#Heavy Duty Trench Drain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghoulsister1 · 1 year

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♡•♤~♤Trench Memories♤~♤•♡

Manfred Von Richtofen x GN!Reader. AU: Post!WW1. Hurt/Comfort. Injuries. TW: Blood. Injuries. PSTD. Trauma. Battle of Ypres. Trench warfare. Nightmares. Manfred comforts Reader. Manfred is a sweetheart.

Requested by @bucketinyourwalls

♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤

During WW1, you fought in the trenches in the Battle Of Ypres, one of the most bloodiest battles in WW1 and while out on a trench patrol, you unfortunately are hit in an attack and sadly, lose your eye in the process. After the war, you meet and marry fellow WW1 vet and ace, Manfred Von Richtofen and soon you two settle into a peaceful retirement. However, the memories and past of those awful moments in battle, always come back to haunt you.

August, 1917

Passchendaele, Belgium.

You gave a weary sigh as you poke your head outside your bunker and look around. Another wet downpour, just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that. The rain just hadn't stopped. The trenches you and the German army dug were becoming a muddy swamp acting as quicksand, just 4 days ago two men drowned in the mud, one of them was your best friend and it was horrible, there was no way of saving them as your commander ordered you all to return from no man's land, leaving the two men to die a slow and horrible death. You shivered, recalling the cries and screams, you could still hear them.

It was still dark in the early hours of morning as you headed out to begin your trench duties, mostly it was either being on sentry duty when you were short on men, digging latrines, repairing trenches and pumping out flooded sections. From the looks of it today, pumping out the flooded sections again.

"Y/N! Over here! The whole section is completely flooded!" Called your friend Klaus as he lead you over to the section. He wasn't wrong, the whole section was submerged, the days of non-stop heavy rain flooded the section till it came up to your knees.

"Verdammt! This is Ficken ridiculous!" You Growled angrily. This was gonna take a long while to pump out and the thought of it made you pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a long irradiated sigh.

"This gonna take hours" You Sighed, irritated. Your friends Klaus, Gunter and William all nodded, they too were irritated by this mess.

"The British could attack at any moment! And here we are, stuck here pumping out water!" Remarked Gunter.

"Can't we just leave this section?" Asked William.

You sadly shook your head. As tempting as it was, your commander would chew your ass for it and you didn't want to deal with that and looking at how tired and irritated your three friends are, you knew they didn't want to deal with that either.

"You know what the commander is like, come on the sooner we get this done the better" You Stated. You all started grabbing boards to build another Duck Board/Sump to help drain out the section. You didn't want to stand too long in this water, not unless you wanted to get Trench Foot. You had heard a few soliders caught Trench Foot and at least 3 lost their foot to it. You made sure you and your friends always dried your socks and did your best to change them daily as well as cleaning your feet and making sure not to wear socks when sleeping, no matter how cold the nights were.

A cough caught your attention and you looked up to see William coughing harshly into a handkerchief covering his mouth.

"Willi? Are you alright?" You Asked. William looked up and waved his hand at you as Klaus and Gunther looked on concerned.

"I'm fine *cough* *hack* *cough*" William Coughed. When he had apparently finished and removed the handkerchief from his mouth, you caught the sight of crimson staining the handkerchief. You, Gunther and Klaus looked at William with a mix of dread and sadness.

"That's blood" Whispered Gunter, looking around in case anyone was within earshot.

"It's fine honest, only today I've started coughing up blood" Protested William.

"But you're sick! You shouldn't be out in this weather, you'll get more sick and die!" Argued Klaus.

"Go back and rest up in your bunker William" You Suggested but William shook his head stubbornly.

"I won't let my illness prevent me from doing my part for the Kaiser in this godforsaken war. I'll dig, shoot and fight if I must" Stated William proudly before a coughing fit interrupted him. Gunter rested his hand on William's back, patting it gently.

"Everyone seems to be getting sick" Remarked Klaus gloomily.

"It's the weather. This stinking weather. Trench Foot, Typus and now Tuberculosis. God I hate it here" You Remarked bitterly as William finished his coughing fit and work went on as you got building a duck board.

So it will be 5:am and you'd all have to Stand-To Arms to prepare for an enemy attack before Stand Down at 6:am. Your stomach rumbled as you thought of breakfast, but that won't be until 7:am.

"Hopefully that bastard Heinz doesn't take the last strip of bacon!" You Remarked, you and your friends sharing a laugh as you recalled how pissed you were when it happened last time.

"If he does, I'll steal his rum for you" Chuckled William and you all laughed. As you finished up the last bits of work, you heard the long whistle from across the no man's land and you froze before you heard a sudden boom and you felt the pressure under your feet.

"Artillery!" You Cried.

Klaus, William and Gunter all scrambled along with you as you ducked your heads and made your way along the trench, praying the shell won't hit you or your friends.

An explosion across the land was heard as the shell hit just outside in no man's land. You heard the shrill of a trench whistle, your commander whistling out the "alarm blast" to call troops out from their bunkers and camps and take up positions.

"Y/N! Klaus! Gunter! William! Take up your positions now!" Ordered Your Commander and without hesitation, you took up your weapon and made your way to your position.

You made sure your gas mask was secured with you. You've had a few brushes with gas attacks to know to always keep your gas mask at hand.

Suddenly there was nothing but chaos as artillery began and guns started firing. You held your position as the earth rumbled around you with shells hitting the ground all around you. You fired a couple of shots, hoping you got a few hits in. A gunshot rang out and blood splattered across the side of your face. You turned to see Gunter was lying on his back in the mud, a bullet hole straight into throat, blood flowing from the deep and torn flesh.

"Gunter!" You Screamed, though you knew Gunter was dead. Klaus and William heard your scream and turned to see the body of their fallen friend.

The German loaded up their artillery and your commander gave a whistle.

"Over the trench! Engage the enemy!" Shouted Your Commander. You turned your head to look at him, eyes wide.

"What?" You Asked. He wasn't asking you all to engage the enemy now?!

"That's an order!" Shouted Your Commander harshly as you stared at him with wide eyes.

"But Sir....." You Began but the Commander cut you off.

"Are you questioning your commander?! Das ist eine Bestellung!" Yelled Your Commander.

"Jawohl" You Replied weakly and stood at attention with ladders ready. Your Commander gave a whistle and you all climbed up out of the trench to begin the charge. From across no man's land in the enemy's trench, you heard a whistle accompanied by shouts and yells of soldiers beginning their charge.

Everything happened so fast, one moment you were charging the next you got up in a mission to help some German soldiers who were caught unprepared and were trying to repair a section of trench that was hit by artillery. As you tried to get them out, an artillery shell hit. You flew back with the force of the impact and landed in a crumbled heap in mud, splintered wood and barbwire.

Your vision was blurry at first and you had a ringing in your ears as you looked around, muffled explosions and smoke all around you. You felt a sharp pain in the right side of your face and you lifted up your hand to touch the side of your face. You pulled your hand away and saw blood. Touching your face again, you felt sharp pieces of wood and metal embedded in your face and eye.

As the ringing subsided and your vision cleared, all you felt was pain. Nothing but pain all around. Without thinking, you let out a bloodcurdling scream as it was mixed into the sounds of warfare. You must have laid there for hours, no one seeing you or paying you heed as you lay in the cold, wet mud as the rain poured down. Soon, there was silence all around, until you heard a trench whistle ring out. It was a "rally blast", used to call out to soldiers lost in wood, bush or fog. In this case fog.

"Ich bin hier! Ich bin hier!" You Cried in German. Eventually a group of German soldiers came to help you back to the trench. As they carried you across the torn land, you came across two bodies that were hit by artillery. It was the bodies of Klaus and William. You cried and shouted in tears, mourning the loss of your best friends.

Klaus. Gunter. William. All gone. All dead.

You're injuries were very severe and you were sent to the nearest German Military Hospital to be treated. Shrapnel from the artillery shell that hit the trench and splintered wood from the wooden beams hit the right side of your face, leaving your eye beyond saving and thus you had your right eye removed. You also suffered a broken arm and some bruises.

While there, you met and got friendly with none other than Manfred Von Richtofen, the Red Baron himself. He was recovering from an injury himself and you two became close, eventually even marrying in 1919 and both of you receiving medals for your valiant effort in the war, though you felt indifferent about receiving medals. You and Manfred then quietly retired to live out the rest of your lives in peace.

12th of August, 1923

Bayrischzell, Bavaria, Germany.

You stared out at the setting sun from the window of your cosy kitchen as you sipped at a mug of tea, trying to ignore the slight tremors in your hands as you held the mug close to your chest and held tight, hoping to not drop the mug with your shaking hands.

You watched the glow of the sun fade behind the horizon as you heard the sound of Manfred's car coming up the road. You smiled softly and turned away from the window to make your way into the drawing home, a warm fire blazed away in the hearth.

Manfred walked inside, smiling at you and making his way over to you. He sat beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

"Sorry I'm late mein Schatz" Apologised Manfred softly as he pressed a kiss against your head and you smiled.

"Did you deliver the flowers?" You Asked. Manfred nodded.

"I did. The gravestones look nice now with fresh flowers" Remarked Manfred smiling. You nodded and gently touched your eyepatch with a trembling hand, remembering the artillery shell costed you your eye. Manfred noticed your trembling hand and gently took your hand, holding it in his.

"I know it's hard my Liebling. It's not easy around this month" Manfred Spoke as he rubbed his thumb along your knuckles.

"I'm sorry I couldn't visit them today. It's just....I'm not ready yet Manny" You Admitted timidly.

"I understand mein Liebesvögel. And I'm sure your three friends understand too. They know you hold them in your heart" Manfred Nodded. You smiled at him and you two share a kiss.

You awoke in the trenches. You were stood in the flooded section of the trench you were sent to drain with Klaus, Gunter and William. You looked around and saw Gunter, William and Klaus busy making the duck board.

"Gunter? Klaus? William?" You Called.

The men looked up and smiled.

"Hey Y/N, come on let's get this done!" Klaus Smiled and you went about making the duck board. Suddenly an artillery shell hit and you were sent flying back into a heap of mud, wood and barbwire.

You screamed as pain shot through you, clutching your bloody right side of your face and eye. You turn to see Gunter's body, dead in the mud with a bullet wound in his head.

"Nein Gunter!" You Screamed, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the blood that seeped from your wounded eye.

"Y/N! Y/N!" You heard your name being called and saw an injured Klaus crawling to you, both his legs blown apart as William lay dead next him . You let out a cry.

"Y/N! Y/N please wake up! Wake up my liebesvögel, please wake up" Called Manfred softly as he tried to wake you up from the nightmare you were having.

You awoke and sat up, shaking in a cold sweat and tears streaming down your face as your chest ached. You found it hard to breathe as your heart raced within your ribcage.

Manfred was quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close and rocking you gently back and forth.

"It's okay, it's okay. It was just a nightmare. You aren't in Passchendaele anymore. You aren't in the trenches anymore. You are here, with me and you are warm and safe. You aren't in the trenches, you're in my arms warm and safe" Cooed Manfred softly as he rubbed your back to soothe you.

You clung to Manfred and cried into his chest.

"Manny.....Manny the trenches.....Gunter....Klaus....William" You Sobbed as Manfred held you closer.

"There there Meine Liebe, you're not in the trenches anymore. You are safe with me, just breathe nice and slow ja? That's it, just breathe nice and slow" Whispered Manfred and you breathed in and out slowly, calming your nerves as Manfred helped ground you and come back to the present.

You weren't in a cold, wet trench surrounded by death and artillery shells. You were in a nice, warm bed and in the arms of your warm and caring man. You sniffled and looked up at Manfred who looked down and smiled warmly at you.

"I'm here Täubchen, I'm not going anywhere. You'll never be alone. You're safe and sound" Cooed Manfred as you two embraced each other.

"Manny, I love you" You Whispered and hugged him tighter. You smiled as you felt him press a tender kiss to your cheek.

"And I love you too, my Täubchen" Whispered Manfred.

The scars would heal but they will always remain, but as long as you had Manfred by your side, you had the strength to continue on.

♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤•♤

♡Thanks again for requesting and I hope you enjoy the story!♡

#manfred von richthofen #the red baron #marc warren #young indiana jones #attack of the hawkmen #ww1 #ww1 history #ww1 au #tw: ptsd #tw: bl00d #tw: death #request #fanfiction #hurt/comfort

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svcivil · 7 months

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Enhancing Drainage Systems with Steel Grates by SVC Civil

Introduction: The Role of Steel Grates in Drainage Systems

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roxanneandrews12 · 1 year

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Are you looking for a robust and reliable drainage solution? Galvanized trench grates are perfect for heavy-duty use, providing superior strength and stability! In this video, discover the benefits of galvanized trench grate drains for your next application. Learn how it offers high corrosion resistance and many other benefits. Unlock the potential of galvanized trench grate drains today!

#trench drain grates

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nopainnodrain · 1 year

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How do I choose the right type and size of channel drainage for my needs?

Picture this: heavy rainfall engulfs your property, leaving water pooling around your home and garden. To prevent such a nightmare scenario, channel drainage comes to the rescue. However, with a range of options available, selecting the right type and size of channel drainage can seem like navigating a maze. Fear not! In this article, we will be your guiding light, illuminating the path to finding the perfect fit for your drainage needs.

Assess Your Drainage Requirements

Before embarking on your drainage journey, take stock of your requirements. Evaluate the areas around your property that need drainage solutions, such as driveways, patios, gardens, or walkways. Consider the average amount of rainfall your region experiences, as this will influence the capacity your channel drainage must handle. Additionally, note any specific drainage issues you wish to address, like standing water or flooding.

Types of Channel Drainage Systems

Channel drainage systems come in various forms, each designed to cater to specific needs, such as:

Grated Channel Drains: These are the most versatile and widely used channels. They feature a metal or plastic grate covering that efficiently collects and diverts water while preventing debris from clogging the drain.

Slot Drains: These are ideal for a seamless and aesthetically pleasing look, slot drains are sleek and discreet, often installed flush with the surface. They efficiently manage water without the need for visible grates.

Modular Trench Drains: Offering flexibility, modular trench drains consist of interlocking units that allow you to customise the length and design. They work well in larger areas requiring extended drainage coverage.

Catch Basins: Complementary to channel drains, catch basins are boxes installed at key points to collect and retain debris before it enters the channel drain, minimising the risk of blockages.

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Material Matters

The material of your channel drainage systems plays a pivotal role in its longevity and performance. Common materials include:

Polymer/Plastic: Lightweight and easy to handle, plastic channel drains are cost-effective and resistant to corrosion, making them suitable for residential use.

Stainless Steel: Known for its durability and sleek appearance, stainless steel channel drains are an excellent choice for both residential and commercial settings.

Galvanised Steel: Robust and corrosion-resistant, galvanised steel channel drains are perfect for heavy-duty applications and areas prone to harsh weather conditions.

Calculating the Right Size

Determining the correct size of your channel drainage system is crucial to ensure efficient water management. The size is typically measured in terms of the width and depth of the channel. Here’s how to calculate it:

Flow Rate: Calculate the maximum water flow rate the drain needs to handle. This can be estimated based on the area’s size and average rainfall intensity.

Grate Capacity: The grate capacity should be equal to or greater than the calculated flow rate. This ensures the drain can handle the volume of water without overflowing.

Channel Depth: Consider the depth of the channel, depending on the anticipated water flow. Deeper channels can accommodate larger volumes of water.

Conclusion

As you traverse the landscape of channel drainage options, remember that each property is unique, requiring a tailored approach. Assess your drainage needs, explore the various types of channel drainage systems, and carefully calculate the appropriate size to ensure efficient water management.

#channel drainage

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besttilesever · 1 year

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Drain Covers for Different Applications: Residential, Commercial, and Industrial

Drain covers are essential for various applications to prevent debris, contaminants, and unwanted objects from entering drainage systems. Here are some types of drain covers commonly used in residential, commercial, and industrial settings:

Residential Drain Covers:

Grate Covers: These are typically used in residential areas, including driveways, patios, and walkways. They feature a slotted or perforated design that allows water to flow through while capturing larger debris.

Shower Drain Covers: Installed in bathroom showers, these covers are designed to prevent hair, soap scum, and other small objects from clogging the drain. They often have a fine mesh or small holes to trap debris.

Commercial Drain Covers:

Floor Drain Grates: These covers are commonly used in commercial kitchens, restaurants, and food processing facilities. They are designed to handle high water flow and are resistant to corrosion. The grates feature a sturdy construction and typically have smaller slots or perforations to catch small debris.

Trench Drain Covers: Trench drains are widely used in commercial settings, such as parking lots, loading docks, and industrial areas. The covers for trench drains are durable and capable of withstanding heavy loads. They come in various materials, such as cast iron or galvanized steel, and can have different slot or grate designs depending on the application.

Industrial Drain Covers:

Heavy-Duty Grates: Industrial environments, such as manufacturing plants, warehouses, and industrial facilities, require drain covers capable of handling heavy loads and harsh conditions. These covers are typically made of durable materials like cast iron or stainless steel. They feature larger openings or grates to accommodate significant water flow and larger debris.

Chemical-Resistant Covers: In industries where chemical spills or corrosive substances are present, specialized drain covers made from chemical-resistant materials like fiberglass or polymer composites are used. These covers provide protection against chemical damage and ensure the safe flow of liquids.

It's important to choose drain covers that meet the specific requirements of the application, considering factors such as load capacity, water flow rate, debris size, and resistance to corrosion or chemicals. Consulting with professionals or suppliers specializing in drainage systems can help ensure you select the appropriate drain covers for your specific needs.

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#drain covers #grass pavers

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duratrench-blog · 5 years

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Trench drain

Roadway or highway drainage is usually trouble and can be very dangerous, it can cause erosion, reduced bearing capacity, reduced pavement lifetime and increased pavement management costs. Duratrench offers Trench drain removing or controlling surface water and subsurface water away from the paving and the subgrade supporting it. It can also provide a waterproof covering for the lower pavement structure.

#Trench drains #trench drain system #channel drain #channel drains #Heavy duty channel drain #slot drain #Slot Drains #Slot drain systems

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modern-inheritance · 3 years

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Modern Inheritance Cycle: The origins of Farthen Dur’s current veterans bar owner (semi-scrapped ficlet)

(*hacks up half completed MIC snippet hairball and wanders off* Timeline is a few years before Saphira’s egg is stolen, probably about three or four years at most.)

CONTENT WARNING: WARZONE COMBAT, COMBAT INJURIES, TRAUMATIC AMPUTATION, COMBAT AMPUTEE CHARACTER, REHABILITATION

Cracks and shots stabbed needles into unprotected ears. Bullets cut swirled, roiling lines through the smoke and dust saturated air while the clash of blades rumbled at a constant crackle. Heavy booms of dwarvish artilary and Broddring cannonbombs shook the blood soaked earth.

He couldn’t say he was at the center of it all. In fact, he was a good distance from the thick of the hand to hand combat, in a half completed, baked earth sprinkled trench. The crumbling walls had sloped in on him, partially burying what was left of his lower right leg and his shrapnel studded left. A cannonbomb impacted ten meters away, pouring more of the dirt onto his body as various warriors of both sides scrambled and yelled, running to and fro in the pitched battle.

No, he wasn’t at the center of it. Combat engineer Samuel “Coop” Cooper, 32nd Division of the Surdan ground forces, couldn’t have cared less. Because he was bleeding and screaming and writhing in that little trench, staring at the white shanks of bone that heralded the new end of his leg.

Coop cried out in renewed pain, the shudder of the ground bumping into his mangled limb. He was crying, cutting streaks through the grime on his young face down to his close cropped beard. He had been so proud of that damn beard, finally out of the awkward patchiness of his teen years, proud to finally be a true C.E. like the rest of his division. Now it didn’t even matter. He’d seen men on the battlefield in his situation. He knew that in the chaos of a full on fight that the wounded were rarely, if ever, treated early enough to grant survival.

He’d go out like his Pap. Screaming bloody murder at the Broddring dogs across the battlefield, knowing that his own battlemates couldn’t spare the time or distraction to pick him up and haul him back to the tents.

No one would ever say it was a noble death. But by the bright gods above, Coop would show the courage to face it head on.

New shots cracked overhead, a rifle not three yards from where the young man was concealed. Instead of footsteps pounding by in a dead run towards –or away, as many young recruits had gone– the thick of the battle, the steps came directly towards him. A cold hand clutched at Coop’s heart when black boots entered his field of vision, and he screamed incoherently at the owner, trying to brandish the remnants of his shattered rifle.

No bullet came for him. The figure crouched down, ignoring the whiz of projectiles whipping past.

“Looks like you’re in rough shape, kid.” Then they leapt into the trench and hunched over Coop’s prone form.

He stared.

He honestly couldn’t tell if it was a trick of his mind. He was in enough pain and had lost enough blood for that to make sense. It had to be that.

Crouched over him, thick braid dangling over her shoulder, was a woman. Her gore streaked face was strikingly pretty, even for Coop’s befuddled brain. A rifle he couldn’t identify was slung over her right shoulder, a fine sword clenched in her left hand, and pieces of an outlandish silvery blue kevlar material was strapped all over her chest.

“Hey. Hey!” He tried to focus his bleary vision on her face. Her dark eyes caught and held his gaze. “You got any wards? I need to know.”

Coop shook his head with great effort. Combat Engineers rarely got things as precious as wards.

Everything was getting very heavy….

And then the world shot back into achingly sharp clarity when the woman grabbed his mangled leg at the knee, fingers impossibly strong. He shrieked in agony, red and black spots flaring in his vision. The shrill sound drowned out the spell that the woman used, but he didn’t care because moments afterwards the pain drained away. There was a crawling, itching sensation as the blood that had been flowing from his legs coagulated and dried, forming hard, shiny scabs that were quickly covered with fine dust from the parched soil.

“H’up you go!” Suddenly the world tilted and rolled, spinning in and out of focus like a sickening rollercoaster. The next thing Coop saw, so close up so that he nearly crossed his eyes to read it, was the patch on the woman’s shoulder.

E.S.O. Elvin Spec. Ops. Edoc’sil Varden du Wyrani.

And then the world was again a blur. Not long after he felt himself being lowered onto a stretcher, the woman’s voice garbled and indistinct. As more voices layered in, Coop let himself close his eyes.

He didn’t really know what to think about the last ten minutes. He didn’t know if he was with the Surdan and Varden forces or with the Broddring Empire’s, but he didn’t hurt as much. His mind was foggy but that was okay. He just needed…needed a nap.

Sam Cooper fell asleep on the stretcher, and didn’t wake up until he was in the closest hospital, the lower half of his right shin now neatly amputated and wrapped in clean white gauze.

Cooper closed his eyes, the bright white lights of the hospital room glaring through his lids. He didn’t want to get up and turn them off, but he couldn’t sleep with them on either.

It was six long, painful months after his medical discharge. Six months after he transferred from Surda’s VA hospital to the underground facility at Farthen Dur. Six months of getting used to his new prosthetic foot, six months of learning how to stand and walk again, six months of grueling physical therapy that put boot camp to shame. His whole body ached from the PT session he just completed, the stump of his leg the sorest of all. He was still building up thicker skin that would make putting his weight on it easier.

Coop groaned and dragged his hands over his eyes. He hated calling the nurses to ask for simple things like water and light switches. It felt humiliating. A twenty-two year old army man with three years of active, bloody duty on the Surdan border and the nurses still had the gall to look at him with open pity.

Maybe he could just sleep with his arm over his face….

Three sharp raps on the sign outside his hospital room startled Cooper from his thoughts. He pulled the crook of his elbow away from his eyes– and gaped at his visitor.

It was her!

The woman was leaned casually in his doorframe, stray tendrils of pitch black hair whisping over her forehead and braid again over her shoulder. Her jacket, pinned at the shoulders by the straps of a black backpack, was free from a majority of the kevlar, and hung open on her lean frame. Beneath it, a simple black shirt and a pair of mottled green cargo pants.

“Hi.” She waved slightly.

Coop opened and closed his mouth a few times. “…H-hi.”

“I figured you would have been sent here.” She raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I come in? I brought you a treat.”

“…Sure?” Slowly getting over his shock but still confused as ever, Coop pointed at the uncomfortable plastic chair against the wall. “Feel free, I guess.”

“Thanks, kid.” She dragged the chair over and sat down next to him, pulling the backpack into her lap as she did so. “Didn’t get to introduce myself before. I’m Arya.” They shook hands.

“Coop. Sam Cooper.”

“I stole some cans of fruit salad, Coop.” Arya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You want one?”

He glanced over at the tray of unappetizing hospital rations sitting on the dresser. “…Yeah. Thanks.” He accepted the can as she passed it to him, and in turn passed her one of the plastic multi utensils from his tray.

“Cheers, Coop.”

====================

Coop is/was going to be the eventual owner of Farthen Dur’s veterans bar. He’s good friends with Arya, Faolin and Glenwing, even occasionally using them as unofficial bouncers when things got rough or getting them to play music on slow nights to draw in customers.

MIC’s Glenwing is also an amputee, having lost his arm in the ambush that starts off the series, but his recovery was during the time that Eragon and Co are doing their thing and isn’t seen. I wanted to display the strength that many veterans who return from combat with missing limbs have to go through the stress and struggles that PT puts them through. A local man I am friends with lost his leg and he’s incredibly open about his experience, and it really struck a chord in me.

Alas, I never could pick this one up again. It felt too song fic like when I thought about later parts. Sam Cooper is a staple to much of my mental map of MIC though, and will always be ‘canon’ in my little corner of the IC world.

Cheers mates.

Oh right. Arya’s patch is what she, Faolin and Glen ‘homebrewed’ for their rank and division to better fit in with the Varden’s military structure. The motto translates very roughly (with some tinkering) to ‘Unconquerable Guardians of Fate’ because edgy.

#Modern Inheritance #inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance stories #the cyclists #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #MIC OC #Sam Cooper #Arya #elf squad #modern inheritance lore #amputee character #effects of war

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pyrewriter · 3 years

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Back to the Front Part 2

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The early hours of the night were quiet with only the sound of our movements and the wind surrounding us. Any that could walk were put to work moving the wounded while those with superficial injuries ,Brykis and I included, were on dig duty. As Barron Pyrrhaks had taken charge of the Eliksni left behind to protect and guide them through the trial before them. This was his duty to take in the absence of our Arkon but regardless of father’s station I believe him more than worthy.

It took longer than father wanted for the digging to complete and noncombatants being moved into the rusted hull of an aircraft. Most of our spare Ether was used to stabilize the wounded or fed to those that had over exerted and collapsed, the latter of which joined the effort once able. No time could be spent resting our aching hands however as everyone that could shoot was told to grab their arms and take posts. "I stay with non-fighters, where you go?" Brykis asked me as he grabbed his weapons.

"Trench, with others, need capable fighters" I replied checking my own weapons, the shock pistol and rifle Erysa had gifted me as her final request. Loading fully charged arc cells I holstered my pistol and slung my rifle "Keep safe" I told my brother, placing a hand on his shoulder before we separated to head for our respective posts. Should the Risen ever push beyond our trench an extremely angry father would be right there to greet them so I doubted Brykis would see much action beyond a particularly stealthy Risen.

Dropping into the trench we had spent hours digging I hunkered down with the others, they were under my charge as per father's orders. "Wait, listen, let pass if can" I chittered with a hushed tone.

"What if fall inside" one dreg asked shakily, their head darted at every little sound the wind brought to his ears. I shuffled over to them while staying down and gently grabbed them by both shoulders to get them to calm, they looked into my eyes.

I gave them a light squeeze "Have advantage, we kill quiet, if found, fight" I said with an affirmed click. "Sit" I guided them down, placing their back against the cold dirt wall "Calm, fight when need, stay when don't. Scared, most would be, not weak, stay but be ready". The atmosphere in the trench that felt as though it would snap under the tension loosened as I spoke.

The dreg took a deep breath and held it for a moment "Thank you, understand, ready for command" they said letting out their breath. Standing I walked across from one end of the trench to the other placing a hand on everyone's shoulder while looking them in the eye to give an affirming nod that they would make it through. We were the first line, we had to be ready to take a face full of whatever they threw at us. Considering how everyone checked their equipment and hunkered down waiting for my call as I passed by each of them we were more than prepared. This trench would not be these Eliksni's grave.

It was my hope that there would be minimal contact from the Risen but my hopes were quickly quashed as it was a short wait for trouble to come. The sound of footsteps ,heavy and deliberate, along with the noxious smell of ozone carried by the downwind alerted us to Risen. Ozone meant they had high energy weapons or wielded the Great Machines blessing of Arc currents, possibly both from how potent the odor was. Unintelligible murmurs from 4 distinct voices followed the scent as they wandered closer, eventually coming into porper earshot.

"I thought there were supposed to be some easy prey out here, I need to blow of some steam after that stupid Crucible Match. Damn Trials farmers always putting me down before I can get close".

"Can it lead-for-brains, yer the one who got us 'spended from matches fer a week cause ya can't aim and wacked some poor lads ghost. And stop actin like Fallen are animals fer ya to put down on whim cause yer pissy".

"He's kind of right you know, the Fallen out here are pretty easy prey at night thanks to their lack of activity and they are a problem being this close to the City. By the way, you still haven't told us why you decided to join us on our little jaunt through these moth yards".

"...There are certain Eliksni who seem to be of greater importance to the group these salvage parties belong to. I had located and watched them for quite some time and they seemed to notice but not care about my presence. Their movements had stagnated for a time and I was ordered elsewhere ,then, today reports of extreme aggression from a trio lasting from dawn to dusk flooded the channels. I don't know about you but I do not believe this to be a simple coincidence so...here I am".

It was also evident that there was mild conflict between the Risen’s reason for hunting us but their end goal was the same: us becoming corpses. As quietly as possible I clicked to the others, "Keep low, no move" from what I understood they were looking for us but still didn't know where we were. But of course the world seemed to always be conspiring in one way or another and the Risen spotted a flicker of light from beyond the trench.

"Oi 'id any-yah see that just now" one said in a more hushed tone than before.

There was an odd sound, something similar to a gust of air as another spoke "looks like we found our quarry heheh". Another gust like sound was heard before ,like the belligerent fool their tone implied them to be, a Risen fell directly into our trench with a thud. Multiple Dregs and a Vandal pounced slitting their throat quietly and releasing the tiny machine, one of the dregs grabbed it trying to smother the soft blue it emits. Two...maybe four moments passed in dead silence, everyone in the trench myself included holding their breath.

"....Hey Numb Skull, you there" One of the Risen shouted, trying to call for the one that had dropped into our midst. Struggling hard the tiny machine broke free from the dreg that held it.

Flying up and out of the trench it's high-pitched voice shouted "FALLEN IN A TRENCH 20 YARDS AHEAD". After it's call I let out a war cry in anger at how soon they had discovered our position and the stupidity by which it was found. But if we could at least hold them at the trench we would not let them pass to slaughter fellow Eliksni that posed no threat. The cracks and flashes of weapons fire filled the otherwise calm night's air. All the commotion was surely signaling to every Risen in the area exactly where we were but such thoughts were far from my mind as we fought. Though younger Dregs ,most of whom this was their first mission, filled the trench on either side of me it was relieving to see such tenacity to protect our own

An energy bolt struck a dreg beside me in the head knocking them to the floor, cursing I threw an explosive and barked orders to concentrate fire on the larger Risen that was barreling toward us. My explosive knocked them off-kilter allowing the others to bring it down before it came into melee distance. Ducking into the trench I checked over the Dreg, there was no flash so there was still hope they were alive. Blinking at me while I looked them over they shook their head before standing once more and taking up their dropped weapon.Thankfully they survived with no real injury other than mild head pain and being shaken from a brush with the end but there was no time for reflection. Following their lead I rejoined the exchange of energy bolts and bullets, the exchange dragged on into a dead stalemate that lasted for hours with neither side giving in inch.

Weapons fire was nonstop through the night, our bodies ached from lack of rest, small wounds from glancing shots and explosion shrapnel sealed shut with dried blood. We had felled the Risen at least a dozen times with only minor casualties from injuries on our side but still held the disadvantage. Low on Ether and arc cells I made a judgement call "Throw everything!" I shouted, at my command all those in the trench ceased firing and lobbed all their explosives. As the detonations forced our enemy to hunker down I leaped from the Trench shock pistol drawn and dagger in hand. Charging them I howled in pain from my wounds tore open with the effort but dared not let it stop me.

Discharging what remained in my weapons arc cell with the special modification I disintegrated the first Risen stupid enough to pop it's head over cover. The drained cell ejected itself as I holstered the pistol without breaking stride, I was close enough to smell them through the haze of dust, weapon smoke, and ozone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Vandal from the trench wielding jagged scrap for weapons in each hand. My mind flashed back to the scene of Erysa and her final moments, "None Witness!!" I rasped as we reached the Risen. Armor saved them from falling immediately ,but they were surprised, our follow up dispatched each of them with a slash or caving their helms with a sufficiently large stone.

Standing over the bodies of the Risen I flinched as a beam of light shone in my eye triggering my instinct to drop low and slide out from line of sight. When I turned to face what I thought to be a sniper I realized it was the earliest rays of light from over the horizon peering through the holes in a wing rusted through. We had made it through the night, the fight was over, our job was done and I more than had my fill of excitement. Relaxing myself the pain along with fatigue from pushing my body from sunrise to moon-set began to set in all at once, I winced slightly. While I was basking in the light as it crept over the landscape the Vandal that joined my mad charge had returned to the trench to inform the others.

A short time later a Wretch I'd seen among the injured approached ,wrapped in bandages and using their spear as support, they came bearing good news. "First day crews coming, arrive soon, worse wounded, taken first" I nodded silently in acknowledgement. Looking around us at the husks of the Risen they spotted one of the little machines he let out a rasping click at the floating blue light. "Stop stare, Risen maker" they spat bitterly, raising their spear with intent to strike the machine...every Eliksni knew what happens when they are destroyed. The spear bore down on the small machine, it flinched in a vain attempt to shield itself using its outer shell like a youngling putting their hands in front of themselves to hide.

The blade stopped hardly an inch from the tiny machine's eye, my hand clasped firmly around the shaft of the Wretches weapon. "Battle done, let dead rest, if only a while" I chattered, a cold edge present in my tired voice.

Wrenching their weapon from my blood-slicked hand they clicked disparagingly "let Risen return, hunt Eliksni, sport, attack wounded". They turned and started toward the others to prepare for the first day crew's arrival. As they moved away I heard them spit under breath "Weak".

"Honor!" I shot back with a glare, my voice assertive and commanding of the respect of my station. Casting my gaze down I saw the diode eyes of each Risen's machine looking up at me from the small congregation around the one that had nearly been destroyed. Pivoting I turned away with a huffing sigh and half limp back to the others.

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#destiny #eliksni #fallen #eliksni fanfic #Ellrimksyt #Part 2 #Chapter 9

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fenicromdrainage · 1 year

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Stainless Steel Floor Drain

Fenicrom specializes in the production of high-quality stainless steel floor drains for industrial and commercial applications. Their stainless steel floor drains are designed to provide efficient and reliable drainage solutions for a wide range of environments, including food processing plants, hospitals, and commercial kitchens.

#Stainless Steel Floor Drain #Stainless Steel Trench Drain #Stainless Steel Manufacturers #floor drains #heavy duty trench drain #shower drains

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weirdponytail · 5 years

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Modern Inheritance Cycle: The origins of Farthen Dur’s current veterans bar owner (semi-scrapped ficlet)

(*hacks up half completed MIC snippet hairball and wanders off* Timeline is a few years before Saphira’s egg is stolen, probably about three or four years at most.)

CONTENT WARNING: WARZONE COMBAT, COMBAT INJURIES, TRAUMATIC AMPUTATION, COMBAT AMPUTEE CHARACTER, REHABILITATION

No one would ever say it was a noble death. But by the bright gods above, Coop would show the courage to face it head on.

No bullet came for him. The figure crouched down, ignoring the whiz of projectiles whipping past.

“Looks like you’re in rough shape, kid.” Then they leapt into the trench and hunched over Coop’s prone form.

He stared.

He honestly couldn’t tell if it was a trick of his mind. He was in enough pain and had lost enough blood for that to make sense. It had to be that.

“Hey. Hey!” He tried to focus his bleary vision on her face. Her dark eyes caught and held his gaze. “You got any wards? I need to know.”

Coop shook his head with great effort. Combat Engineers rarely got things as precious as wards.

Everything was getting very heavy….

E.S.O. Elvin Spec. Ops. Edoc’sil Varden du Wyrani.

Sam Cooper fell asleep on the stretcher, and didn’t wake up until he was in the closest hospital, the lower half of his right shin now neatly amputated and wrapped in clean white gauze.

Cooper closed his eyes, the bright white lights of the hospital room glaring through his lids. He didn’t want to get up and turn them off, but he couldn’t sleep with them on either.

Maybe he could just sleep with his arm over his face....

Three sharp raps on the sign outside his hospital room startled Cooper from his thoughts. He pulled the crook of his elbow away from his eyes– and gaped at his visitor.

It was her!

“Hi.” She waved slightly.

Coop opened and closed his mouth a few times. “...H-hi.”

“I figured you would have been sent here.” She raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I come in? I brought you a treat.”

“...Sure?” Slowly getting over his shock but still confused as ever, Coop pointed at the uncomfortable plastic chair against the wall. “Feel free, I guess.”

“Thanks, kid.” She dragged the chair over and sat down next to him, pulling the backpack into her lap as she did so. “Didn’t get to introduce myself before. I’m Arya.” They shook hands.

“Coop. Sam Cooper.”

“I stole some cans of fruit salad, Coop.” Arya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You want one?”

He glanced over at the tray of unappetizing hospital rations sitting on the dresser. “...Yeah. Thanks.” He accepted the can as she passed it to him, and in turn passed her one of the plastic multi utensils from his tray.

“Cheers, Coop.”

====================

Coop is/was going to be the eventual owner of Farthen Dur’s veterans bar. He’s good friends with Arya, Faolin and Glenwing, even occasionally using them as unoffical bouncers when things got rough or getting them to play music on slow nights to draw in customers.

Cheers mates.

#inheritance cycle #modern inheritance #modern inheritance cycle #mic fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #modern inheritance fanfic #arya drottningu #eragon #pre-eragon #can i call this homebrewed inheritance cycle?#i like the phrase homebrew #coop the bar owner #arya enjoys grape soda mixed drinks fyi #the more sugar the better when you use magic frequently #plus an elf with a hella purple drink makes me laugh #modern inheritance story #modern inheritance lore

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artemis-entreri · 6 years

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Between a Roc and Hard Ground

[[ Previously ]]

“Who was the wizard whom we’d just called on?” Entreri bit off every word.

“Ah, the bird enthusiast?” Jarlaxle raised both white eyebrows, his smile wide and innocent.

Entreri nodded, his unblinking stare locked upon his companion’s ruby gaze. “Yes. What did you call him? Something… thologist?”

Those ruby eyes wanted to dart out of that awful stare that captured them, but Jarlaxle knew that even the slightest shift would give him away. He held out both hands helplessly – slowly and out very far from his body, the assassin noted.

“…Ornithologist?”

A buzz sounded from the mercenary's hip. Jarlaxle's smile faltered.

"By every layer of the infinite Abyss," Entreri cursed as he reached for Jarlaxle's belt pouch, but before he could touch it, the flap flew open, and out shot a gold flare straight up to pierce the night sky. Both companions watched with jaws agape, Entreri's balled fists shaking at his side and Jarlaxle absentmindedly buckling his pouch closed again.

When darkness finally managed to swallow up the flare's light, the assassin whirled on his companion and seized the mercenary by both shoulders.

"You. Never. Learn. Do you?!" Entreri spat, each word punctuated by a violent shake of the drow.

"Please, Artemis, spare me," Jarlaxle gasped, his face turning ashen again. "I think I'm having a relapse of earlier..."

"I don't care!" Entreri shouted in his companion's face before pushing him roughly away. Jarlaxle fell clumsily to his rump and immediately doubled forward, clutching his stomach. The pitiful sight dissolved the castigating words hanging at the tip of Entreri's tongue.

Still, the assassin could not contain his anger. Turning away from Jarlaxle, he roared his fury to the sky, his fists shaking with impotent rage at not being able to throttle the drow, who was already so impaired.

Neither of them expected an answer to Entreri's call. The cry that pierced the sky reverberated so deeply in both of their frames that the assassin's ire drained from him faster than would the heat from his body had he been plunged into an icy lake.

There, above them, was a majestic bird, and Entreri quickly picked out the hooked beak and sharp claws of a predator. By its sleek body and thick neck, he guessed it to be an eagle of some sort, except he hadn't heard of any eagles possessing such a varied plumage. Even bathing fully in Selûne's light, the beast's body was almost indiscernible, so deeply cerulean were its feathers. It was as though the creature was born from the night sky itself, Its august wings unfurling like a birthing shroud sewn with shimmering golden threads, their azure tips merging imperceptibly back into the night.

Then, Entreri realized, in the short few breaths that he'd spent admiring it, the creature had multiplied more than ten times, perhaps a hundred times, in size, and it was getting bigger at an alarming rate. Another cry from the bird, more a roar than a screech, hammered the assassin's frame with understanding. It wasn't getting bigger, it was getting closer.

The alarmed man spun to find his companion curled on his side, clutching his stomach and trembling. Entreri could no longer hear Jarlaxle's pained moans, for the air was dominated by a sound that reminded him of a desert sandstorm.

With no regard for the mercenary who'd begun to retch, nor for the putrid substance that was spilling out of him again, the assassin grabbed his companion underneath the armpits and began dragging him bodily towards the end of the woods. He chanced to look up, seeing nothing but a darkness that even his magically-enhanced vision could not penetrate. Only his finely-honed instincts saved both of them then, for without even knowing why, Entreri tossed his companion forward while kicking himself back. He ended up rolling many more paces than he'd intended, for a great wind buffeted him as though he were no more than a tumbleweed. Nonetheless, he was grateful, for he'd gladly accept his new bruises and scratches in lieu of failing to avoid the gargantuan talons that dug long troughs deep in the hard earth. As he catapulted himself up from his stomach and back onto his feet, the assassin couldn't help but gawk, for in place of the formerly rocky ground were three deep trenches, the least of them wider than the streets on which he'd grown up.

Entreri shook his head and forced his mind away from envisioning himself as little more than bloody detritus in one of those troughs. Across the crevasses, he spotted his companion, feebly dragging himself towards the forest's edge.

Gritting his teeth, Entreri charged at Jarlaxle, another cry from the monster overhead nearly knocking his legs out from underneath him. When the assassin finally caught up to his companion and seized him by the back of the collar, words thundered across the sky, and Entreri briefly wondered if his lifelong scorning of the gods was less than prudent. He could offer no explanation for the voice, other than that a greater deity had shouted directly at them from their empyrean domain. Still, his body didn't allow his mind any of its resources, as he pulled, hauled and threw the both of them into the cover of the trees.

Once in the "shelter", Entreri regretted his choice immediately, for the thick trunks swayed like mere reeds in the breeze. Still-green leaves were whipped from swaying branches, which came crashing down around the pair. The cyclone ringing louder in his ears than his elevated heartbeat, Entreri dragged his companion to the thickest tree in proximity, tucking both of them as compactly as he could underneath the arching roots. He wanted to squeeze his eyes closed and curl up like his companion had, but he growled and settled for squeezing the skeletal hilt of Charon's Claw. He hardly knew why he bothered, for even the mighty Claw seemed no more threatening than a toothpick to the monstrous avian. Based on what little he'd seen of it, Entreri knew that they were to it as mice were to an elephant.

He couldn't have predicted what transpired next. A tremor so great shook the ground beneath them that Entreri wondered if Toril itself was splitting apart, followed by a gust that peeled the bark off of the trees. The sturdy trunk above them bent away before finally uprooting completely. Again, it was the assassin's finely-honed instincts that saved him and his companion, for he drove Charon's Claw into the tremulous earth until more than half the blade was buried, his strong grip their only anchor as their bodies whipped helplessly like flags of surrender in the relentless gust. Layers from his thick glove peeled away before his eyes in the seemly unending gale, as they did from his vambraces. He didn't bother to try to catch his heavy cloak when it, too, capitulated to the vicious onslaught, nor did he protest when his shoulderguards left his service abruptly. He winced as he felt his skin abrading, but his only other response was to draw the mercenary closer. Jarlaxle hadn't made any sounds, and it wasn't solely the perilous circumstance that prevented Entreri from considering the implications of his uncharacteristically quiet companion.

Entreri felt his body painfully strike the ground before he'd realized that the windstorm had passed. As he lifted his head, he found himself pinned, inexorably, with absolutely no chance of escape, by a stare that rendered his own steely gaze feeble by comparison. Staring down an ivory beak that was thicker than he was tall were two orbs, blacker than the deepest depths of the Underdark. Yet, within those bottomless spheres, shined an acuity that put the edge of his keen dagger to shame.

Not mice to an elephant, Entreri realized grimly. Ticks to an elephant.

He didn't know how many thin breaths he drew, paralyzed under the god-like being's gaze. He'd forgotten about his companion, until the drow stirred and managed to weakly lift his head up. Entreri felt rather than heard Jarlaxle's soft gasp, but judging from the sharpening of the light in the monster's eyes, both of them had sensed it.

"INSIGNIFICANT MORSELS," the creature boomed, its voice causing both companions to cringe away, "EVEN THE BIRD-FRIEND WAS NOT SO IMPRUDENT AS TO BE IMPUDENT BY SUMMONING ONE OF MY STATURE WITHOUT THE PROPER OFFERING! YET I SEE NEITHER ELEPHANT NOR MOOSE, NOT EVEN SO MUCH AS A SINGLE ROTHÉ!”

The gigantic beak clacked, and Entreri couldn't help but imagine his own body falling away in two neatly-cut pieces from it.

"SPEAK! I SHALL GIVE YOU ONE CHANCE TO HUMOR ME, BUT ONE CHANCE ONLY, AND KNOW THAT IT IS GRANTED FROM THAT YOU BOTH LOOK TOO RANGY TO MAKE EVEN A SATISFACTORY MEAL FOR MY BROOD!”

The assassin's dried lips parted, but his even dryer throat refused to emit a sound. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his companion shakily rise, dipping clumsily into a bow. Whether Jarlaxle was suffering from the same fear that crippled himself or the physical weakness from before, Entreri knew not, but when the mercenary fell back down onto his knees, the assassin's heart fell with him.

And so it ends, thought Entreri.

"I want one," he heard Jarlaxle whisper, and despite the danger inherent in breaking eye contact with the deadly predator, he had to ascertain with his own eyes whether his companion had lost the last of his wits.

He's completely gone, Entreri thought grimly, when he saw the grin and the nigh-maniacal glint in those ruby eyes.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" thundered the beast.

The drow clumsily struggled to his feet again, and this time, successfully performed his customary bow.

"My good madam," Jarlaxle began, his hat held to his chest, "I fear that my friend and I were tasked with the unenviable duty to inform your most exalted self that the esteemed Bird-Friend has passed on."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" the monster roared, and Entreri saved from vocalizing the same thing, for he was too busy shrinking away from the boom.

The corners of Jarlaxle's lips did quiver as he fought the urge to wince, but he managed to keep his expression steady. The drow nodded somberly.

"Alas, it transpired so quickly. We'd received a sending from the good man himself, and as we were on our way to call upon him, we'd received another sending, albeit this one was curtailed. His message was interrupted by some sort of magical interference, and all we were able to discern was his desire to convey his final well-wishes to his 'greatest of friends'."

The gigantic bird let out a deafening squawk. "INSOLENT INSECTS! YOUR IMPETUOUSNESS KNOWS NO BOUNDS! YOU DARE LIE TO ME?

Jarlaxle's hands were already desperately waving in the air. "We would not dream of it, most esteemed one! Please consider this: it is not mere coincidence that you have graced us with your august presence. It was indeed the Bird-Friend's will!"

Without thinking, Entreri drew the wand from Jarlaxle's belt pouch, holding it out for his companion to take. However, the mercenary didn't take it, instead grandly swinging both arms to indicate the wand held in the assassin's fingertips.

"Good madam, do you recognize this?"

The ruffled feathers on that great avian head smoothed as the keen eyes studied the thin stick. Since Jarlaxle clearly had more urgent matters to attend to, Entreri considered personally uttering, “Ornithologist”, but his heart was in his throat. Just when the assassin was certain that he’d regurgitate his heart, the enormous creature finally responded.

"It seems that there is truth in your words. Bird-Friend never allowed that out of his sight."

Entreri began to breathe a sigh of relief, when another thunderous vocalization knocked the breath out of him.

"DO NOT TAKE ME FOR A FOOL, INSIGNIFICANT PESTS! I KNOW THE VILENESS OF YOUR FEATHERLESS, TWO-LEGGED KIND. DARE YOU TO THINK THAT I WOULDN’T DISCERN THAT YOU ARE NAUGHT BUT MERE THIEVES?”

Entreri wondered if those bottomless orbs were scouring his soul. Nonetheless, he kept his expression vague, and continued to stiffly hold onto the wand. He didn't like it, but had to swallow the reality that it was all in Jarlaxle's hands now.

Again, the assassin thought with disgust.

The mercenary was patting the air, his expression aggrieved. "Nay, good madam, I implore you, do not wrong us so! We bear the noblest of intentions, in conveying the message of a mutual friend. Were we the mere thieves of which you speak, would we have been able to call upon you?"

Jarlaxle had the avian's full attention now, and Entreri wondered if that would grant him enough time to attempt to escape while the monster snapped the drow up whole.

"It is no mere chance!" the drow continued. "Please consider, good madam, was Bird-Friend one who relied on coincidence?"

The large ivory beak parted, and every chord of muscle in Entreri's body tensed. However, to his surprise, the gigantic head cocked, and the beak clacked a few times. The air rushing from each clack felt like a massive ball of wet earth being slammed into his ribs, but the assassin gritted his teeth and held absolutely still.

Above them, Selûne had climbed higher, and Entreri saw the beads of sweat hanging off the back of his companion's smooth scalp. He forced his gaze upon one of those beads, his stare so intense that it was as though he was trying to evaporate it by sheer force of will alone. It was all he could do to prevent his sensibilities from unraveling in the implacable gaze of the monstrous predator.

Finally, after the assassin had to shift his gaze to many new beads, the gigantic bird spoke again. However, this time, its voice was akin to a flowing river, rather than a tumultuous waterfall.

"You'd called upon my mate, but he is no more," the creature said. "He was the one that Bird-Friend called 'greatest of friends'."

Entreri dared to look into those dark pools again, and was surprised to find melancholy therein. Jarlaxle apparently saw it too, and to the assassin's shock and disbelief, his unpredictable companion actually approached the great creature, even dared to set his hand upon its deadly beak!

"Aye, good madam, but it is no coincidence that you are here. You see, it was never simply your mate who was his greatest of friends. It was all of you - your mate, yourself, and your brood."

To Entreri's further surprise, not only did Jarlaxle not lose a hand, the great creature even leaned into his touch. Wide lids closed over the colossal orbs, and another silence fell over the trio.

Suddenly, the giant eyes opened again, and the enormous head lifted away. The force nearly swept both assassin and mercenary forward.

"The magic fades, little ones. The Land of Fate calls me back." The avian spread its enormous wings, and Entreri's heart dropped into his stomach. Visions from another lifetime filled him, of a great red dragon whose lair he'd been dragged into by this very same drow. He wondered why he'd let history repeat itself.

"In return for this kindness, you are welcome in my home, should you ever find yourselves in Zakhara." the great bird said. Then, there was nothing except the wide expanse and the night sky. The creature's voice still echoed, but there was no trace of it except for the troughs it'd clawed in the dirt, and the wrecked forest it left in its wake.

Well, almost. Before the pair, where the creature had stood a heartbeat before, was a single gigantic azure feather.

The wand fell from Entreri's fingers as he brought both hands to his face and slowly dragged his palms down his angular features. A shuffling from beside the assassin lifted his head to behold his companion, who was attempting to pick up the gigantic feather.

Entreri pushed himself up onto his rear and scowled at Jarlaxle's back.

"What are you doing?"

All he got in response was a face full of azure plume.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Jarlaxle cooed, gently stroking the sky-blue vanes and paying no heed to his companion's flailing arms that desperately tried to push away the barbs enveloping him.

A growl and a "shliss!" answered the mercenary, and the assassin stepped free amidst a flurry of shaved down. Jarlaxle let out a cry of dismay.

"Oh, but why, my abbil? It was perfect!"

"Was," Entreri replied shortly. The scrape of his dagger sliding into its sheathe accentuated the finality of his pronouncement.

Jarlaxle sighed and gazed regretfully at the formerly perfectly-shaped blue feather.

"What would you have even done with it anyway?" Entreri snapped.

Jarlaxle pointed forlornly at his wide-brimmed hat, which was still missing its characteristic feather.

"It's bigger than you!" the irritated human gestured with wide flung arms.

Jarlaxle simply shrugged. "That hardly matters, especially not now after it's been ruined." Brightening, he added, "At least we know how to get another one!"

Entreri boggled. "You can't be serious."

"Why not? We were invited, after all!"

"Even if I agreed to accompany you to far away Zakhara, which I most certainly will not, I possess no desire to fight a creature that could swallow me whole for the sake of your vanity," Entreri said with a grimace.

To the assassin's chagrin, the drow laughed. "It's no wonder that you possess so few friends, my abbil. When one is invited to call upon another, it isn't a challenge to fight."

"It would hardly be a fight when I would be swallowed whole before I could draw."

"Foolishness doesn't suit you, my friend. We'd be no more than mere morsels for a creature such as that, she even informed us of such! Besides, there is more than one way to obtain a feather."

"Truly, you know how to comfort me. I suppose we could politely beg it to spare us one of its many fine plumes?" Entreri deadpanned.

Jarlaxle laughed again. "Beg? Hardly! I'd think by now you'd have realized that I have a way with women." He winked.

"Women?!" Entreri rocked back onto his heels. "That thing is bigger than Hephaestus! I wish not to attempt to negotiate with such a creature."

Mischief curled up one corner of the drow's lips. "Oh, but she was beautiful, was she not?"

The assassin didn't respond. He was simply grateful that it'd been many bells since he'd eaten.

[[ The giant bird that Jarlaxle accidentally summoned is a Zakharan roc, and, as luck would have it, the biggest variety of one: the great roc. These birds are 120 feet long with a 270 feet wingspan, making their bodies as large as those of adult red dragons (the largest species of chromatic dragons) with a wingspan that dwarfs that of the red dragon.

Great rocs have been known to speak the languages of humanoid races, but typically they don’t speak Common, but rather the languages of the Land of Fate. I figured that through having a history with the bird scientist, this roc and her family picked up Common.

Unlike dragons however, even Zakharan great rocs aren’t inherently magical beings, so even if she wanted to take on a human form, it wouldn’t be something that she’d be able to enact on her own. Would Jarlaxle truly go there, though...? >_> ]]

#Artemis Entreri #Entreri #Jarlaxle #Jarlaxle Baenre #Forgotten Realms #legend of drizzt #Zakharan Roc #great roc #fanfiction #ooc

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krishitoolindia · 2 years

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coreyjhones · 2 years

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Ashman Drain Spade Shovel 48 Inches Long Handle Spade with D Handle Grip

Multipurpose Spade – The heavy-duty Spade can be used for purposes like gardening, landscaping, cleaning out ditches, and digging narrow trenches. It serves all practical utilities in the garden and can be used for working in tight spaces. It is an ideal companion and will be useful every time you need it.

Solid Grip With Durable Handle – The D Handle grip made with a finely crafted durable handle provides a firm and comfortable grip with a two-handed control, enhancing efficiency when using the Drain spade shovel. The solid grip is built to multiply forces by a huge factor as you apply a force down this spade.

Premium Quality Construction – The hardened blade is strong and highly durable. The durable handle will resist heat or cold transfer. You can work without any uneasiness while the handle maintains a steady temperature. Proper use of the spade in your daily gardening will make it last for a decade if not more.

Sharp Blades – The finely sharpened blade penetrates hard soil and the ergonomic construction helps apply strong force to slice through easily. The toughened blades can be used to cut roots and uproot plants as a whole for shifting from one place to the other. You can work without damaging the surrounding plants and their root systems.

#drainspadeshovel #spadeshovel #spade #drainspade #shovel #transfer shovel

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zacekova · 6 years

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Home Isn’t A Place - Prologue

AO3 | 3k | Thulaz | Arranged Marriage AU

Summary: Daibazaal and Marmora are at war, a battle for land and resources that has stood at a stalemate for years with no end in sight. But then, the Galra Emperor comes forward with a request to negotiate a treaty. He wishes for their nations to be at peace and proposes a marriage of their two peoples to help encourage the bonds of friendship. Commander Thace, a trusted and valuable military leader of the Empire, and the cousin of Marmora’s Premier, General Ulaz, will suit just fine.

~~~

“Get down!” Ulaz yanked on the back of the soldier’s collar and dragged him to the ground. There was a blast of shrapnel and heat as he curled over the man’s head and closed his eyes. The energy sent a shiver down the back of his neck, standing the fine hairs on end and carrying the heavy, pungent stench of concentrated quintessence. The spell’s energy started to die, the sour smell coagulating in the rivers of mud and icy slush squelching beneath his boots and leaving behind the tang of damp earth and sweat. Ulaz straightened, gaze flitting over the soldier with concern. “Are you injured?” The soldier shook his head and offered a weary smile. “I’m unharmed. Thank you.” Ulaz nodded and turned back to the field. Through the settling dust, he could see a couple of druids lurking among the boulders and jagged tree stumps that littered the plain. The foot soldiers seemed to be staying in their trenches, hiding behind earthen barriers and letting the magic users do all the work. They’d done the same for weeks, now, like they’d lost all previous ambition for victory.

Perhaps there was still a bit of chaos from the change in leadership; perhaps the new Emperor was simply biding his time.

The former Emperor’s abdication had caught everyone by surprise. He’d spent the entirety of his reign carrying on the Galran tradition of war and conquest with ruthless enthusiasm, his massive army descending like a plague of locusts on every land they bordered without mercy, only to relinquish the throne with no fanfare less than a month ago. Whatever his reasons, the rumors and speculation had not reached Marmora yet and in the quiet that followed the official news even the Empire had begun to reveal a weariness over all the fighting.

A bolt of violet lightning shattered the quiet and Ulaz jolted, ducking down into the trench and covering his head. Bits of earth rained down around him, pinging against his armor, followed by a wave of silence ringing over the desolate field. Ulaz rose cautiously, peering over the lip of the trench and blinking in surprise. The druids were creeping across the charred and barren battlefield, climbing back into their holes without a backward glance.

The sun had hardly passed its peak and they were already done for the day? The strangeness of it put his senses on alert - no matter how weary the Empire appeared, they’d never failed to continue the farce of attempting until at least sunset. Ulaz’s gaze narrowed and he stood vigilant at the frontlines for another hour, watching and waiting for another attack.

It stayed quiet. No one appeared over the edge of the trenches and no magic arced across the field and, eventually, Ulaz heaved a sigh and straightened, sheathing his blade over his back. If the fighting picked up again someone would inform him. He turned away from the battlefield and made his way through the trenches, hunting for any injured soldiers who may not have made their way to the infirmary yet. There were a half-a-dozen men with minor scrapes and burns that he stopped to treat, raiding the pack on his belt for salves and bandages and leaving them with instructions to stop by the medical tent in the morning for further healing if they needed it. Half-way back to the tents he spotted a pair of men hobbling across the uneven ground, one of them with his arm slung over the other’s shoulder and an obvious limp slowing them down. Ulaz jogged over and slipped under his other arm, scanning for wounds. “What happened?” The injured man’s companion - Retav, Ulaz thought - shook his head, lips tugging in a wry smile. “He leaped down into the trench like a moron and twisted his ankle. I told him to stop being so theatrical about it.” The other grunted, brow pinched in discomfort and concentrating on moving his feet. “Yeah, yeah.” Ulaz bit back a smile and silently helped him to the infirmary. He lowered the injured man onto a cot and sent his hovering companion off with a clap on the shoulder. “He’ll be stuck here for a day, at least, until his ankle is healed enough to walk with a crutch. Head back to your duties, we’ll take care of him from here.” As soon as Retav had gone, Ulaz turned back to the patient and set about tending to the aching, inflamed joint with gentle, steady hands. “Thanks, Doc,” the man said as Ulaz worked, lying back with a grunt. Ulaz shook his head. “I’m not a doctor, but you are welcome.”

“No?” the soldier asked, eyebrow quirked in surprise. “Well, you’re in here so much I just figured you were in charge of the infirmary because of your training. Sir.”

Ulaz winced internally but kept his expression neutral. “My training is insufficient for such a title but, regardless, I consider it my duty to help out when I have the time.” He finished tying off the bandage - patting the soldier on his thigh in farewell - and straightened, taking a look around the infirmary. There were enough occupied beds that he let himself be drawn into making the rounds - checking vitals, dressing wounds, massaging aching joints and muscles, and hunting down extra blankets.

Most of the patients were bedridden from the cold - mild illness and frostbite - but there were few people like the man he’d brought in earlier with minor injuries from fighting or training, as well as a couple from boredom-induced antics. As much as the war had been draining, it was also incredibly monotonous and there were thousands of men crammed together with little to do between battles. It was inevitable that some of them would end up doing something stupid as a means of cheap entertainment.

It was easy to get swept up in the work, to let everything else drift away as he focused on taking care of people. Ulaz’s entire world narrowed down to the infirmary - there was always another patient, always another need - and everything outside of the medical tent was like misty dreams, forgotten the moment you open your eyes. He was bent over someone’s arm checking a poultice when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He glanced up to see Antok gazing down at him, eyes swimming with gentle reprimand, and Ulaz looked around the room. The shadows in the corners had darkened, seeping across the floor and into the air, and the tent was dim with scattered lamplight. Through the open entrance the sky had turned black, not even a trace of light left outside aside from the torches and campfires, and, as if to emphasize how much time had passed, Ulaz’s stomach growled.

He groaned, running a hand down his face as the heaviness of his tired limbs set in; he’d lost track of time again. “Just... let me finish this row of patients?” he asked. Antok frowned, the right side of his mouth matching the permanent downturn of the left. “Kolivan hasn’t seen you since the fighting started this morning,” he said. He’s worried about you, he didn’t add, but Ulaz heard it anyway. He bit back a sigh, nodding; he should have known better than to get distracted without checking in first, both as a commander and as a friend. He waved Antok off with a promise to be quick and turned to clean up the scattered contents of his medical kit, taking it back to the appropriate shelf and scribbling a list of notes on the patients he’d treated for the nurses to look over. Antok was waiting for him just outside the tent, arms crossed and hood raised against the cold, the thick length of his braid hanging over his chest. He tossed Ulaz a stale loaf and walked off toward the command sector without a second glance. Ulaz fumbled with the bread and rushed to catch up with Antok’s steady, lumbering strides, chewing and swallowing a couple of bites before speaking. “It was harder to convince him to leave than you knew I would be, wasn’t it?” Antok grunted and kept his gaze stubbornly forward, refusing to either confirm or deny. Ulaz’s lips quirked in a smile. Kolivan’s own stubborn refusal to openly show concern for anyone had been a source of constant frustration to Antok for decades. The more he worried the harder his already stony countenance became, and yet he remained incapable of voicing his fears. Ulaz had learned a long time ago to quit trying to get him to change but Antok kept hoping.

They walked the rest of the way in silence as Ulaz ate his mediocre supper and Antok pretended he wasn’t pouting. Most of the men had started to retire for the night, dousing torches and turning the fires over to protect the glowing embers. Dull murmurs emanated from inside the tents as the soldiers readied for sleep, layering the ground beneath their bedrolls with heated rocks and lying back-to-back for warmth. The sky was clear, shimmering with stars, and Ulaz inhaled deeply, lungs burning from the crisp, cold air, and letting the quiet settle his lingering unease over the druid’s retreat earlier in the day. All the officers’ tents were in the center of the camp, a giant network like a spoked wheel with Kolivan’s “office” as the central hub. A web of covered passages branched off from it in a half-moon to the other command tents and the officers’ quarters. The flaps were closed and the lights off in all but one of them, a soft glow coming through the walls of Kolivan’s complex. Antok lifted the entrance flap and they both ducked inside, letting the heavy canvas fall back into place behind them.

As Ulaz had expected, Kolivan was hunched over his desk with red eyes and tangled hair, surrounded by stacks of paper. He lifted his head when they came close, some of the tension in his shoulders draining away when he caught sight of Ulaz. “There you are,” he said, standing and making his way around the desk. He grabbed Ulaz’s shoulder with a firm grip, the wrinkling around his eyes speaking of worry despite his stern tone. “You didn’t come find me after the battle.” Ulaz clasped Kolivan’s wrist and nodded. “I had to carry an injured soldier to the infirmary. I should have sent a message but I got distracted.” Antok snorted. “Not surprising.” Kolivan’s lips twitched but his gaze and his frown stayed on Ulaz. “I understand, but please try not to forget again.” Ulaz nodded, guilt settling heavily in his gut. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. It was hard to remember that there were people worried about him when he was surrounded by the sick and injured. “You know I always do.” Kolivan pulled him into a hug, pressing his cheek against Ulaz’s temple and sighing. “I know.” Ulaz wrapped his arms around Kolivan’s back, letting the warmth ease some of the ache in his bones. “You should go to sleep,” he said, a low murmur that even Antok wouldn’t be able to hear. “Stop making your husband hunt me down for help.” Kolivan cuffed him on the back of the head. “You’re one to talk.”

Ulaz grinned and ducked away, heading toward the entrance to his tent and snagging a spare lamp on his way out. “It’s rather late, I believe, and we all need to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Kolivan shook his head, obviously fighting back a smile, but nodded in agreement. “Yes. I’m a bit uneasy about how abruptly the fighting ended this morning. We should be rested and prepared for whatever may come tomorrow.”

Antok wrapped his arm around Kolivan’s waist, directing him toward their own tent and waving to Ulaz. “Agreed. Which means no more paperwork for you.”

Kolivan grumbled something inaudible but complied, dousing the remaining lamps around his desk. “Goodnight, Ulaz.” “Goodnight,” Ulaz said, watching the two of them disappear through the entrance to their bedroom before disappearing behind the flap to his own chambers. The channel between the tents was cold, but his aid must have left a fire going in the stove before he went to sleep because the bedroom was pleasantly warm when he slipped inside, even after he started shedding his armor. Ulaz snagged a rag and gave the inky, opaque metal a quick polish before changing into his nightclothes and dousing the lamp.

He slid into bed, the pebble of apprehension sitting in his belly shrinking as exhaustion took over and he closed his eyes against the glow of the fire. There was nothing more he could do about it tonight; he’d let tomorrow worry about itself for awhile.

Thace skimmed through the report in his hand, trying to absorb as much of it as he could. When he’d finished, he looked up and nodded, passing the paper back to his assistant. “Bring this to Commander Sendak and make a copy for the captain of the druids, whoever that is now. And when you find out, send word back to me; I needed to know yesterday.” Gradek nodded. “I believe they spent the last few evenings deliberating the decision, Commander.” Thace grunted, scanning over the next report in the sheaf. “I know. It seems they’re incapable of finishing anything in a timely manner without Lady Honerva’s supervision.” He shuffled through a few papers and glanced around the field. “Where are Commanders Janka and Raht?” Gradek shifted his feet, expression pinched. “Commander Janka has been busy with orders from the Emperor; inventory, I believe. Commander Raht died this morning.” Thace looked up, raising a brow in surprise. “There was barely any fighting today,” he said, baffled. Gradek’s mouth twisted in a grimace and he shook his head. “Forgive me, Commander, I don’t know anything else about it. I was told the generals know more and will be giving the details to the Emperor in their evening reports.” Which meant he would be briefed come morning, but all Raht’s work would pile up until it could be reassigned.

Thace nodded, biting back a sigh, and turned back to the reports, breezing through the last of them before returning the whole sheaf to Gradek. “Put the two on top on my desk for my signature later. The rest need to go to Janka.” Gradek nodded, slipping the papers into his waterproof case. “Yes sir. Also, the Emperor wants to speak to you as soon as you have the time.” There was no urgency to his tone but the glance he shot Thace’s way had a spark of curiosity. That Thace had known the Emperor for a long time - was even quite friendly with him - was relatively common knowledge, but Gradek had been respectful enough to never ask why despite how curious he’d always, rather obviously, been about it.

“Do you know what he’s summoning me for?” Thace asked. It was unlikely he was in trouble for anything, but aside from Raht’s death nothing of note had happened in days. Gradek shook his head, straightening. “No sir, I was only told to pass along the message from General Axca’s aide.” “Understood,” Thace said. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.” Gradek gave a quick salute and strode off, files held tightly under his arm. Thace watched him disappear into the crowd of soldiers milling around the back of the front lines, rambunctious and noisy from their extra hours of free time.

The command to ceasefire for the day had trickled down around noon, raising more than a few brows in surprise, but no one had felt a need to complain; the officers were tired, too. Apparently the order hadn’t come soon enough, though, not for Raht. He hadn’t exactly been a great Commander, but his loss still meant extra work for the rest of them, at least until the Emperor decided on his replacement. “As if there isn’t enough to do already,” Thace muttered, scraping a hand down his face. He took a quick glance around, double checking that there were no messengers coming his way or immediate concerns to deal with, and turned to head toward the back of the camp. It was almost a quarter-mile just to the first row of tents and another half to the far side of the plain, a decent walk on a normal day and tedious when you’d already crossed it multiple times. The one advantage to it was they could afford to spread out, the tents in neat, ordered lines but far enough apart to not be knocking elbows all day. The command pavilion looked nearly deserted, guarded only by one of the Emperor’s generals. Her grin was all teeth when Thace approached and she followed him inside the tent’s low entrance. The Emperor was leaning back against his desk, arms crossed and talking with the other generals. His face was impassive, calm, but tension lingered in his shoulders; he’d only been in command a few weeks but the weight of it was already beginning to show. Thace thumped his fist over his chest in salute. “Emperor Lotor, you summoned me.” Lotor looked over and waved for him to stand at ease. “Yes, thank you for your promptness, Commander. I wanted to get your opinion on a few things.” Thace nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” It had been a few years, but it wasn’t an odd request; Lotor had always seemed to value his perspective and had never been ashamed to ask for it. “How was the battle today?” Lotor asked. Thace shifted into a more comfortable stance, arms crossed over his chest and running through the mental list he’d been compiling for his daily report. “No ground was gained but none was lost, either.” No different than any other day for the last five years. “We lost about half-a-dozen of our own men and estimate perhaps a third of that number of Marmorans killed, but one of our own losses was Commander Raht.”

He paused, waiting for the Emperor’s unsurprised nod of understanding before continuing. “The Druids seem to be functioning adequately in battle despite lacking a proper leader, still, and the supply chain is running smoothly but slowly. Our back-stock is emptying rapidly; even with a full rotation of the men out hunting and reduced rations we’re going to be using up all the supplies from each delivery before the next one arrives in the near future.”

“How long?”

Thace shrugged. “A month?”

Lotor’s brow pinched. “How are the soldiers dealing with the extra shifts?” Thace bit back the sigh rising in his chest but couldn’t stop his shoulders from sinking. “It... could be better. Many of them are weary of the stalemate. For some of them that means rising bloodlust with no appropriate outlet, but I’m more concerned about general morale. They’re not getting enough food and rest.“ Lotor nodded. “I thought as much.” He bowed his head, breath leaving in a gusty sigh. “We cannot continue like this. As vast as the Empire is, it cannot withstand the strain from such a prolonged war. And we cannot afford to waste our time pounding against what amounts to an impenetrable fortress with our bare fists.” “Why are we fighting Marmora anyway?” Ezor asked, kicking her heels against the crate she was perched on. “It seems like a pretty insignificant country compared to most of the Empire’s other neighbors.” “Luxite,” Axca said, arms folded across her chest. “It’s only ever been found in Marmora territory.” “Exactly,” Lotor nodded. “It’s a rare metal, extremely durable and light. My mother and her scientists were desperate to get their hands on it but Marmora was stingy in their trade proposals and unwilling to compromise. At least, that is the tale according to my father, but I’m inclined to believe there’s a bit more to the story. Regardless, we have been fighting for years and made no progress. I would rather we pull back and take whatever deal they may still be willing to offer and let that be the end of it. End this useless war.” “So, what’s the plan?” Zethrid asked. Lotor’s gaze turned toward Thace - measuring, considering; heavy in a way that made Thace’s gut twist. “We offer a deal they would be foolish to reject,” he said, voice ringing with determination. Well. This should be interesting.

#HIAP #thulaz #fic tag #voltron #arranged marriage au #historical fantasy au #full list of relevant tags on AO3 #see link at the top #i told someone i get this out by the end of summer #i consider september the official end of summer so...#tada!!#somehow i made it

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