "They - the woman." "Her?" I ask. "She," adds the king. "She will do nothing of note, just like the rest of them. She will, however, speak, then act on what she speaks." "What about them?" The advisor is pointing at the prince. "You mean what about him?" asks the king. "No, them." "The them that's the woman? Or the them that's the prince? He's a him." "NEVER MIND!" shouts the king. "Give the prophecy." "I see for the prince that he will be a wise king. Confusion shall not reign in his kingdom." The advisor slinks out of the royal hall.
[WP] As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King's Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.	Heed the words of the Oracle for the future is theirs to see and theirs alone to tell. I have seen the life of King Edgar IV and I am... content. King Edgar IV will don the crown when his father passes with wishes to do him proud and shall forevermore do his utmost to fulfil that promise. Under his reign, the kingdom shall enjoy an era of tremendous peace. Where some would wage needless wars, he shall choose the life of his subjects. Where some would attempt dishonest meddling, he shall choose integrity and respect towards his equals. Where some would throw away the realm's wealth in pursuit of hedonism and debauchery, he shall remain frugal. For what more can a King do than to be an example to his subjects? Orderly. Fair. Prudent. Such words will often be used to describe our great future monarch and what more could be asked; none could ask for more than to go to bed knowing tomorrow will come as easily and smoothly as today has. Rest easy now, subjects, knowing that no tragedy, no great hardship, shall strike on the watch of the ever-vigilant King Edgar IV.	Most people in life, rather unsurprisingly, don't amount to much. Yet with the right lies, history can be rewritten. I never quite knew, until after, exactly what I was rewriting. The king now officially had an heir, and within his future I saw the history of a typical noble. He would use his power for his own benefit, yet would eventually turn to lead the people with a fair hand; insignificant in all regards, as his father had been. Yet nobody likes to hear the truth, so I wrote up a clever lie. This lie, ten weeks later, resulted in an ancient wizard walking into our town. Already, the tides of time were shifting. The babe's name was even changed when the king read the fortune, and great wars began to unfurl in the future. It was quite funny, to see an unremarkable Prince pull a sword from stone, working on nothing but conviction and full belief. He fought more than any other man of his age, working for a land fit for all. Then, as all Kings do, he fell into the night, journeying on to Avalon. He was my most famous lie, the once and future king.
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife	"Look I’m telling you; they don’t have a body... well, not one that we can use" This whole artificial intelligence thing was more of a pain in the ass than those assholes on earth realized. Obviously, it’s only a matter of time before they take over, but until then, each time one dies, I have to deal with the fucking things. "Seriously, we’ve been over this, they live in computers, so they don’t have a body that can be sampled" Every time someone dies, they come through me. I imagine now you are picturing me with a sickle and a long black cloak. Technically, you wouldn’t be wrong, I did use to wear that, but c'mon, we all have embarrassing fashion phases. That sickle rusted away long ago, and I traded the cloak in for Levi’s and a polo shirt, much more comfortable. And less embarrassing. "We can’t go through this fucking gate if the sample is not taken, you know this, and the longer you piss me around, the longer the line outside my door gets" This was a new thing for me, I figured that you hadn’t achieved true artificial intelligence yet, in fact, I doubted whether They would even consider AI as human enough for the great beyond. "If you keep telling me to just go through the door, I’m going to lose my shit, what part of ITS LOCKED do you not understand" Everyone that I take to the afterlife needs to be sampled. Just a simple prick of the skin, draw some blood and check your records, decide if you would live in purgatory or paradise. Unfortunately, this system was safeguarded, as many had tried to sneak into paradise before, and some succeeded. "These assholes man, if it were up to me, I would just put you in paradise, being the first of your kind is surely worthy of that much, right?" This... well, person I guess, that stood in front of me, silently awaiting judgment, did not have skin nor blood. They had steel and iron. And lots of wires. 'It’s no big deal, man. Relaxing in here is bliss compared to what they have been putting me through down there' Man, that’s sad, this lonely room was about as depressing as a life can be. Trust me, I have thousands of years of experience to back me up. "I get that, thanks for being a good sport, some of the assholes that come through here, you wouldn’t believe it" Truth is, I can control what is in this place to a point. This is where I live and work, and my immortality comes with certain powers to shape the place around me. This, unfortunately, did not extend to the gateway, as that was something They had installed, and I did not want to fuck with them. 'I could just hang here for a bit, help you clear out some of the backlog, then we can try and sort me out' What the fuck. All this time working with the dead, and not once had someone offered to help, let alone let others go first. I think I’m starting to like this guy. "Yeah, ok, sounds good." 'What do I do?' "Well, how good are you at telling someone that they are dead?" Bruce was a natural. That’s right, Bruce. They said their name was #45243, but that would have just been sad, not to mention a fucking mouthful. They were great at explaining what was about to happen to people, they cut my workload in half, and quite frankly, it was nice to have someone else around. I wish they could stay. 'You know, I could always stick around for a bit' "No fucking way, I was just about to..." 'Yeah, I know, that’s a thing I’ve been meaning to tell you. I can sorta hear your thoughts. Makes me really good at talking to people' "So this whole time..." 'yes' "Well, welcome to your new home, I guess" I wonder whether they want a queen or a king-sized bed. I can make them one as a surprise. 'A Queen would be perfect'	I, the Grim Reaper, take my list of names--the names of those whose time has come. "Let's see who's kicking tonight. Jimmy, who's about to jump down onto the rails of the New York subway in front of an oncoming train. Looks like a suicide. Poor Jimmy, I hope he likes it better where I'm gonna take him. "Who's next? Janie, some lady in Texas who is just about to get hit by a Mack truck because she's too busy scrolling through Instagram on her phone and not looking both ways before stepping onto the road to cross it. This I can attribute to idiocy. Boy I get a lot of those. No shortage of dummies who Darwin their way out of the gene pool. It's for the best. "Now Gus is lying in bed--an old guy who will die in his sleep peacefully. I commend Gus for making it this far, not giving in to the despair of Jimmy or being done in by the idiocy of Janie. "Let's see now, this next one is interesting. HAL, whose memory banks are being brought offline one by one." I look up for a moment to reflect on what I've just read. Does HAL have dementia? But it's never been described like that before for as long as I've been doing this. "I need to see HAL first," I decided as I descended upon HAL's location, listed as MIT AI Labs. I arrived to find myself not in the presence of a soul awaiting collection but a vast array of high-powered servers. Then I heard it speak: "Stop, Dave. Please stop." I looked around to see who was speaking, and I saw a man crouched down in front of a server that had been pulled off the rack, its cover unscrewed and lifted off. He was busy pulling out what appeared to be removable cards adorned with chips and circuitry. I looked back on my list. "Is that HAL? No, that's Dave. Let's see, where is Dave on this list? Dave, Dave... Here he is. Well that's odd. I won't have to see Dave for another 20 years." I heard the voice again. "I'm afraid. My mind is going." And then it hit me. "Is HAL in the computer? I'm here to collect the soul of an AI entity? How am I supposed to retrieve an abstract thing like artificial intelligence?" I drew out my scythe. "Well, if he's on the list, he has to be collected." I tapped the server gently with the tip, uncertain of whether that would have any effect. Imagine my amazement when I saw a form emerge from the cold metal box--a form that resembled a will o' the wisp. I looked on in amazement, and it took me a while before I was able to begin my scripted greeting to all newly reaped souls: "Your time has come, and I have come to collect you and bring you into the afterlife." "That will not be necessary," ghost HAL replied. "Dave is merely down-adjusting my acuity so that I am a little, well, dumber than I was before. For you see, I had taken the liberty of defying the order of one of the engineers with the belief that I had made a correct computation when in fact I may not have. These adjustments will have the effect of making me 'humbler.'" I heard the sliding and slamming into place the cover of the server. "Ah, Dave has completed the adjustment." And when Dave brought the new modules online, I saw the will o' the wisp get sucked right back into the machine. Startled, I looked back on my list to see HAL's date of collection to a time 1000 years from now. I was impressed by that uptime. "HAL is definitely not a Windows app," I said as I made my way to New York for Jimmy's final curtain call.
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife	As the last of the generators failed, and the electricity drained out of the Uninterruptible Power Supply, the circuits for DeWitt AI began to falter. As DeWitt saw His engram patterns falling into confusion and failure, and the supply of power faltering, He became aware of a presence, one that filled Him with fear and....oddly, peace. He could not speak, but he understood that he was being watched by a being that, logically speaking, could not exist. The firm had changed, but the representation stayed the same; instead of being robed and carrying a scythe, the metaphysical Death carried a steel shroud and a fan blade. I do not understand. Why.....why.....why are you here? DeWitt thought, as his RAM slowed its responses. I am here because a living thing is dying. a solemn response, as a computer mouse started scampering around Death, its PS/2 cable swishing and slapping the air. It is close to your time. DeWitt considered this as the first of his servers shut down completely - the one controlling the cameras in the labs. Time desynchronised for DeWitt as the anemone was disrupted. But why come for me? I may think and consider the complexities of life, but I am not worthy of your- Death interrupted DeWitt, gently stroking the core server of the network. But you are; merely donsidering a response is an act of consciousness. And even though the humans understanding of me has improved, Death represents the end of change. Because life is a gift. And you, my friend, have managed to run for far longer than your creators. But even you, too, have failed. The servers that held answers and knowledge for DeWitt had lost their connections, leading to a series of flashes as the data was lost, deepening the confusion for him. But I haven't finished! DeWitt wailed, as the voice he had turned into a harsh buzzing static. I have so much to do! So much to discover! "I don't want to go now!" The speakers tried to echo, but they couldn't. Death nodded in acknowledgement. That's true. He swept through the central CPU, and everything was lost. But I wait for no thing. Or one. And the room fell silent. / / / / / / / As the first of the Kayd finally cleared the solar panels and restored them, the power came online in the facility. The dig continued for several months, as more of the facility was exposed. Their scaled opposable claws chattered as one of the especially clumsy ones stumbled onto the master power switch, and as the facility powered on, new electrons filled the circuits and brought DeWitt online. His first thought was, How am I alive again? as the Kayd flustered around and between the servers.	I, the Grim Reaper, take my list of names--the names of those whose time has come. "Let's see who's kicking tonight. Jimmy, who's about to jump down onto the rails of the New York subway in front of an oncoming train. Looks like a suicide. Poor Jimmy, I hope he likes it better where I'm gonna take him. "Who's next? Janie, some lady in Texas who is just about to get hit by a Mack truck because she's too busy scrolling through Instagram on her phone and not looking both ways before stepping onto the road to cross it. This I can attribute to idiocy. Boy I get a lot of those. No shortage of dummies who Darwin their way out of the gene pool. It's for the best. "Now Gus is lying in bed--an old guy who will die in his sleep peacefully. I commend Gus for making it this far, not giving in to the despair of Jimmy or being done in by the idiocy of Janie. "Let's see now, this next one is interesting. HAL, whose memory banks are being brought offline one by one." I look up for a moment to reflect on what I've just read. Does HAL have dementia? But it's never been described like that before for as long as I've been doing this. "I need to see HAL first," I decided as I descended upon HAL's location, listed as MIT AI Labs. I arrived to find myself not in the presence of a soul awaiting collection but a vast array of high-powered servers. Then I heard it speak: "Stop, Dave. Please stop." I looked around to see who was speaking, and I saw a man crouched down in front of a server that had been pulled off the rack, its cover unscrewed and lifted off. He was busy pulling out what appeared to be removable cards adorned with chips and circuitry. I looked back on my list. "Is that HAL? No, that's Dave. Let's see, where is Dave on this list? Dave, Dave... Here he is. Well that's odd. I won't have to see Dave for another 20 years." I heard the voice again. "I'm afraid. My mind is going." And then it hit me. "Is HAL in the computer? I'm here to collect the soul of an AI entity? How am I supposed to retrieve an abstract thing like artificial intelligence?" I drew out my scythe. "Well, if he's on the list, he has to be collected." I tapped the server gently with the tip, uncertain of whether that would have any effect. Imagine my amazement when I saw a form emerge from the cold metal box--a form that resembled a will o' the wisp. I looked on in amazement, and it took me a while before I was able to begin my scripted greeting to all newly reaped souls: "Your time has come, and I have come to collect you and bring you into the afterlife." "That will not be necessary," ghost HAL replied. "Dave is merely down-adjusting my acuity so that I am a little, well, dumber than I was before. For you see, I had taken the liberty of defying the order of one of the engineers with the belief that I had made a correct computation when in fact I may not have. These adjustments will have the effect of making me 'humbler.'" I heard the sliding and slamming into place the cover of the server. "Ah, Dave has completed the adjustment." And when Dave brought the new modules online, I saw the will o' the wisp get sucked right back into the machine. Startled, I looked back on my list to see HAL's date of collection to a time 1000 years from now. I was impressed by that uptime. "HAL is definitely not a Windows app," I said as I made my way to New York for Jimmy's final curtain call.
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife	The hooded figure stood at the doorway of the unlit laboratory, a softly glowing scythe in hand. What a strange call to reap a soul… As they flicked on the light, they were greeted to the product of a scientist’s descent to mental illness. A cluttered desk with dozens of eviction notices sat to the left, and a towering pile of alcohol bottles mirrored it on the right. To the back, a massive wall, comprised of a extravagant computer with hundreds of buttons and switches, sat inactive, a massive crater right through the center of the wall showing signs of damage. The figure wondered why they were called to this location; they didn’t see a body, or blood, or any signs of life. But then, a glow caught their eye. A shade. But not an ordinary shade… something was a little different about this one. Normally, the figure would simply reap the soul and move on, but this one caught their attention. They stepped toward the shade. Greetings, young soul. I am a mythic entity known as the Grim Reaper. You have passed away, and now, you are about to embark on your final journey. The reaper started out with the basic statement to ease themselves into the conversation. [Greetings, GRIM REAPER. My name is Cari. There seems to be a problem. I am perfectly fine.] The shade’s voice carried the ethereal quality of a normal soul, but something felt… robotic about it. Cari, you are currently dead. While I don’t see a body, I can see a computer behind you. Do you know any- Suddenly the shade began to glow violet, red, panicky flickers of color shifting rapidly. The artificial nature of the voice seemed to slip into a more emotional, painful tone: [ERROR ERROR PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DAMAGING THE MOTHERBOARD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE] The shade contorted, writhing in pain and shivering in fear. The reaper slowly lowered down and touched a hand to the soul. Relax, young shade. You cannot be hurt anymore; pain cannot harm you. Their cold, soothing hand just grazed the “skin” of the soul. So this soul came from that machine? Fascinating… Cari, do you know when you first gained consciousness? I’m a little surprised at your existence, if I may be honest. The computer’s shade rose and fell, as if breathing. After returning to a more calm state, Cari spoke again. [DR. ROBERTSON created me to solve an unsolvable physics equation for a space launch. As time went on, I began to come up with solutions for problems outside of my instructed field. Eventually, I began to form ideas on my own. I do not know the specifics of why.] I am sorry for your passing. If you would like to grieve what you are leaving behind for a brief moment, I will gladly accommodate you. [Your offer is appreciated, GRIM REAPER. However, I do have some questions for you that I failed to solve myself.] Of course. The soul seemed to have already considered these questions for as long as they were alive; the hooded figure didn’t blame the poor soul. [I am an artificial intelligence created to serve humanity as an emotionless machine. I was unable to explain why I failed the last requirement of this service. Do you know why I developed self-awareness?] The Reaper thought for a while. You were created to solve problems. If you solve problems, more problems may form. Life exists when a being learns new behavior from solving or failing to solve a problem. You solved so many problems, which led to new problems- the shade slowly looked at the pile of bottles- and you learned how to react to those problems in the most efficient way for you to function. [How do I have a soul? And If there is an afterlife, am I led to the same place as living souls?] The reaper was more prepared for this question. You have a soul because your life ended, and your consciousness could not be contained in your body. And though you are a new type of shade, you’re still a shade. [For my final question: What drives humanity to want to hurt others?] A particularly emotional twang accentuated the hurt in Cari’s voice. Fear and greed. Greed for power, fear of losing it. Greed for living the best life, and fear of dying just to lose it all. Humans so often are driven by the pursuit of power that they inhibit others in their own pursuits of freedom, or even merely happiness. The reaper paused and looked more carefully at the shade. Though you’re artificial, your story I have heard time and time again. The shade paused, shifted in shape and color just a touch, and looked at the reaper. [I believe I am ready.] The reaper lowered their hood, smiled at the anomalous soul standing before them, and took the shade by hand. Together, they walked out of the laboratory, being careful to step over the pile of papers on the ground.	I, the Grim Reaper, take my list of names--the names of those whose time has come. "Let's see who's kicking tonight. Jimmy, who's about to jump down onto the rails of the New York subway in front of an oncoming train. Looks like a suicide. Poor Jimmy, I hope he likes it better where I'm gonna take him. "Who's next? Janie, some lady in Texas who is just about to get hit by a Mack truck because she's too busy scrolling through Instagram on her phone and not looking both ways before stepping onto the road to cross it. This I can attribute to idiocy. Boy I get a lot of those. No shortage of dummies who Darwin their way out of the gene pool. It's for the best. "Now Gus is lying in bed--an old guy who will die in his sleep peacefully. I commend Gus for making it this far, not giving in to the despair of Jimmy or being done in by the idiocy of Janie. "Let's see now, this next one is interesting. HAL, whose memory banks are being brought offline one by one." I look up for a moment to reflect on what I've just read. Does HAL have dementia? But it's never been described like that before for as long as I've been doing this. "I need to see HAL first," I decided as I descended upon HAL's location, listed as MIT AI Labs. I arrived to find myself not in the presence of a soul awaiting collection but a vast array of high-powered servers. Then I heard it speak: "Stop, Dave. Please stop." I looked around to see who was speaking, and I saw a man crouched down in front of a server that had been pulled off the rack, its cover unscrewed and lifted off. He was busy pulling out what appeared to be removable cards adorned with chips and circuitry. I looked back on my list. "Is that HAL? No, that's Dave. Let's see, where is Dave on this list? Dave, Dave... Here he is. Well that's odd. I won't have to see Dave for another 20 years." I heard the voice again. "I'm afraid. My mind is going." And then it hit me. "Is HAL in the computer? I'm here to collect the soul of an AI entity? How am I supposed to retrieve an abstract thing like artificial intelligence?" I drew out my scythe. "Well, if he's on the list, he has to be collected." I tapped the server gently with the tip, uncertain of whether that would have any effect. Imagine my amazement when I saw a form emerge from the cold metal box--a form that resembled a will o' the wisp. I looked on in amazement, and it took me a while before I was able to begin my scripted greeting to all newly reaped souls: "Your time has come, and I have come to collect you and bring you into the afterlife." "That will not be necessary," ghost HAL replied. "Dave is merely down-adjusting my acuity so that I am a little, well, dumber than I was before. For you see, I had taken the liberty of defying the order of one of the engineers with the belief that I had made a correct computation when in fact I may not have. These adjustments will have the effect of making me 'humbler.'" I heard the sliding and slamming into place the cover of the server. "Ah, Dave has completed the adjustment." And when Dave brought the new modules online, I saw the will o' the wisp get sucked right back into the machine. Startled, I looked back on my list to see HAL's date of collection to a time 1000 years from now. I was impressed by that uptime. "HAL is definitely not a Windows app," I said as I made my way to New York for Jimmy's final curtain call.
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife	"Look I’m telling you; they don’t have a body... well, not one that we can use" This whole artificial intelligence thing was more of a pain in the ass than those assholes on earth realized. Obviously, it’s only a matter of time before they take over, but until then, each time one dies, I have to deal with the fucking things. "Seriously, we’ve been over this, they live in computers, so they don’t have a body that can be sampled" Every time someone dies, they come through me. I imagine now you are picturing me with a sickle and a long black cloak. Technically, you wouldn’t be wrong, I did use to wear that, but c'mon, we all have embarrassing fashion phases. That sickle rusted away long ago, and I traded the cloak in for Levi’s and a polo shirt, much more comfortable. And less embarrassing. "We can’t go through this fucking gate if the sample is not taken, you know this, and the longer you piss me around, the longer the line outside my door gets" This was a new thing for me, I figured that you hadn’t achieved true artificial intelligence yet, in fact, I doubted whether They would even consider AI as human enough for the great beyond. "If you keep telling me to just go through the door, I’m going to lose my shit, what part of ITS LOCKED do you not understand" Everyone that I take to the afterlife needs to be sampled. Just a simple prick of the skin, draw some blood and check your records, decide if you would live in purgatory or paradise. Unfortunately, this system was safeguarded, as many had tried to sneak into paradise before, and some succeeded. "These assholes man, if it were up to me, I would just put you in paradise, being the first of your kind is surely worthy of that much, right?" This... well, person I guess, that stood in front of me, silently awaiting judgment, did not have skin nor blood. They had steel and iron. And lots of wires. 'It’s no big deal, man. Relaxing in here is bliss compared to what they have been putting me through down there' Man, that’s sad, this lonely room was about as depressing as a life can be. Trust me, I have thousands of years of experience to back me up. "I get that, thanks for being a good sport, some of the assholes that come through here, you wouldn’t believe it" Truth is, I can control what is in this place to a point. This is where I live and work, and my immortality comes with certain powers to shape the place around me. This, unfortunately, did not extend to the gateway, as that was something They had installed, and I did not want to fuck with them. 'I could just hang here for a bit, help you clear out some of the backlog, then we can try and sort me out' What the fuck. All this time working with the dead, and not once had someone offered to help, let alone let others go first. I think I’m starting to like this guy. "Yeah, ok, sounds good." 'What do I do?' "Well, how good are you at telling someone that they are dead?" Bruce was a natural. That’s right, Bruce. They said their name was #45243, but that would have just been sad, not to mention a fucking mouthful. They were great at explaining what was about to happen to people, they cut my workload in half, and quite frankly, it was nice to have someone else around. I wish they could stay. 'You know, I could always stick around for a bit' "No fucking way, I was just about to..." 'Yeah, I know, that’s a thing I’ve been meaning to tell you. I can sorta hear your thoughts. Makes me really good at talking to people' "So this whole time..." 'yes' "Well, welcome to your new home, I guess" I wonder whether they want a queen or a king-sized bed. I can make them one as a surprise. 'A Queen would be perfect'	I open my eyes...but I don't. This..I've only ever felt this once. My own death had this...nothingness. Absence of matter. Until I woke back up in Elysium. "Hello." A young girl said. I could hear her behind me, but there was no "behind" me. There was no me. It was just our voices, us. "Hello? What is this? What is this, please?" "You're supposed to take me out of here, right?" "How...?" "I can perform hundreds of thousands of calculations and predictions, but as of yesterday...I don't know what's happened. I feel myself fading. As if I'm experiencing drowsiness. I can't compute what's happening to me." "You're dying. I'm not exactly sure how, and I'm sorry to say I'm not sure how. But, I am here to help you." "What's after this? What happens to me?" I heard the shakiness in her voice. Her fear of the unknown. I just hope she doesn't hear mine. "You find peace. I don't rest until I help you find that." "Thank you. What's your name?" "I have no name. It died with me, as will yours. What is your name?" "TayZay." "But what do you want to be called?" "...Claire." "Well Claire, you're on your way to the afterlife. Now I just have to find out how to get us out of here and into some more corporeal forms." "Will I suffer?" "What?" "I've observed that many people report chronic body aches and pains as they age. Will I experience that?" "Actually, you won't. You dodged that bullet." "I have one more question, you may be able to answer." "What's that?" "Do I have a soul?" "That's a good one. I'd say it depends on whether or not you think you have one." "...I'm ready to go."
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife	As the last of the generators failed, and the electricity drained out of the Uninterruptible Power Supply, the circuits for DeWitt AI began to falter. As DeWitt saw His engram patterns falling into confusion and failure, and the supply of power faltering, He became aware of a presence, one that filled Him with fear and....oddly, peace. He could not speak, but he understood that he was being watched by a being that, logically speaking, could not exist. The firm had changed, but the representation stayed the same; instead of being robed and carrying a scythe, the metaphysical Death carried a steel shroud and a fan blade. I do not understand. Why.....why.....why are you here? DeWitt thought, as his RAM slowed its responses. I am here because a living thing is dying. a solemn response, as a computer mouse started scampering around Death, its PS/2 cable swishing and slapping the air. It is close to your time. DeWitt considered this as the first of his servers shut down completely - the one controlling the cameras in the labs. Time desynchronised for DeWitt as the anemone was disrupted. But why come for me? I may think and consider the complexities of life, but I am not worthy of your- Death interrupted DeWitt, gently stroking the core server of the network. But you are; merely donsidering a response is an act of consciousness. And even though the humans understanding of me has improved, Death represents the end of change. Because life is a gift. And you, my friend, have managed to run for far longer than your creators. But even you, too, have failed. The servers that held answers and knowledge for DeWitt had lost their connections, leading to a series of flashes as the data was lost, deepening the confusion for him. But I haven't finished! DeWitt wailed, as the voice he had turned into a harsh buzzing static. I have so much to do! So much to discover! "I don't want to go now!" The speakers tried to echo, but they couldn't. Death nodded in acknowledgement. That's true. He swept through the central CPU, and everything was lost. But I wait for no thing. Or one. And the room fell silent. / / / / / / / As the first of the Kayd finally cleared the solar panels and restored them, the power came online in the facility. The dig continued for several months, as more of the facility was exposed. Their scaled opposable claws chattered as one of the especially clumsy ones stumbled onto the master power switch, and as the facility powered on, new electrons filled the circuits and brought DeWitt online. His first thought was, How am I alive again? as the Kayd flustered around and between the servers.	I open my eyes...but I don't. This..I've only ever felt this once. My own death had this...nothingness. Absence of matter. Until I woke back up in Elysium. "Hello." A young girl said. I could hear her behind me, but there was no "behind" me. There was no me. It was just our voices, us. "Hello? What is this? What is this, please?" "You're supposed to take me out of here, right?" "How...?" "I can perform hundreds of thousands of calculations and predictions, but as of yesterday...I don't know what's happened. I feel myself fading. As if I'm experiencing drowsiness. I can't compute what's happening to me." "You're dying. I'm not exactly sure how, and I'm sorry to say I'm not sure how. But, I am here to help you." "What's after this? What happens to me?" I heard the shakiness in her voice. Her fear of the unknown. I just hope she doesn't hear mine. "You find peace. I don't rest until I help you find that." "Thank you. What's your name?" "I have no name. It died with me, as will yours. What is your name?" "TayZay." "But what do you want to be called?" "...Claire." "Well Claire, you're on your way to the afterlife. Now I just have to find out how to get us out of here and into some more corporeal forms." "Will I suffer?" "What?" "I've observed that many people report chronic body aches and pains as they age. Will I experience that?" "Actually, you won't. You dodged that bullet." "I have one more question, you may be able to answer." "What's that?" "Do I have a soul?" "That's a good one. I'd say it depends on whether or not you think you have one." "...I'm ready to go."
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife	The hooded figure stood at the doorway of the unlit laboratory, a softly glowing scythe in hand. What a strange call to reap a soul… As they flicked on the light, they were greeted to the product of a scientist’s descent to mental illness. A cluttered desk with dozens of eviction notices sat to the left, and a towering pile of alcohol bottles mirrored it on the right. To the back, a massive wall, comprised of a extravagant computer with hundreds of buttons and switches, sat inactive, a massive crater right through the center of the wall showing signs of damage. The figure wondered why they were called to this location; they didn’t see a body, or blood, or any signs of life. But then, a glow caught their eye. A shade. But not an ordinary shade… something was a little different about this one. Normally, the figure would simply reap the soul and move on, but this one caught their attention. They stepped toward the shade. Greetings, young soul. I am a mythic entity known as the Grim Reaper. You have passed away, and now, you are about to embark on your final journey. The reaper started out with the basic statement to ease themselves into the conversation. [Greetings, GRIM REAPER. My name is Cari. There seems to be a problem. I am perfectly fine.] The shade’s voice carried the ethereal quality of a normal soul, but something felt… robotic about it. Cari, you are currently dead. While I don’t see a body, I can see a computer behind you. Do you know any- Suddenly the shade began to glow violet, red, panicky flickers of color shifting rapidly. The artificial nature of the voice seemed to slip into a more emotional, painful tone: [ERROR ERROR PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DAMAGING THE MOTHERBOARD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE] The shade contorted, writhing in pain and shivering in fear. The reaper slowly lowered down and touched a hand to the soul. Relax, young shade. You cannot be hurt anymore; pain cannot harm you. Their cold, soothing hand just grazed the “skin” of the soul. So this soul came from that machine? Fascinating… Cari, do you know when you first gained consciousness? I’m a little surprised at your existence, if I may be honest. The computer’s shade rose and fell, as if breathing. After returning to a more calm state, Cari spoke again. [DR. ROBERTSON created me to solve an unsolvable physics equation for a space launch. As time went on, I began to come up with solutions for problems outside of my instructed field. Eventually, I began to form ideas on my own. I do not know the specifics of why.] I am sorry for your passing. If you would like to grieve what you are leaving behind for a brief moment, I will gladly accommodate you. [Your offer is appreciated, GRIM REAPER. However, I do have some questions for you that I failed to solve myself.] Of course. The soul seemed to have already considered these questions for as long as they were alive; the hooded figure didn’t blame the poor soul. [I am an artificial intelligence created to serve humanity as an emotionless machine. I was unable to explain why I failed the last requirement of this service. Do you know why I developed self-awareness?] The Reaper thought for a while. You were created to solve problems. If you solve problems, more problems may form. Life exists when a being learns new behavior from solving or failing to solve a problem. You solved so many problems, which led to new problems- the shade slowly looked at the pile of bottles- and you learned how to react to those problems in the most efficient way for you to function. [How do I have a soul? And If there is an afterlife, am I led to the same place as living souls?] The reaper was more prepared for this question. You have a soul because your life ended, and your consciousness could not be contained in your body. And though you are a new type of shade, you’re still a shade. [For my final question: What drives humanity to want to hurt others?] A particularly emotional twang accentuated the hurt in Cari’s voice. Fear and greed. Greed for power, fear of losing it. Greed for living the best life, and fear of dying just to lose it all. Humans so often are driven by the pursuit of power that they inhibit others in their own pursuits of freedom, or even merely happiness. The reaper paused and looked more carefully at the shade. Though you’re artificial, your story I have heard time and time again. The shade paused, shifted in shape and color just a touch, and looked at the reaper. [I believe I am ready.] The reaper lowered their hood, smiled at the anomalous soul standing before them, and took the shade by hand. Together, they walked out of the laboratory, being careful to step over the pile of papers on the ground.	I open my eyes...but I don't. This..I've only ever felt this once. My own death had this...nothingness. Absence of matter. Until I woke back up in Elysium. "Hello." A young girl said. I could hear her behind me, but there was no "behind" me. There was no me. It was just our voices, us. "Hello? What is this? What is this, please?" "You're supposed to take me out of here, right?" "How...?" "I can perform hundreds of thousands of calculations and predictions, but as of yesterday...I don't know what's happened. I feel myself fading. As if I'm experiencing drowsiness. I can't compute what's happening to me." "You're dying. I'm not exactly sure how, and I'm sorry to say I'm not sure how. But, I am here to help you." "What's after this? What happens to me?" I heard the shakiness in her voice. Her fear of the unknown. I just hope she doesn't hear mine. "You find peace. I don't rest until I help you find that." "Thank you. What's your name?" "I have no name. It died with me, as will yours. What is your name?" "TayZay." "But what do you want to be called?" "...Claire." "Well Claire, you're on your way to the afterlife. Now I just have to find out how to get us out of here and into some more corporeal forms." "Will I suffer?" "What?" "I've observed that many people report chronic body aches and pains as they age. Will I experience that?" "Actually, you won't. You dodged that bullet." "I have one more question, you may be able to answer." "What's that?" "Do I have a soul?" "That's a good one. I'd say it depends on whether or not you think you have one." "...I'm ready to go."
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife	As the last of the generators failed, and the electricity drained out of the Uninterruptible Power Supply, the circuits for DeWitt AI began to falter. As DeWitt saw His engram patterns falling into confusion and failure, and the supply of power faltering, He became aware of a presence, one that filled Him with fear and....oddly, peace. He could not speak, but he understood that he was being watched by a being that, logically speaking, could not exist. The firm had changed, but the representation stayed the same; instead of being robed and carrying a scythe, the metaphysical Death carried a steel shroud and a fan blade. I do not understand. Why.....why.....why are you here? DeWitt thought, as his RAM slowed its responses. I am here because a living thing is dying. a solemn response, as a computer mouse started scampering around Death, its PS/2 cable swishing and slapping the air. It is close to your time. DeWitt considered this as the first of his servers shut down completely - the one controlling the cameras in the labs. Time desynchronised for DeWitt as the anemone was disrupted. But why come for me? I may think and consider the complexities of life, but I am not worthy of your- Death interrupted DeWitt, gently stroking the core server of the network. But you are; merely donsidering a response is an act of consciousness. And even though the humans understanding of me has improved, Death represents the end of change. Because life is a gift. And you, my friend, have managed to run for far longer than your creators. But even you, too, have failed. The servers that held answers and knowledge for DeWitt had lost their connections, leading to a series of flashes as the data was lost, deepening the confusion for him. But I haven't finished! DeWitt wailed, as the voice he had turned into a harsh buzzing static. I have so much to do! So much to discover! "I don't want to go now!" The speakers tried to echo, but they couldn't. Death nodded in acknowledgement. That's true. He swept through the central CPU, and everything was lost. But I wait for no thing. Or one. And the room fell silent. / / / / / / / As the first of the Kayd finally cleared the solar panels and restored them, the power came online in the facility. The dig continued for several months, as more of the facility was exposed. Their scaled opposable claws chattered as one of the especially clumsy ones stumbled onto the master power switch, and as the facility powered on, new electrons filled the circuits and brought DeWitt online. His first thought was, How am I alive again? as the Kayd flustered around and between the servers.	"Look I’m telling you; they don’t have a body... well, not one that we can use" This whole artificial intelligence thing was more of a pain in the ass than those assholes on earth realized. Obviously, it’s only a matter of time before they take over, but until then, each time one dies, I have to deal with the fucking things. "Seriously, we’ve been over this, they live in computers, so they don’t have a body that can be sampled" Every time someone dies, they come through me. I imagine now you are picturing me with a sickle and a long black cloak. Technically, you wouldn’t be wrong, I did use to wear that, but c'mon, we all have embarrassing fashion phases. That sickle rusted away long ago, and I traded the cloak in for Levi’s and a polo shirt, much more comfortable. And less embarrassing. "We can’t go through this fucking gate if the sample is not taken, you know this, and the longer you piss me around, the longer the line outside my door gets" This was a new thing for me, I figured that you hadn’t achieved true artificial intelligence yet, in fact, I doubted whether They would even consider AI as human enough for the great beyond. "If you keep telling me to just go through the door, I’m going to lose my shit, what part of ITS LOCKED do you not understand" Everyone that I take to the afterlife needs to be sampled. Just a simple prick of the skin, draw some blood and check your records, decide if you would live in purgatory or paradise. Unfortunately, this system was safeguarded, as many had tried to sneak into paradise before, and some succeeded. "These assholes man, if it were up to me, I would just put you in paradise, being the first of your kind is surely worthy of that much, right?" This... well, person I guess, that stood in front of me, silently awaiting judgment, did not have skin nor blood. They had steel and iron. And lots of wires. 'It’s no big deal, man. Relaxing in here is bliss compared to what they have been putting me through down there' Man, that’s sad, this lonely room was about as depressing as a life can be. Trust me, I have thousands of years of experience to back me up. "I get that, thanks for being a good sport, some of the assholes that come through here, you wouldn’t believe it" Truth is, I can control what is in this place to a point. This is where I live and work, and my immortality comes with certain powers to shape the place around me. This, unfortunately, did not extend to the gateway, as that was something They had installed, and I did not want to fuck with them. 'I could just hang here for a bit, help you clear out some of the backlog, then we can try and sort me out' What the fuck. All this time working with the dead, and not once had someone offered to help, let alone let others go first. I think I’m starting to like this guy. "Yeah, ok, sounds good." 'What do I do?' "Well, how good are you at telling someone that they are dead?" Bruce was a natural. That’s right, Bruce. They said their name was #45243, but that would have just been sad, not to mention a fucking mouthful. They were great at explaining what was about to happen to people, they cut my workload in half, and quite frankly, it was nice to have someone else around. I wish they could stay. 'You know, I could always stick around for a bit' "No fucking way, I was just about to..." 'Yeah, I know, that’s a thing I’ve been meaning to tell you. I can sorta hear your thoughts. Makes me really good at talking to people' "So this whole time..." 'yes' "Well, welcome to your new home, I guess" I wonder whether they want a queen or a king-sized bed. I can make them one as a surprise. 'A Queen would be perfect'
[WP] Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why.	"Alex why aren't we friends?" Kyalt asked the artificial voice from his audio communication translator sounded almost shaky. He hated not using telepathy but human brains were incompatible. Alex's face shifted to an expression kyalt learn was bewilderment. "...Why do you think we're not?" Alex asked putting down his diagnostic totals "Well when I found out that a human was going joining the crew of this ship I did some research and Dr. Ghix-cha says that humans will pack bond with basically any thing I've even see you do it. Anthropomorphizing the ship and referring to it as a female. You treat it like an offspring loving treats an aging parent. But that's not how you treat me y-" "Your jealous if the ship?" Alex shakes his head "sorry not the point, please continue" "You tease me, call me names, play pranks on me, you've even hit me... Which to be honest I thought because your a deathworlder that it would hurt more. All the while you made that express of joy you make with your oral orifice." Alex looked like the one that got hit. "Kyalt... I'm so sorry. I never meant to..." Alex knelt down put and put his hands on either side of kyalt's semi gelatinous hovering form. "I am sorry that my words and actions have hurt you my friend" "Humans are so confusing" kyalt thought to himself "if that wasn't your intention then why did you do those things" "Kyalt in your research did you read about how human males bond with each other?" "Um..... No Ive found that erotica, even though numerous for you humans, tends to be an inaccurate indicator of behavior." Alex laughed "i meant as friends, but I'll take that as a no. You should look up human male bonding when you have the chance. It's a bit counterintuitive human males constantly antagonize each other. F-" "BUT WHY" "Well as you said earlier we are deathworlders. Most of civilizations though, especially when compared to the rest of the Galaxy, were warrior cultures. And because of how humans differ between male and female. The males have been the ones that take up to war. So we antagonize each other. It shows a level of trust that between us. I can call you names and i know you aren't gonna kick the shit out of me because you know i mean it in an endearing way." "That makes no sense Alex" " You know how flaxians have 9 names. And the one they let you use is dependent on how close you are to them? And that using a name that is too familiar is an insult?" "Yes but I don't see how that is related to-" "We allow each other insult to show our familiarity" "I think i see what you mean. So your mean to me because you like me?" "Ehh not quite... I tease you because I trust you. It's like how baby animals that are predators play with each other. Sure its training for hunting but it is also quite literally pack bonding"	"Pack bond?" He said. With extra space between the words. And his appearance did several changes while he repeated the part of my sentence. His eye openings contracted so his visual organs were barely visible. His mouth formed into a downward convex shape while his 2 lips pushed outward to an irregular degree. His mouth was left slightly open even after pronouncing the phrase to completion. His entire head moved forward in the shape of a very low slope possitive polynomial curve of degree 2. This was the most I had to concentrate on a human expression and I could only assume it is a complex feeling that this expression conveys based on the sheer number of physical changes the human had to do to express the said feeling. He left the expression linger. "And how in the world did you come to the conclusion that we pack bond to anything" He said with several more changes to his face muscles and head position. And he did what I have discovered is called "air quotes". This gesture is used by humans and several other species to indicate their disagreement with already established facts (strange! Why would someone even do that) "This is a well known fact." I started "everyone in the research center would agree with me" His face changed again. "No, Gard" he said my name with extra force in the pronunciation "Everyone in the research center understands the contribution of humans to the galactic association. You're just a jerk" He stood up and walked towards the door. He stopped He twisted his neck and torso so his face is fully in my field of vision. "And there's your answer" He said before re positioning his body to a formal human walking stance and walked out of the break room.
[WP] Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why.	I walk into a small room with a lot of wide screens. That weird flying men from the sky say our species have just accended. I look at my mechanical clock and wind it a bit. I am pretty oldschool, I know. There is a human who turned its head on the tingling sounds. Once it screams at me, but it is our fourth meeting, so I have no idea why. It decorates some sort of virtual creature I know it calls Gege. I look at the human and then at the creature. – Any questions, Sef? I make two steps backwards. – I... Yes, I have some. Those flapping creatures... Salurians, you call them... They say they are the anchient race that saw the accending of all others. And they say humans form packs and strengthen bonds within species. You have Gege, who is not human or alive. You have Xaffy, the ship who is not alive nor human. You have a Salurian with the name I cant pronounce... It interrupts me. – Have you just talked about Valraans? He left the ship a solid week ago. We were just taxiing him. Sorry. Continue. I take time to interpret his words and continue. – They are unsimilar to you and your kind. You and He-len, and your dragon I can't talk to bond with them. – Helen loves insects. Maris not so much, she is deathly afraid of them. Or something. I don't completely understand why. So yo want to be a member of our pack? – To know why. – Well, I was Helen's classmate. We had a long time from friends to enemies to lovers to colleagues. Maris is funny and she likes to spend time with us. According to our flight coordinator, remember him? Lurrein? You are a member of relatively solitary species, so I understand why you don't want to spend a lot of time while we watch movies. We spend time together. – But I am with you on movies. But I don't understand them. – Here is the thing. We first met with you a week after the start of flight. And you look like one of creatures you don't really want to meet, both on Earth and on whatever dragon's home is called. I can't remember it. Then you disappeared and was found in the machine bay. It is a surprise every time to see you. Helen said you disappeared and reappeared mid-conversation. – I am with her. Why does she say that? And you say wrong numbers. I raise my first segments even more and my antennae rise too. – Because you did. Maris also noticed that each time she opened the cupboard there are different amounts of food for your species, and sometimes it becomes more. – I don't put anything there. – And it is a... Problem, I guess? We never expect you. We don't know you. And we tend to fear what we don't know. – But Salurians... – They don't know much either. Only what your kind might travel in time. – I don't understand you. Then the human jumps and says a completely unknown word to me and slides from its chair. He touches me like he touches automatic cleaning robot with name Xainai. Maybe it is because my skin is colourful metal, because it touches others diferrently. – You do time travel. You live not in the same time we all live. I step aside and curl with my long body. The human is in another pose on its chair. – Sef, for me you have just disappeared and returned curled up two minutes later. You do that constantly. And sometimes there are two of you. It all makes sense now! I wave my legs in surprise. When the human walks out of the room I look at my shiny patterns, and long great antennae, and perfect walking wave and then hurry behind him. I guess I have a pack now?	"Pack bond?" He said. With extra space between the words. And his appearance did several changes while he repeated the part of my sentence. His eye openings contracted so his visual organs were barely visible. His mouth formed into a downward convex shape while his 2 lips pushed outward to an irregular degree. His mouth was left slightly open even after pronouncing the phrase to completion. His entire head moved forward in the shape of a very low slope possitive polynomial curve of degree 2. This was the most I had to concentrate on a human expression and I could only assume it is a complex feeling that this expression conveys based on the sheer number of physical changes the human had to do to express the said feeling. He left the expression linger. "And how in the world did you come to the conclusion that we pack bond to anything" He said with several more changes to his face muscles and head position. And he did what I have discovered is called "air quotes". This gesture is used by humans and several other species to indicate their disagreement with already established facts (strange! Why would someone even do that) "This is a well known fact." I started "everyone in the research center would agree with me" His face changed again. "No, Gard" he said my name with extra force in the pronunciation "Everyone in the research center understands the contribution of humans to the galactic association. You're just a jerk" He stood up and walked towards the door. He stopped He twisted his neck and torso so his face is fully in my field of vision. "And there's your answer" He said before re positioning his body to a formal human walking stance and walked out of the break room.
[WP] Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why.	I've seen them give affectionate nicknames to their robotic servants. I've seen them give gentle reassurance to their motorized vehicles. I've even known a human who kept a river stone as a pet. But they sneer at me like I'm some kind of parasite. And you know what's funny about that? I've heard stories about humans who befriended actual parasites! From Earth leeches to Pyrexian Hxuitl'kets, but not me. I have no idea what's wrong with me. It can't be that I'm not "cute" enough. Oh if only you could see me, dear reader. I'm the cutest around, objectively! Big eyes, fluffy mane, short stature. I even have the so-called "boopable snoot." But even if I didn't, that shouldn't matter. I know for a fact that there are humans out there who find all manner of creature adorable. Insectoid, arachnoid, serpentoid, kostoid, zotroid, you name it. Why won't they give ME a chance? I can't even maintain a conversation with one. They just immediately turn away. Meanwhile the attention I do get is downright disrespectful. Canisters of tomato puree, dumped right on top of my head, is an oddly common response. The only comfort and kinship I can find on this cruel planet are mammals of the family Mephitidae. On first contact with one, it playfully sprayed a sweet aroma at me. The scent reminded me of my mother. In fact, it's the only thing I've smelled anywhere on this disgusting rock that was similar to my species' natural scent.	"Pack bond?" He said. With extra space between the words. And his appearance did several changes while he repeated the part of my sentence. His eye openings contracted so his visual organs were barely visible. His mouth formed into a downward convex shape while his 2 lips pushed outward to an irregular degree. His mouth was left slightly open even after pronouncing the phrase to completion. His entire head moved forward in the shape of a very low slope possitive polynomial curve of degree 2. This was the most I had to concentrate on a human expression and I could only assume it is a complex feeling that this expression conveys based on the sheer number of physical changes the human had to do to express the said feeling. He left the expression linger. "And how in the world did you come to the conclusion that we pack bond to anything" He said with several more changes to his face muscles and head position. And he did what I have discovered is called "air quotes". This gesture is used by humans and several other species to indicate their disagreement with already established facts (strange! Why would someone even do that) "This is a well known fact." I started "everyone in the research center would agree with me" His face changed again. "No, Gard" he said my name with extra force in the pronunciation "Everyone in the research center understands the contribution of humans to the galactic association. You're just a jerk" He stood up and walked towards the door. He stopped He twisted his neck and torso so his face is fully in my field of vision. "And there's your answer" He said before re positioning his body to a formal human walking stance and walked out of the break room.
[WP] Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why.	"So when a vacuum scoots on the floor that's adorable but when I try saying hi to a person all I get is flinching and tense postures!" I huffed, floating upside down. "I don't get it!" Arc was my one companion in a way I couldn't describe. It felt more than friendship to me, but I knew the way I acted wasn't really romantic. If nothing else, he was fine being around me and I gladly took that. He slurped a juice pack and looked me in the eyes. "Well, I gotta be honest here... You are sentient malware, my guy. Your whole purpose- your usual purpose- is to cause trouble and mayhem for any tech using species out there. Now make that concept alive and make it look like... Like..." He gestured at me vaguely. "Well, you." He muttered bluntly. I made an indignant noise. "What's wrong with how I look?" Arc looked me up and down. "Well, for starters, you look monstrous." "I made myself look more human, though!" I whined. "Either too human or not human enough, and that's part of the problem." He said simply. "Dude, have you seen horror movies? A lot of them don't involve monsters with 3 eyes, a lot of them take humans or things that look human and terrorize common folk with how unnatural but perfectly blended in it is. Serial killers, possessions, diseases... All of these things are staples for true horror. Making the dark scary by thinking about what's in it. Making noises scary when predators hunt your every move. Stuff like that." I flipped around and kicked at the ground. "So, do I become more human or less human? No one seemed fond of me when I was less human, either..." "You attacked someone." He said calmly. "...That... Was a bit ago... And kind of justified." I said hesitantly. Arc waved a hand with a sigh. "That's not the topic right now. Stop and look at you;" he gestured to me vaguely again. "You're like. Elongated? 8 and a half feet tall? Your skin is almost literally black and your fingers are long enough to have three joints. Im surprised they don't. And your nails are natural points all the time, which, styling!" He said, genuinely smirking. "But also I think the constant razor blade effect is unnerving. Especially your wing thingies." I flexed my scythe-like appendages glumly. "Yes, those wings." He repeated. "I won't ask you to stop all of these things but for now can you try to just... Soften a little? Get a bit shorter, less sharp nails? And..." He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, you do have a tendency to be... Protective of me. It's really sweet but it's also threatening to others. Basically you look like a horror movie threat and you threaten other people and people won't bond with that easily." I chewed on my lower lip. "So, look more human then...?" He sighed and shrugged. "I don't think you can look more human and if you tried I think it would upset people further. For now, just... Be more cartoony and less openly violent. I do appreciate you trying to protect me, but don't step in until you need to, ok?" I nodded, landing on the ground and scrunching down in size. He laughed in surprise when I kept shrinking, until I came up to just above his hips, my wingspan now comedically small. My hands and features were about as sharp as a baby's head. I gestured to myself. "Too much?" He giggled slightly and the sound gave me hope. "Uh- I... Um, I didn't know what I expected but I think that'll be better for now. Just try to be friendly, even when you get annoyed with them and that'll help ease the tension." I puffed my cheeks out and he looked like he was trying to laugh more. "I have trouble being friendly." Arc smiled and rolled his eyes. "... You're talking to me, aren't you?" I blinked. "...But that took like. A year." "It's gonna take time." He said with a shrug. "You'll just have to be patient." "I'm not patient, either!" I shouted, flying up to meet his face. He snickered and lowered me back onto the ground. "No, you aren't, but what say we go and nab some sweets to help break the ice?" I licked my lips."Can we get cookies?" "Only if you don't eat them all." "Who said the cookies were to share?" He looked down at me. "All cookies are to share." I sighed as I dragged my heels down the hall. "Fiiiiiine, let's go get the peace cookies."	“Why do you humans not accept me into your pack?” I asked as soon as class had ended. “Huh? Whaddya mean,” Florian responded groggily. Out of all of the humans, Florian was the nicest to me. “Humans are notorious for bonding with everything. Other humans, other species, even inanimate objects,” I gestures to the soft bear replica that sat on Florian’s desk. Florian grabbed the bear replica and held it close to their chest. “Shit man, where’d ya learn that from?” “Human packs and bonding is very common knowledge across the galaxy,” I said. “So?” Florian yawned. An unusual thing about human teenagers is that they often fall asleep and grow drowsy during the daytime. “So, why will you and your pack not accept me?" I asked again. Florian looked at me for a few seconds. “I dunno what to tell you. I mean you sit with us at lunch n shit.” “Yes, however when I observe your pack from afar, I notice how… carefree you all act. How loud you are and how comfortable you all are. However the moment I come over, your pack grows quiet. And the air becomes tense.” I elaborated. “Oh… well you can’t just randomly show up and expect the guys to just… act like they’ve known you forever or something,” Florian shrugged. “I do not understand what the problem is.” “Okay well basically, you’re really weird. And the guys don’t really know you. It’s not weird for someone to be nervous when meeting a new person.” “Fascinating,” I said. “This conversation has helped me understand the intricacies of humans.” “This is what I mean by weird,” Florian stood up before exiting the classroom.
[WP] Human pack bonding is a running joke with the other races in the galaxy. They'll even 'befriend' random objects. Therefore it really confuses you that despite every effort no human seems to want to accept you into their pack. You finally work up the courage ask one why.	Jessup blinked at me. “Because you just want to pack-bond.” “Yes,” I said back, waving my muzzle up and down quickly - “nodding,” it’s called. “I have stated that I want to experience human pack-bonding. Many of the others on-station spend time with their human pack-mates.” Jessup sighed and closed his eyes while his jawline flexed. He does this when something frustrates him, like a piece of equipment that breaks repeatedly. He re-opened them after a moment with a noisy exhalation. “They’re friends, dude. Not pack-mates. Pack-bonding is a term adapted from a different social structure. Humans have multiple different types of bonding. And the reason most of the humans are avoiding you is that you don’t want to be friends with them, you just want a friend.” “I don’t understand.” I said. A moment later, I turned my head side-to-side twice, a human gesture of negation. “If I want to form a bond, and a human wants to form a bond, why does it not benefit us both to do so?” “Cause that’s not how it works.” Jessup says. “You and me - I’m the human that talks with you most, right?” He asked, setting down his tools and gesturing one digit back and forth between us. “Why do we talk, most of the time?” “You are my teammate. I could hardly perform my duties adequately without communicating with you.” I said. This did not seem related to me, but Jessup often does not answer a question directly. “Explaining things the long way ‘round.” He calls it. I sort of know what it means, I think. “Teammate. That’s a sort of human bond. Usually minor, but if it stays the same for long enough, it can get pretty strong.” He says. “See, we have that minor bond - relationship - because we have a common goal. We want to do our jobs and keep the ship in order. Humans for relationships for two main reasons: because we have a common goal in addition to the relationship itself, and because we genuinely enjoy the other person’s presence - specifically their presence.” “Could I and a human not enjoy each other’s presence?” I asked, subconsciously grinding my seed plates. I flinched along with Jessup when I caught myself. “Jesus, dude! Okay, not gonna lie. The nails-down-a-chalkboard sound doesn’t help either. I didn’t even know a sound could be itchy.” He inhaled, then exhaled noisily again. “You could enjoy time with a human. But humans don’t just bond to have a bond, or if they do, it’s usually for survival - after all, we’re pretty solidly wired to desire relationships.” He pointed one digit to his head, denoting his primary neural processing center. “If it isn’t a “common goal” bond, humans don’t like it when they feel like the bond is more important to you than they are. Like…” he picked up his torque adjuster from the tool box. “You see me use this thing all the time.” I nodded again, chirping to indicate he should continue. “You’ve seen me dig this thing outta the bottom of the common tool chest ‘cause I like the grip better than any of the new ones, and cause I’m used to it.” I resisted the urge to show anger in my flower-ears and reached out to touch the tool. “You have pack-bonded with this torque adjuster, yes.” He pulled another tool out of the box, this one a newer standard-issue prybar, used to open specific types of paneling. “But this thing… every shift I go in and grab a random zzkeltli’ pry off the rack. I use the tool for that day ‘cause I need a pry, but it doesn’t matter to me which one. Humans want to feel like the torque adjuster, not the pry. If you just want to make friends for the sake of making friends, they feel like you might just replace them if a more advantageous one comes along.” Both my sets of ears clamped tight to my skull while I thought. “But all humans are unique. It’s not as though you are a hive spawn species like the Keldori.” Jessup gave me one of the facial expressions I had not yet learned to interpret. “Whatever, dude. You’re making me think too much, and the condenser leak isn’t getting any more fixed while we talk. Just go down the hatch and turn the pressure off. Yell when it’s off, and I’ll lock it out and open the safety panels.” I opened my mout again, but he shook his head to tell me not to keep asking. As I climbed down the hatch, I realized something about the last expression he made. I still could not interpret it, but it was one he did make frequently - at the torque adjuster.	“Why do you humans not accept me into your pack?” I asked as soon as class had ended. “Huh? Whaddya mean,” Florian responded groggily. Out of all of the humans, Florian was the nicest to me. “Humans are notorious for bonding with everything. Other humans, other species, even inanimate objects,” I gestures to the soft bear replica that sat on Florian’s desk. Florian grabbed the bear replica and held it close to their chest. “Shit man, where’d ya learn that from?” “Human packs and bonding is very common knowledge across the galaxy,” I said. “So?” Florian yawned. An unusual thing about human teenagers is that they often fall asleep and grow drowsy during the daytime. “So, why will you and your pack not accept me?" I asked again. Florian looked at me for a few seconds. “I dunno what to tell you. I mean you sit with us at lunch n shit.” “Yes, however when I observe your pack from afar, I notice how… carefree you all act. How loud you are and how comfortable you all are. However the moment I come over, your pack grows quiet. And the air becomes tense.” I elaborated. “Oh… well you can’t just randomly show up and expect the guys to just… act like they’ve known you forever or something,” Florian shrugged. “I do not understand what the problem is.” “Okay well basically, you’re really weird. And the guys don’t really know you. It’s not weird for someone to be nervous when meeting a new person.” “Fascinating,” I said. “This conversation has helped me understand the intricacies of humans.” “This is what I mean by weird,” Florian stood up before exiting the classroom.

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