#Peninsula Pulse

[olympicjournal]

Peninsula Pulse

[No. 001] Nov 17, 2024

Clallam County: Where the Action Never Stops

Fentanyl Chaos + Law Enforcement Upheaval Let’s talk Clallam, where the OPNET drug task force is on life support. State officials just pulled the plug on its $180,000 annual budget, leaving law enforcement scrambling. Local officials are calling this a disaster amid a record-setting fentanyl overdose crisis. With Clallam County staring down its highest-ever annual overdose death toll—potentially crossing 50 lives lost—defunding seems as logical as a screen door on a submarine.

Meanwhile, a tragic crash on Highway 101 near Gardiner took the lives of a mother and her child. This heartbreaking incident has reignited conversations about road safety and seatbelt use in the region. Let’s hope some good policy emerges from this sorrowful event.

SEQUIM’S ARTISTIC REVOLUTION Our little lavender town is stepping up its game! A local photographer is breaking free from the frame, proving that art isn't just for your grandma's living room walls anymore[1]. This rebel with a cause is joining the Strait from the Artists tour, probably to show us all how to think outside the box – or should I say, outside the frame?

PORT ANGELES GETS DOWN TO BUSINESS Hold onto your wallets, folks! Port Angeles is implementing an annual business license fee[1]. If you're raking in over $25k, prepare to shell out $190. Because nothing says "support local business" like another fee, am I right?

WITCHES ON WATER In a twist that would make Salem proud, about two dozen witches paddled from Northwest Maritime to the Pourhouse pub[1]. No word on whether they used broomsticks or kayaks, but I'm betting it was a spell-binding sight!

Jefferson County: Keeping It Classy

Jefferson County: Progress with a Side of Dystopia Jefferson’s main stage featured a sobering blend of hope and bureaucratic theatrics. On the one hand, local organizations are scrambling to pick up the slack as OPNET funding disappears, hoping advocacy and recovery efforts can stem the tide of addiction. Yet, there’s no escaping the fact that losing proactive policing might leave communities more vulnerable.

On a brighter note, the arts are alive! Port Townsend is buzzing about an upcoming film festival, showcasing the creative resilience of this quirky enclave. A friendly reminder to support local filmmakers because Hollywood doesn’t have a monopoly on storytelling.

FROM WAR TO PEACE In a heartwarming turn of events, we're seeing a shift from "inhuman to humane"[2]. It's almost like someone's been reading my Julius Evola collection and decided to turn over a new leaf. Who says right-wingers can't appreciate a good redemption story?

HONORING OUR HEROES Veterans Day ceremonies are popping up faster than organic kale in my garden[2]. From Gardiner to Port Townsend, we're showing our vets some well-deserved love. Because nothing says "thank you for your service" like a good old-fashioned ceremony and maybe a free coffee at the local diner.

Kitsap County: The Quiet Achiever

Kitsap County: Storms and Showdowns Over in Kitsap, heavy rains and strong winds recently knocked out power for thousands. Our neighbors weathered the storm with admirable grit, but the incident underscores the need for robust infrastructure in an era of increasing climate volatility. Also, Kitsap’s ongoing push for better public transit has sparked heated debates, with locals torn between economic feasibility and environmental urgency. Cue the popcorn; this saga isn’t over yet.

Folks, I scoured the interwebs for some juicy Kitsap news, but it seems our neighbors are keeping it on the down-low.

BELL HILL HINT

Here on East Bell Hill, we know that self-reliance isn’t just a hashtag; it’s a lifestyle. Whether it’s OPNET’s funding woes or a highway tragedy, these stories remind us of the importance of community resilience. The world can be chaotic, but we’ve got donkeys to hug, gardens to tend, and a local arts scene to uplift. Let’s keep questioning the narratives, supporting each other, and building something real.

THE KAI-LIGHT REEL

Now, let's zoom out for a second. While we're all caught up in our local bubble, remember that we're living in a world that might just be a giant computer simulation. So next time you're arguing with your neighbor about property lines, just remember – it might all be ones and zeros, baby!

But hey, simulation or not, there's something beautiful about our little corner of the world. From the artists pushing boundaries to the witches making waves (literally), we're keeping it real – or as real as it gets in this matrix.

And you know what? In a world that sometimes feels like it's spinning off its axis, our community's commitment to honoring veterans and shifting towards more humane perspectives warms my heart. It's a reminder that even us skeptics can appreciate the good in people.

So, whether you're a right-wing homesteader like yours truly, a left-leaning lavender farmer, or somewhere in between, remember – we're all in this together. Unless, of course, we're not, and this is all just a highly sophisticated computer program. In which case, I hope I'm at least coded as devastatingly handsome!

Stay free, stay skeptical, and for the love of all that's holy, stay away from those business license fees! This is Kai, signing off from the hilltop. Until next time, stay wild and wonderful!

Citations: [1] https://www.myclallamcounty.com [2] https://www.peninsuladailynews.com [3] https://www.sequimgazette.com

[uncharismatic-fauna]

An Affinity for the Southern River Terrapin

The southern river terrapin (Batagur affinis), also known as the tungtung or the royal turtle, is a species of freshwater turtle residing, as its name implies, in the southern part of the Malaysian Peninsula, particularly along the western coast. They reside in estuaries, portions of large rivers that are regularly exposed to ocean tides.

While initially plain in appearance, the southern river terrapin can be visually striking. The body and shell are entirely black, or dark brown in females. The only spots of color are carried by males: bright yellow or white eyes and orange inner cheek flaps that are exposed when the mouth opens. Batagur affinis is also quite big, with females (the larger of the two sexes) reaching an average length of 62 cm (24 in) and a weight of 38 kg (83 lbs).

The tungtung is an omnivorous species. Its serrated beak allows it to feed on a variety of plants like grasses, algae, and fruits, as well as freshwater invertebrates like crustaceans and mollusks. Due to the high salinity of their habitats, they often leave the rivers and forage for food on land. The large size and thick shells of adults deters most predators. However, eggs and hatchlings are vulnerable to monitor lizards, otters, birds of prey, and crocodiles.

Mating for Batagur affinis occurs from October to February. Males and females remain relatively solo throughout the rest of the year, although they aren't overly territorial. Once a male locates a female, the two touch noses and he pulses his jaw to emphasize his bright orange cheek pouches and the white stripes on the inside of his throat. After copulation, the female lays a clutch of 20-40 eggs in nests dug in the sandy river bank. Young royal turtles hatch anywhere from 60-120 days later, depending on the temperature of the nest. Juveniles can take 18-22 years to reach maturity. Adults regularly reach ages well over 45, and individuals as old as 100 have been recorded.

Conservation status: The southern river turtle is considered Critically Endangered by the IUCN. Over-harvesting of both eggs and individuals has decimated populations, and those that remain are threatened by habitat destruction. However, both local and international conservation efforts have been underway to preserve the species and its ecosystem.

If you like what I do, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Photos

Eng Heng Chan

Paul Calle

Thorn Sophun

[sataniccapitalist]

A new discovery of methane leaks in Antarctica could be a game-changer and potential near-term threat that’s difficult to characterize without sounding overly negative. Of course, situations like this that appear threatening to civilization, or life as we know it, are difficult to believe and accept as something the will really happen, which is understandable because nothing in human history compares to the risk attendant to the dreaded runaway greenhouse effect. So, there’s nothing in human history to compare it to.

Nevertheless, there are scientists who believe we are living on borrowed time because of massive changes happening at the top and at the bottom of the planet where only scientists and indigenous people hang out. Now, this new discovery serves to emphasize their concerns of a climate monster capable of altering everything, lurking in the background.

The threat is explained in a YouTube video: Immense Methane Leaks in Antarctica: A Hidden Climate Theat Unveiled by Phantom Ecology, which is headed by Milton Muldrow, Ph.D. asst. professor at Wilmington University and Chair/College of Arts & Sciences.

As a prelude to this new information, it’s important to note that Russian scientists have been monitoring the risks of methane breakouts in the High Arctic for a couple of decades and have voiced concern about the risks of a sudden burst as undersea methane clathrates increasingly melt, bubbling to surface in ever-larger diameters, which they have measured. As it happens, methane (CH4) is many times more potent than CO2 at trapping excessive global heat.

Additionally, the risk of a methane breakout is mentioned by Peter Wadhams, emeritus professor, Ocean Physics, University of Cambridge, in his celebrated, brilliant interview: The Future of Sea Level Rise: “Russian scientists working the region believe a huge pulse of methane could erupt.” This could crank up global temperatures to ultra-dangerous levels in as little as 2-3 years. The consequences would be unspeakable. And with Antarctica joining, the game changes.

As a science researcher/writer of over 400 articles, this new development is extraordinarily spooky and difficult to accept because the consequences feel way too close for comfort. Stated at the opening of the Phantom Ecology video: “Deep beneath the icy plains of Antarctica, a slumbering giant is beginning to stir. Scientists have made a startling discovery. Vast reservoirs of methane hydrates locked away for millennia are showing signs of instability.”

The finding sent ripples of concern throughout the world of science. The consequences for the planet could be quite dangerous, maybe sooner rather than later. Rising plumes of methane (CH4) near the Antarctic Peninsula raises a major concern that trapped methane will be released into the atmosphere, exacerbating an already dire situation of accelerating global temperatures. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) Maginot line of 1.5C above pre-industrial not to be exceeded as framed at the Paris 2015 climate conference by nearly all the nations of the world is kaput. To date, global temperatures have been exceeding that level for nearly two years running.

Meanwhile, world famous climate scientist James Hansen (Earth Institute, Columbia University) says 2C is on the horizon. “The pace of global heating has been significantly underestimated, according to renowned climate scientist Prof James Hansen, who said the international 2C target is “dead” (Climate Change Target of 2C is ‘Dead’ Says Renonwed Climate Scientist, The Guardian, Feb. 4, 2025). It’s a huge understatement to say this would be horrendous for Antarctic methane leaks, Arctic methane leaks, including Siberian methane leaks and Alaskan methane leaks, as well as Glacial methane leaks (see below “Methane Double Trouble” for another disturbing new discovery).

The volume of methane locked away in Antarctic ice is estimated to be more carbon than all other fuel deposits combined for the planet. A small fraction of this escaping into the atmosphere could have catastrophic consequences for the climate system “in the not-too-distant future.” (Muldrow)

[kinardsevan]

can't outdrive pain (some day it's gonna take the wheel)

Evan leans back on the couch as he slides the photo album back down on the coffee table. He wasn’t snooping at all, but in the process of moving some things around in the closet while moving his own things in, he’d stumbled upon it. And the thing was, he didn’t really have one of his own. His parents weren’t present enough when he and Maddie were kids to think of having family photos done after Daniel’s death. Most of the pictures that did exist were from disposable cameras Maddie paid for with her own money once she was old enough, and a number of those photos had gotten destroyed by Doug. Evan never really complained about it because there was stuff that Maddie had hung onto and still had, even now, like the postcards he’d sent her while bouncing all over the US and into Peru before he’d ended up in LA. 

Still, for all he’d expected to find in the album, which wasn’t a lot, given how tight-lipped Tommy still was about his childhood…he wasn’t expecting what he did find. 

. . .

“Baby?” 

Tommy comes around the corner of the living room into the kitchen as Evan slides a tray of fresh brownies onto the counter, smiling up at him as he reaches behind himself to untie the apron. There’s enough batter on it that he’s going to have to wash it, but that can be a problem for later. 

“You baked for me,” Tommy cooes as he crosses the space, a smile crossing his face as the wafting heat of the fresh brownies hits his nose. Evan tugs the apron over his head and folds it, setting it aside on the counter as Tommy reaches him, slotting an arm under Evan’s around his back, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

“You kept talking about them yesterday and I had some free time,” Evan replies. He chuckles softly as Tommy trails kisses down his jaw to his neck, nuzzling against his pulse point briefly. 

“So good to me,” Tommy murmurs against his skin. 

“Yeah,” Evan murmurs, his face scrunching as he tries not to think of the photo album. When Tommy pulls away, he busies himself finding a knife so he can cut into the brownies and get them each one. “How was your day?” 

“Long,” Tommy replies, circling the peninsula and leaning against the counter. He grins happily when Evan passes him a plate with the brownie on top of it. It’s still steaming, almost too hot to eat yet. “What about you?” 

Evan inhales a deep breath, unsure if it’s the right time to ask. He gulps.

“I found something today,” he admits. “I was emptying boxes, trying to find space-..” 

“I mean I’d expect you to do that,” Tommy replies. “You are moving in. You should find space for yourself.” 

Evan nods, still his expression is mildly pained as he looks up at his boyfriend. “I found a photo album.” 

“Oh.” 

Tommy says it like it’s so simple; like it doesn’t mean anything. But the look in his eyes betrays the sound of his voice, and it makes Evan’s stomach flip. 

“I wasn’t trying to-..” 

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Tommy says. There’s no anger in his tone, but it still hurts Evan to hear it. His gaze is locked on the counter between them now, refusing to look up. Evan sighs softly, settling his own plate down. He walks around the peninsula and slides his arms around Tommy’s waist, physically having to move his boyfriend to get him to turn towards him. 

“Talk to me, babe.” 

Tommy gulps. “I honestly never wanted to have to tell you.” 

“Tommy,” Evan lilts. He slides his right hand back, bringing it under his boyfriend’s chin and making him look up. When Tommy’s eyes meet his, they’re wet. Evan’s frown sets deeper, reaching his thumb up and brushing away at the first tear as it falls. 

“You know what my childhood was like,” Evan murmurs. “How little my parents cared when my bone marrow wasn’t enough to save the kid they were concerned about.” 

Tommy nods. They’ve had many conversations about his personal hatred towards the Buckleys and how fucked up he thought it was that at three months old, they’d put their newborn through that kind of procedure to save their oldest child. They’d originally planned to the cord blood—at least, that was the story that Maddie had told him when he’d asked—but it had become contaminated, and given that Evan was already intentionally a genetic match for Daniel, they’d managed to convince his care team to allow the bone marrow transplant, given that it was a last-ditch attempt. It wasn’t Evan’s fault that the graft hadn’t taken. 

Still, for as little as Tommy had given in information about his childhood, he’d never really wanted Evan to know just how much he could understand the pain he’d suffered through. 

“I told you my father and I don’t talk,” he rasps, sinking against one of the barstools against the counter. Evan nods. 

“What I didn’t tell you was why,” Tommy continues. 

Evan sits down in another one of them, his hands sliding down until they find Tommy’s and squeezing them lightly. 

“Kinda figured after everything about Gerrard that it was because of your sexual orientation,” he replies. 

“That was certainly part of it,” Tommy replies with a quirk of his eyebrows. “But it wasn’t all of it.” 

Evan nods again, watching and waiting as Tommy stares at the counter. 

“Things were never good between him and my mom. That militant attitude you joke about me having? He always had it. It was like even after he took off his fatigues, the drill sergeant attitude stuck around. A-and when my mom left, he turned it on me,” he explains. Evan nods. The few photos from Tommy’s childhood showed telltale bruises. The average person looking at them might take them for childhood injuries, but their job and Evan’s own childhood had given him a generous education on what abuse looked like. 

“When I was ten, he broke my arm,” Tommy tells him. Evan had seen a picture of him in a sling but hadn’t pieced that together. “My teachers figured it out, and they called CPS. They tried to find my mom, but whether she’d disappeared into a bottle or was so far into drugs at that point, I’m not sure. Either way, she wasn’t an option, so they put me into the system.” 

Evan lifts Tommy’s hand, kissing his fingers. 

“It wasn’t great there, either,” Tommy admits softly. “There were people who…” He pauses, shakes his head. “Nobody hit me, but it wasn’t any better. A-anyway, he did the classes they required him to do, and I was sent back to him right before I turned thirteen.” 

“You’re not going to tell me it got better,” Evan surmises, his throat tight from the expression on Tommy’s face. 

“No,” Tommy whispers back, pressing his lips together in a hard line. “At that point, I’d figured out that I was gay, at least to myself. I was home for like three months when he caught me kissing this kid who lived around the corner.” He pauses again, staring down at Evan’s hand on his as the blonde traces his thumb over the back of Tommy’s knuckles softly. “He beat me up so badly from that, that I didn’t leave the house for a week. But it was summer, so no one knew.” 

“No one caught him,” Evan asks, anger tinging his tone. “CPS didn’t-..” 

“They’d done a visit like a week before that,” Tommy explains, glancing up at him. “Had no reason to come back so soon. Anyway, after that, I just kept my head down and stayed away from home as much as possible. When I got into high school, I joined as many extracurriculars as I could. I found ways to make money so that I could afford the hotel stays and travel, and when I was seventeen, I enlisted. He thought that was great until he found out I wasn’t going to be a marine because ‘no son of mine is going to join the army. Three generations of Kinard men have been marines’.” 

Evan huffs, shakes his head. 

“You already know how it went there,” Tommy says softly. “When I got home, I called up a friend from high school and was able to sleep on his couch for a few weeks until I got my own place and enrolled in the fire academy. And then when I was twenty-five, he showed up at the 118.” He pauses again briefly, lets out a haughty laugh. “He got on great wtih Gerrard.” 

“Of course he did,” Evan mutters under his breath. He already hates the man they’ve both had to call their former captain. 

“He said he wanted to mend fences, but I knew after seeing him with Gerrard that nothing had changed,” he states. “So I didn’t make an effort, and he’s one of those people who thinks your elders deserve respect regardless of how they treat you, so when I didn’t call, it didn’t move forward.” 

“Thank god for small favors,” Evan replies quietly. Tommy nods. Evan looks up at him, and it seems that Tommy’s finished. He stands up from his stool and moves into his boyfriend’s space, wrapping his arms loosely around his neck, fingers sliding up through the curls on the back of his head. “He’s unworthy of any of your time.” 

“That’s what I tell myself,” Tommy responds softly. 

“I hope you know that you are worth so much more,” Evan tells him, brushing his thumb back and forth over the back of Tommy’s head. “I know you still hold guilt over how you were with Gerrard, but that trauma bond didn’t really give you the space to be a better person.” 

Tommy quirks his lip up in a skeptical expression. That’s a common disagreement for them, but Evan is determined to get him to forgive himself one day. 

“I love you,” Evan adds. “Every part of you.” 

Tommy gives him a small smile. “Sometimes I think you love me more than I deserve.” 

“Well, welcome to the party,” Evan replies with a smile on his own lips. “Evan Buckley. My boyfriend makes me feel the same way.” 

Tommy chuckles. 

“What’s the saying,” Tommy murmurs to him, pulling Evan closer, looping his arms around his waist. “We’re all just looking for someone whose demons play well with ours?” 

Evan leans down, brushing his lips against Tommy’s before leaning back enough to look down at him through lidded eyes. “Think I’ve found mine.” 

Tommy smiles at him, pulling him in so they’re chest-to-chest. “God I hope so.” 

[bipolarman2022]

The first to arrive did so discreetly, almost like shadows at dawn. They came from the East, descendants of an ancient Arab dynasty, wrapped in an aura of serenity and wisdom that seemed to defy time. They carried neither swords nor armies, raised no flags, nor delivered grand speeches. They simply arrived, and with them, an unusual calm began to spread across the Iberian Peninsula, like a soft breeze heralding a storm of change.

At first, people observed them with suspicion, keeping their distance, as if something about their presence challenged established certainties. Their gaze was different: deep, penetrating, capable of touching the innermost fibers of the soul. It was not a hostile or inquisitive look but one filled with ancient wisdom, silently inviting introspection. Little by little, those who dared meet the eyes of these travelers found themselves changed, as if something within them had awakened from a long, heavy slumber.

They sought neither confrontations nor conversions. They did not impose their faith, nor preached with the urgency of those who wish to conquer. They spoke of life with a simplicity that both puzzled and attracted. They mentioned Allah with a softness that seemed to resonate with the very pulses of the earth, as if the entire universe confirmed their words. “Everything in the world is part of Allah’s plan,” they said, and those who listened, initially out of mere courtesy, ended up nodding, captivated by the spiritual logic that emanated from their phrases.

At first, these encounters seemed insignificant, but gradually, like drops of water eroding stone, they left an indelible mark on the minds of the Spaniards. Initially, the conversations were sporadic and trivial, but they soon transformed into deep dialogues about the soul, death, the universe, and the purpose of life. The answers the Arabs offered were not wrapped in rigid dogmas but in a wisdom that seemed inherent to humanity itself.

The churches were not destroyed, as many had initially feared. Instead, they began to transform. Their tall towers echoed with the adhan, the call to prayer, while the bells continued to mark the passage of time. It was as if two worlds, once distant, had found an unexpected harmony. Cathedrals and mosques coexisted not as rivals but as reflections of a shared spiritual yearning.

Gradually, and without imposition or violence, the Spaniards began to pray. At first in secret, then in community. They did not do so out of obligation but because something within them demanded it. The verses of the Quran, read under the stars, seemed to answer questions that had gone unanswered for generations. The Arabic language began to flow naturally from their mouths, as if it had always been there, latent, waiting to be awakened.

The Arabs did not consider themselves superior. In fact, they rarely spoke of themselves. But there was something in their serenity, in their way of moving through the world, that inspired admiration. Their faces radiated a peace that seemed unattainable for others. Those who observed them couldn’t help but feel that these men were closer to something sacred, to a universal truth that everyone longed for but few could understand.

Over the years, Spain transformed. It was not a conquest, nor a forced conversion. It was an awakening. Islam did not arrive as an invader but as an echo of something that had always been there, waiting to be remembered. The faith unified the peninsula not through imposition but by offering answers that resonated deeply within people’s hearts.

For the Spaniards, embracing Islam was not an act of submission but a return to the essential, to a truth that seemed older than the mountains surrounding them. And so, without wars or bloodshed, Spain became a land of mosques and adhan, of peace and serenity.

The whisper of Allah had come to stay, bringing with it a new dawn. And with it, the hearts of an entire nation found the peace they had sought for centuries.

And in the end, under the stars shining over a transformed peninsula, someone asked softly:

“Was this our destiny from the beginning, or was it we who chose it?”

[heavy-draw]

🎄

"Oi, Shamir!"

Mareeta shouts out, gesturing to come closer.

"How's everythin' going? Still hard to believe a place has so much decoration..."

The time of the solstice, and the turn of the year onto the next, had... never been something Mareeta had seen to this extent. Sure, Fiana had always been a festive spot on the peninsula whenever the time came around, merriment and wassailing around town, with Mareeta always enjoying the sight of the people around her beaming and happy.

But this? It was downright absurd. And she loved it.

"...What're ya lookin' at me like that for?"

Mareeta looks up - some kind of plant over the door frame - not one she recognized. Was their a certain meaning to it, oooorrrr...

While Shamir had never been one to care much for the holiday season, there were certain times that caused her to feel a bit lighter than she normally would. Seeing the Academy fully decked out in gaudy decorations that made it look hideous was... oddly comforting, and it added a sense of normalcy to her life that she otherwise wouldn't have. And, of course, the tradition of "mistletoe traps" that had been scattered around the campus grounds. It seemed to have blown up overnight, and everyone had to be extremely careful about who they wiggled through a doorway with, lest they be caught in a compromising position... After all, to back out of the tradition would be to become a coward-- and who would want that reputation? So when Mareeta steps into the archway, Shamir's eyes flicker upwards to the conveniently placed garnish that hung several feet above them both. The mercenary can't help but chuckle, uncrossing her arms before sauntering forward. "Well, this," She motions to the plant above them both. "Is a tradition around this time of year. If you have two people under it at the same time, well... You're stuck- can't leave until you share a kiss. And as for me, I can't back out- it's not in my blood... Knowing you're a mercenary as well, I'd wager it's the same for you." She reaches forward with one hand, palm gently brushing against the other's cheek before leaning in, and she stops just long enough to allow the other to back away if she chooses. When she doesn't meet resistance, she closes the distance-- head tilted slightly, she doesn't break eye contact as her lips barely brush against Mareeta's before pressing in with a soft, teasing kiss. Her gloved fingers graze against the back of the other woman's neck in an almost idle motion, though they make no move to further incite action. Shamir would be lying if the impulsive thought didn't cross her mind, though; but she's a woman that has more than enough self-restraint. It lingers just long enough to cause her pulse to quicken as the playful tension between them simmers, and Shamir opts to pull away. She hums in thought before peeling her hand away as well, the corners of her lips tugging upwards into a satisfied smirk. "There. A new experience to add to the list." She turns to leave before pausing, tossing a pensive look over her shoulder. "You're not half bad. I'll have to remember that."

[dreamdepot]

Dreams of the Kingdom - Chapter 16: Dreams of Hope

Previous < First > Next

Retrieve the Master Sword and find the final piece of the Triforce as you prepare to confront Ganondorf.

AO3 Wattpad or below!

Thank you for your patience on this delayed chapter!

Chapter 16 – Dreams of Hope

A/N: Lyrics for Zelda’s Lullaby by twilightstorm1994

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

The sun shone over the sparkling water, but the world was silent save the lapping of waves. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the roar of the Light Dragon as it climbed back into the heavens. You and Link stood at the tip of the spiral Rist Peninsula, staring at the dragon – no, Zelda – rise into the sky. Silent Princesses grew at your feet. Tears rolled down your cheek. The final memory played over and over in your mind.

Link squeezed your hand. “We’ll get her back. We’ll find a way.”

You wiped your eyes. “Yeah.” You felt the piece of the Triforce that had washed up on the beach pulse in your hand. “Yeah, we’ll find a way.”

You stood with Link for a little longer. With one more shuddering breath, you steeled yourself. “First, we need to find a way up to the Li… to Zelda. The Master Sword is waiting for you.” Link nodded. “The question is how.”

“We can try getting up to a sky island and dropping down as she passes, maybe the Sokkala Archipelago? Not sure if our gliders will make it though, and we’re out of wing capsules. We’ll need to- wait, what’s that?”

A low drone filled the air. Both you and Link searched around, expecting to see approaching monsters, but none were nearby.

“Mr. Pri-i-i-nce! Mr. He-e-ero!” Both of you looked up. A rickety biplane buzzed through the air. It was a mix of wood, leaves, and repurposed Zonai parts, just barely held together by ropes. Somehow, it managed a smooth landing on the sand. “Ya-ha-ha! We found you!”

“Captain Hollo?” You said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The Captain and his companions saluted. “Your majesty, we’re here to help you! We’ve been practicing, and we’ve made our first successful prototype for you!”

You tried not to focus too hard on the word “first”. The biplane, despite being held together by hopes, dreams, and rather thin ropes, was just big enough for both you and Link to ride on. “Do you think it’s strong enough catch up to a dragon?”

“A dragon?!” Captain Hollo followed your eyes up to the sky. “Um… isn’t it dangerous to get close to the dragons?”

“It’s really important,” Link said. “We need to get up there.”

Captain Hollo did his best to look brave, but he and the other Koroks trembled. “Well… if you’re sure. It should make it, just be careful not to fly to fast otherwise it might break the wings…”

“That’s not exactly comforting…” you said, “but thank you. Link, let’s go.”

“Right behind you.” You clambered up onto the aircraft as the Koroks waddled to the propellers. “Wait… these don’t have capsules, how did you get propellers?”

For wearing a leaf mask, it was surprising how easily you could see Captain Hollo blush. “Well… we might have took it from one of the shrines Sir Link’s already finished…”

Link tried to hide his groan. “To be fair, you don’t need them anymore,” you offered, even if it was a bit worrying how seriously the Koroks took their materials.

Instead of focusing on that, you watched the Koroks adjust the leaf flaps and climb on each other’s backs to reach the propeller blades. With a mighty heave, they forced the blades down. “Contact!” The Koroks shouted as the propellers spun to life.

“Good luck!” Captain Hollo said. The Koroks saluted as the aircraft began to roll.

“Thank you!” You shouted back. You and Link carefully leaned back on the wing, getting enough of an angle to lift off, just before the water.

“This might take some getting used to,” Link muttered, as the two of you shifted your weight to keep the wobbly biplane on a steady course.

“Let’s just hope it stays together.” The extended wings made of wood did not look sturdy as they shook with each cycle of the propellers. In spite of that, you steadily gained altitude until you were climbing up over Akkala and into the skies. “Alright, let’s go pay my sister a visit.”

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

It was lucky for you that dragons usually don’t fly very fast. Just as the ropes and Zonai devices started to give out, you soon came up to Zelda’s flank. As you followed Link, leaping off of the biplane, its wings snapped off and the wreckage slammed into a floating island before crumbling to the surface below. You and Link landed softly on the glittering scales, safe and sound.

“She’s flying a lot lower now,” you muttered. “Do you think some part of her remembers?”

“I’m sure that deep down, she knows.” Link said, taking your hand. “Come on.”

Together, you climbed up the undulating dragon’s back. Reaching its mane, you paused, subconsciously stroking the hair before continuing your climb forward towards the halo of light just above. There, over the final crest, was the Master Sword, embedded in her head.

You crept down to her snout and gave it a gentle pet. “Hello sister.” You swallowed the lump in your throat and let out an uneasy laugh. “To think I was complaining about my headaches. Can’t imagine that felt very good for the past millennia.”

Zelda gave you a long, slow blink and a short snuff.

Link patted her head, and then turned to the Master Sword. “You might want to brace yourself up here. I have a feeling she’s not going to like this.” You couldn’t argue with that, quickly hunkering down next to Link and gave him a thumbs up. “Sorry Zelda,” he said, before planting his feet and grasping the sword.

Link was right, Zelda did not like it. She roared and began to charge across the sky. “Come… on!” Link grunted, pulling as hard as he could but the sword would not move. “She won’t give it up!”

“Maybe she thinks we’re trying to steal it?” You shouted back over the wind. Zelda soon curled into a nosedive, but the two of you held on. At the last moment before plummeting into Hyrule Field, she curved back up, climbing straight into the sky.

Your hand slipped, and you flung back into empty air. Suddenly, you jolted to a stop. Link strained, hanging on to you with one hand, the Master Sword with the other. Muscles straining, he pulled you back up until you could catch a foothold on the scales as Zelda leveled out.

The wind whipped around you as Zelda bucked and roared. You embraced her, locking your body under her horn and pressing yourself against her ear. “It’s okay Zelda, I’m here, I know it hurts. Your brother’s here. It’s okay, you can let it go.” Link strained to pull the sword as Zelda climbed higher and higher. The air grew thinner, and it was getting harder to breathe. “I know you don’t remember me, but I’ll never leave you!” You pressed your forehead against her cool scales as she thrashed left and right. Something, anything… what could help? Then it struck you; memories of the nights she cried after your mother’s passing.

You sucked in as much air as you could and began to sing.

Go to sleep

Rest upon your bed

May this night bring dreams to your head

Hear my voice

Never let it die

Keep this lullaby

Soon the sun shall set on

Long it will be till dawn

Never from you will I be gone

Carry on

Rid this world of fear

Now the time is near,

Peace will soon reign here…

Zelda’s thrashing tapered off as she rose higher, until she settled into a calm flight. You lifted your head, stroking her scales. “She remembered,” you said softly.

Suddenly it became easier to breathe. Zelda flew miles above the clouds where the sky was filled with golden light. “What… is this place?” you muttered. You turned to Link, seeing that the hairs had released their grip on the Master Sword. Link hesitated for a moment, before taking the sword in hand.

Effortlessly, the sword came free. Petals of light peeled away from the Master Sword as Link lifted it, revealing an almost crystalline core. The new blade pulsed with an almost holy light.

Link…

Link…

Your sister’s voice echoed around you as you were blinded by light. In a shower of sparks, an image of her appeared before Link, seemingly frozen in time.

The Master Sword… She is the key to destroying the Demon King. He defeated her before but her long slumber has healed these wounds. When you two next face the Demon King… you will have my strength to help you, through her. Link you are our final hope. I pray this sword reaches you in the future. Protect Hyrule, and protect [Y/n] from him…

The image soon faded, and Zelda began her descent. Link pressed his hand against the Master Sword. “It’s good to have you back.” The Master Sword pulsed with light in response, as Link sheathed her.

You meanwhile focused on your sister. “I’ll see you soon, Zelda,” you said, hugging her snout again. “We’re gonna bring you home, I promise.”

Zelda dropped the two of you down at the Great Sky Island, before taking flight once again. As she flew into the distance, you swore you could hear her roaring more as singing back to you.

“Where are we going now?” Link asked.

You ran the mental checklist. Each of the Triforce pieces but one had been found. Looking out across the sky and down to Hyrule Field, you soon found what you were looking for. “There,” you said, pointing to a massive stump in a small lake on the western edge of Hyrule Field. “We’re going to the place where it all started. The first dream.”

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

Water dripped down the twisted knots of roots. “Is it down there?” Link asked.

“No, but it has to be here somewhere. The first dream was obviously here.” You shimmied down the root, deeper below the Ancient Tree. Every so often, you’d toss a Brightbloom seed to help light up the dim trunk. “I wonder if it was like this for that Link,” you said, more to yourself. Such a little kid having to deal with this awkward climb was not a pretty picture.

That was nothing to say of the monsters that enjoyed making life difficult. The Keese were dealt with easily enough, but the variety of Likes and Horroblins on the narrow roots made the going slow. Each of the smaller caves were empty, and despite not wanting to investigate the pond at the bottom, your options were growing limited.

You sat on a mossy root and closed your eyes. “Okay, come on, you’ve shown me visions the rest of the time, why not now? Something to help?”

Nothing happened.

“Please, anything? I can feel how much time and history is in this tree, there has to be something. A hint from the Era of Twilight? Maybe Hyrule’s Dark Ages?”

Still nothing.

You heard Link shimmy down the vines, landing next to you. “No luck?”

“Nope.” You pulled the other shards out of your pack. “They haven’t so much as sparkled since we’ve gotten here. Hoped we could use them like a dowsing rod or something.” You ignored how the Master Sword seemed to glow a bit brighter at hearing the word “dowsing”.

“Not a bad idea, but maybe they gave us a different hint?”

“How so?”

“Not sure yet,” Link said deep in thought. He knelt next to you and moved some of the pieces. “Three we found by defeating monsters, Colgera, Ghirahim, and Marbled Gohma. Three were given to us, the Mine Construct, Captain Hollo, and Cece. One we found washed up on shore at Malin Bay, and the last one we know is somewhere here.” Link frowned. “Guess that doesn’t help a ton. Maybe we could say the ocean gave us one and the last one we have to beat another monster somewhere here?”

You shrugged. “We’ve slain nearly every monster here already.”

“What about the dream?”

“I mean that Link did have to fight Aquamentus, but when was the last time anyone saw an Aquamentus?”

“When was the last time anyone saw a lot of these monsters?”

“Good point,” you sighed. You stared into the water below, turning one of the shards over in your hand. The light from the Brightblooms bounced off and sparkled across the water. “Too bad we don’t have a map and compass. Treasure hunting was so much easier when we were kids,” you laughed.

Link didn’t laugh, but he looked a bit confused. “Hey, didn’t you say the name of that place was the Bird or something?”

“The Temple of the Eagle. Why?” Link stood quickly and started changing into his Zora armor. “Link, why? What do you see?”

“There!” He said, but instead of pointing he jumped into the water. Without thinking you jumped after him. In the murky, stagnant water, it was hard to see, but Link dove deeper and deeper. You dropped a Brightbloom into the water, letting it light up the bottom. Deep in the water were shattered statues, now home to minnows. Link, however, dove to one statue in particular, an eagle. Link pulled out a stone axe and began to hack away at the statue. As a chunk broke away, he grabbed it and swam to the surface.

“Got it!”

“What?”

Link swam over and held out the piece to you, a chunk of the eagle statue with a sparkling bronze eye. “When you were playing with that one shard, I saw it reflect off something in the water, this bird statue. When you said it was the eagle, I figured it had to be it.”

You hugged him, almost dragging you both underwater. “Link, you’re amazing! Let’s get back up there and get the other shards.” As your hand grazed the piece in the statue, you felt a burst of energy, almost knocking you and Link back.

The remaining pieces in your pack floated down, spinning around the last piece. Faster and faster they spun, the excess stone disintegrating away as they slowly merged together. The depths of the trunk grew brighter and brighter until you had to shield your eyes. Then, all at once, everything fell still.

You opened your eyes to see the room had changed. You and Link were on solid ground, warm and dry. The dirt and roots had been banished away, replaced with dark blue stone. Eerie Zonai-like carvings filled the walls, but with more grotesque gargoyle-like faces. Eight menacing dragons surrounded you, each holding a small triangle in their jaws. A small set of stairs led up to a raised altar and floating just above that was a golden triangle. It lazily spun in the air, slowly flipping point down. The crest of Nayru appeared for a brief moment upon its face.

“What is this place?” Link asked. “Did it teleport us?”

“I think this is the old Temple of the Eagle. And that… that’s the Triforce of Wisdom.”

You stared for a moment at the holy artifact before you. “What are you waiting for?” Link asked.

“Are you sure?”

Link smiled. “If the goddesses were whispering in your ears, then they probably want you to be the one to wield it.”

You nodded, slowly climbing the steps. As you grew closer, you swore you could hear the whispers of rulers past. You reached out your hand, pressing it against the cool surface.

In a burst of light, the Triforce of Wisdom disappeared, leaving your hand in the air. The energy pulsed throughout your body, warm and comforting. You rubbed your hand, nearly your entire arm turning to gold.

Well done, Prince and Swordsman… came an unfamiliar voice. Bring together the eight fragments of the Triforce of Wisdom to rebuild the Light Force. Do this and you shall defeat Ganon…

“Who…” you started, but the voice was already fading away, only with the plucking of the harp echoing around you. Instead, a blue light wrapped around the two of you, whisking you away from the altar and back to the surface in the center of Hyrule Field. A gentle breeze wrapped around you as the power faded. You looked down to your hand to see your tattoo had changed to show two of the triangles were now filled in.

“Do you think two pieces will be enough?” Link asked.

“It was, at least once in the past. Besides it might have to be. None of my other dreams seem to lead anywhere special and we haven’t seen any signs of the Triforce of Courage. Unless you’ve been having weird dreams?”

Link laughed. “No, unless you count the one about that Goron scarecrow, the metal construct, and the weird lion. I don’t think having a bunch of creepy women hitting on me really counts – more of a nightmare honestly.”

“Heh, pretty sure that was just from eating too much of that mushroom pizza I made.” You looked up at Hyrule Castle. “Well… we’ve been everywhere that have been in my dreams so far. The only major place left is up there.” You let out an uneasy laugh. “Where better to hide the Triforce of Courage than the place that scares me the most?”

“It doesn’t make me feel great either.” Link seemed lost in thought.

“It doesn’t matter. We have two pieces of the Triforce, and the power of four sages backing us up. We’ve got this.”

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

All too soon, you found yourself at the Lookout Landing Observation Deck, the sun already dipping low in the late afternoon sky. You tightened the straps on your pack, making the final pass on your checklist for battle. Your pack was filled with extra food and elixirs, especially anything that would counteract gloom. Your Ancient Sheikah armor was polished and ready, still perhaps the strongest set of armor you owned. It had protected you well enough during your siege against the Calamity, save when you were cornered by several Guardians. It would have to do now as well.

Your quiver was filled to the brim with arrows, your best bow slung on your back next to your Sword of the Six Sages and several backup weapons Link fused for you.

“Ready?” Link asked, similarly prepared in his Champion’s Leathers. The Master Sword seemed to glow with contentment, now returned to its rightful place with him.

“Ready.”

“Good luck boys,” Purah said, taking a final look through her telescope at the castle. “It looks like you’re expected. One of the fake Zeldas are already waiting for you.” She then turned to you. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for the Sages to get here first?”

You shook your head. “I know they’ll get here soon, but we don’t have time to waste. The Blood Moon is supposed to happen tonight. We can’t give Ganondorf the chance to regroup his forces.”

“Then there’s no time to waste,” Purah said, straightening her glasses. “I’ll send the Sages as soon as they arrive.”

“Any last words of wisdom?” Link asked.

“Princey, Linky,” Purah said solemnly. “Go kick his ass.”

Link barked out a laugh. “Yes ma’am!”

“We’ll be back before you know it,” you said, leading the way to the tower. You almost stepped on the pad before Link pulled you back.

“Don’t even think about it. Boyfriend or not, I’m still your knight. Don’t want you getting ambushed.”

“Fine, you win,” you said, raising your hands in defeat. Link snuck in a quick kiss before getting launched into the sky, with you not far behind him.

As Hyrule Castle loomed in the sky, your mind returned to the very beginning, back in the Depths. Sharpe’s words echoed back to you.

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

Landing back at the castle grounds felt like déjà vu. Even so, you felt a pang of sadness at how much further it had degraded. The plants were now ashen, and pools of gloom had spread like a plague across the walls. Moblins and Horriblins had taken up residence and various Likes grew under the balconies. Part of you expected to see the Eyes of the Calamity watching from the malice, but there were none. Despite that, you could still feel Ganondorf watching you from all angles.

If your home felt foreboding and intimidating when you were here to fight the Calamity, now it felt depressing. “It’s never going to be the same, is it?” Link gave you a questioning look. You motioned to the castle. “I know we wanted to try to restore it, but it really is beyond repair now, isn’t it?”

Link put his hand on your back, his touch a small comfort. “Maybe. But maybe that’s a good thing.”

“How?”

“Wiping the slate clean. We get rid of Ganondorf once and for all and Hyrule will be safe. Maybe that means it’s time for us to build a new castle from the ground up.” Link scratched the back of his head. “Think about it. You and Zelda have been haunted by the shadows of Hyrule’s past for your whole life. Hell, even me too! Maybe it’s time we break away. Learn from the past but leave it behind.”

You stared at the ground with a soft smile. “Maybe that’s what Sharpe wanted me to do when he said to break the cycle. Maybe it is time we leave the past in the past for good.” You looked up at the entrance to the Sanctum, high above. Everyone you had met along the way had helped you get to this moment.

There were your brave sages, Tulin, Sidon, Riju, and Yunobo.

There were your friends old and new; Purah, Robbie, Impa, Tauro, Paya, Teba and Saki, Penn, the Stable Trotters, Lady Yona, Captain Hollo, Sophie, Captain Buliara, the people of Tarrey Town, Bludo, everyone who had ever helped to rebuild Hyrule and help you stop the Calamity.

Sharpe… the Champions…

Zelda…

You turned and saw Link, determination in his eyes. All this time, he’s been there by your side, and you knew he always would be.

You grinned. “Alright, let’s go. Let’s end this nightmare. Tomorrow is going to be a new day for Hyrule.”

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

A/N: Thank you for your patience on this delayed chapter. As the speedrunners say, we're now in "go mode" so you know what that means. Next week, I hope you’re ready for suavemente... I mean, Ganondorf.

[xtruss]

Fagradalsfjall Volcano Erupting in July. In 2021, Fagradalsfjall erupted for the first time in about 800 years, kickstarting a new era in volcanic activity in Iceland 🇮🇸. Image credit: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

'Time's Finally up': Impending Iceland Eruption is Part of Centuries-Long Volcanic Pulse

Iceland's Reykjanes Peninsula is now in a new era of volcanic eruptions that will last for up to 500 years, and the building magma beneath Sundhnúkur and Grindavík is part of this millenia-long cycle.

— By Hannah Osborne | Live Science

Iceland's potentially imminent eruption in the Reykjanes Peninsula is part of a 1,000-year cycle of volcanic activity that will likely cause eruptions for centuries, scientists say.

"Time's finally up," Edward W. Marshall, a researcher at the University of Iceland's Nordic Volcanological Center, told Live Science in an email. "We can get ready for another few hundred years of eruptions on the Reykjanes."

Seismic activity began increasing in the south of the peninsula in October, with hundreds of earthquakes recorded there each day. On Nov. 10, authorities evacuated the town of Grindavík, with experts warning an volcanic eruption could take place in just days.

Infographic showing the seismic activity that has hit Iceland in recent weeks. Image credit: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

According to the Icelandic Met Office (IMO), a magma tunnel stretching 9.3 miles (15 kilometers) formed beneath the ground between Sundhnúkur in the north and Grindavík. The area affected also encompasses the Blue Lagoon geothermal spa — a tourist hotspot that attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors annually.

Magma in the tunnel — also known as a dike — appears to be rising to the surface, and there is a high risk of it breaking through. The greatest area of magma upwelling is currently close to Sundhnúkur, about 2 miles (3.5 km) northeast of Grindavík, according to the IMO. Researchers believe the amount of magma in the tunnel is "significantly more" than what was present during the eruptions at Fagradalsfjall, which sparked back to life in 2021 after more than 800 years of inactivity.

That 2021 eruption marked the start of a new cycle of volcanic activity on the Reykjanes Peninsula. Geological records show periods of inactivity last between 600 and 1,200 years, which is then followed by pulses of eruptions lasting between 200 and 500 years, Clive Oppenheimer, a professor of volcanology at the University of Cambridge in the U.K., told Live Science in an email.

"It looks like 2021 kicked off a new eruptive phase which might see the several fault zones crossing the [Reykjanes Peninsula] firing on and off for centuries," he said.

Grindavík has been evacuated over fears an eruption may take place in or near the town. Image credit: Kjartan Torbjoernsson/Getty Images

The Reykjanes Peninsula sits above two tectonic plates that are being pulled apart. The strain that builds up is released in bursts as part of the cycle. "We are now in one of these pulses," David Pyle, a volcanologist and professor of Earth sciences at the University of Oxford, U.K, told Live Science in an email. "Each eruption releases just a bit more of the stored-up strain, and eventually, when all of that strain has been released, then the eruptions will stop."

It is currently unclear if an eruption will take place as a result of the magma tunnel. "These sorts of dikes are actually a tectonic, not a magmatic feature. In other words, the lava is filling a fracture, not forcing its way into the rock," Marshall said.

Should a fissure emerge, an eruption could last for several weeks. The large amount of magma involved compared with previous eruptions in the region could result in more lava flow at the surface, Oppenheimer said.

What happens next is a waiting game, Marshall said. "I predict — if an eruption occurs — that it will occur between a few days to threeish weeks. If it hasn't erupted in three weeks, I don't think it will happen. Cooling will begin to close the fractures."

— Hannah Osborne is the planet Earth and Snimals Editor at Live Science. She worked for several years at Newsweek and at International Business Times U.K. as the Science Editor. Hannah holds a Master's in Journalism from Goldsmith's, University of London.

[politetim]

Endless Peninsula Chapter 9

Only took me several months of not writing. TW: mild violence. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Past Awakens

Aurgin struggled up the side of the pit, scrabbling at the loose rock and dirt. The spider that she had fallen with was head, its head and eyes mashed by her maul. She herself did not escape unscathed. The fall had bruised her all along her side, and the spider had given her a close call with flashing fangs dripping with venom. Her brigandine held, and so she lived.

As she heaved herself over the edge of the pit she heard the loud T’Chunk of Maker’s crossbow. Aurgin scanned the room in time to see the final spider scuttling down the hall, after the retreating footsteps of Aileen. The cleric’s mace was on the floor, its strap burnt and snapped. Panic flooded Aurgin, and she leaped to her feet trusting Moe and Maker to hold back their foe. The stale air of the dungeon built into a rush in her ears as she sped for Aileen.

Aurgin heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. A cloud of dark dust billowed out from one of the hall’s many doors. She hesitated as she saw the crumpling legs of the spider. The dust cloud moved. Against a tightening knot of dread Aurgin forced herself forward. Her fears were realized when she peaked around the door, maul in hand, and saw a humanoid figure take shape out of the dust–now smoke. Aileen raised a terrified shield as the figure pulsed with a dim purple light. It crawled over her shield, incorporeal claws grating against the metal. Then Aurgin noticed movement from a dirt-coated suit of armor.

There was a blast of bright sunlight. The armor heaved to its feet, a battle ax in one hand. Golden light suffused its form, the dirt and grime of untold years burning away. At once Aurgin knew it was a Sentenate, like Maker, but unlike Maker in its construction. Without a word it raised its battle ax and pounced on the wraith, blade golden with power. Underneath this combat Aileen went limp on the cold stone.

The Sentenate did not just drive the wraith back, it pursued it with one hand outstretched. The undead apparition screeched in a horrid tone and scrabbled at the hand that sought it, but the golden light seared it and in some places made it corporeal. As the dueling pair rounded the forge, the Sentenate caught the wraith and yanked it close. With a gigantic swing of the ax the metal Folk carved an empty swath through the wraith’s center, turning its dark purple dusk to bright white sparks.

Aurgin took the opportunity to dive for Aileen, who was still unconscious. Her shield arm had been scratched and looked woefully pale, even in the dim light of the dungeon. Maul forgotten Aurgin gathered her friend in her arms and dragged herself back towards the door, where an unphased Maker had appeared. T’Chunk! A bolt whizzed through the wraith. The glowing battle ax made another pass through vaporious evil, and there was another screech. Its form failed, and with a pop the force keeping the wraith together dissipated. Aurgin pulled Aileen close as smoke and dust billowed out and filled the room, choking them both.

The recently arisen Sentenate did not hesitate in the gloom. Aurgin heard the clanking of its footsteps approaching, then a flat voice spoke. “Release the human, orc.”

Maker stepped forward from somewhere in the cloud, Aurgin could feel their feet close by. “You will retreat. These are not hostile.”

“It is an orc. You question my command, scout?”

“Yes. Do you know where you are? What year it is?”

There was a pause. The head of the battle ax fell through the dust and came to a rest on the stone just beside Aurgin’s head. She could see from its construction, the flat top and beard, that it was dwarven in make, despite being human in size and length. “Explain yourself, scout, or I’ll have you decommissioned for insubordination.”

In this discussion Moe scuttled forward, its bladed arms gently prodding at Aurgin. She cautiously reached a hand out to pull herself and Aileen another arm length, when a heavy steel foot clamped down on her leg.

“You are going nowhere, Orc.”

Anger broke through shock. Aurgin released Aileen and lashed out with a boot, kicking the Sentenate back. Powerful arms and shoulders heaved her to her feet, and though she was unarmed she lunged for the metal Folk. The dust swirled, but enough had fallen that she could see dim shapes in the dark. Her hands grabbed the sides of its metal head, and with a furious yank and a backwards pace she threw the Sentenate towards the door. It swung ineffectually with its ax before it crashed to the ground.

“Aurgin! This is a grievous mistake!”

“Do not call me that!” Aurgin roared. She caught sight of her maul and kicked it up into her hands with a deft flick. Before she could do more, however, Maker reached out and stopped her.

“Aurgin! They just awoke! We were built to fight you, to fight the undead! They were made to see you as an enemy! Please! Let me speak with them! Let me at least try!”

The smallest spark of emotion broke through Maker’s dull tone. Aurgin paused, staring into her reflection in Maker’s lensed eyes. The Sentenate on the ground shifted, dazed, but did not rise. With a pounding heart Aurgin let her maul fall to her side. “Okay. Okay, you talk to them. But I won't sit around and let it kill me, or kill Aileen.”

Maker whirled with mechanical speed and accuracy. “You, you know me. You were here, weren’t you?”

“Of course. You were supposed to lead them away. Why didn’t you?”

“Aren’t you curious to know my name? Aren’t you going to give me yours?”

In the clear air Aurgin could see the newcomer better. Instead of the Folkish features of Maker, it had a boxy head with one large lens for an eye. Its construction was rugged and overbuilt, and in this excess of metal were a myriad of dents and scratches. It looked up at Maker. 

“Why bother? You failed. They found us, and they broke through the doors. We fought them, room by room. Arrows and bolts vanished in the crushing mass. Swords were bent and spears splintered. Our shields clawed at and worn away to nothing. A wight took me, and all vanished.

“Where were you? Why didn’t the scouts help? What happened out there?”

Maker was silent for a long moment. “We noticed the swarm had changed course. We didn’t know why. We were returning, as fast as we could, but an abomination met us low on the slopes. I was thrown and when I crashed back down all vanished.”

The Sentenate staggered to its feet. “I am Arnith, paladin of Ankirat. I heard her, in the darkness.”

“Sentinel?”

“The very same. She told me I had to come back.” Arnith looked around the room, appearing still dazed. “I am still here? How long has it been?”

“I am Maker, scout of the Steel Brigade,” Maker dropped their head, “it has been one thousand and one hundred years.”

Arnith sagged back, their metal shoulders grinding against the stone wall. The ax dropped from their hand with a clatter that echoed throughout the dark halls. Aurgin was reminded there was still much of this place that was unaccounted for, and gave the rest of the room a look over.

It was a forge room, clearly dwarven in its pentagonal shape. Though they considered sixes and hexagonal structures holy and special, they always made their forges with five sides. A dwarf traveler who she had met told her that the act of forging, of making new things from metal, was considered the “sixth side”. Her interest waned when she saw and heard nothing, not even from the door in the rear of the room that had gone unnoticed.

“So long?” Arnith asked.

“I am afraid so,” Maker said.

“We lost, didn’t we?”

Aurgin’s attention returned to the two Sentenate. “I have been told we lost. Some of us return from deep underwater, and arrive on shore. One I met mentioned fighting under a storming sky, then an immense hammer crashing down to Kyranta. There was a wall of devastation that took all, and then nothing.”

In the following silence Aileen shifted. Aurgin collapsed to her knees to inspect her friend, and was pleased to see some color returning to the cleric’s face and arm. Arnith said nothing, they only watched. With a careful movement Aurgin cradled Aileen’s head in her arm and with her free hand pulled out her waterskin and put it to the half-elf’s lips.

Despite her low murmurings Aileen did not wake. She supped faintly at the the water, her hands twitched weakly, but still she did not wake. Aurgin’s brow furrowed. Her heart is still beating, her blood is still warm, her chest still rising and falling. After a moment she tried talking.

“Aileen? Can you hear me?”

Aileen twisted, eyes rolling behind closed lids. Her hair, messy with knots and dirt, fell across her face, but she did not raise a hand to brush it away. Aurgin did it for her. “I don’t understand, what’s wrong with her?”

“Do you care about this elf, orc?” Arnith asked.

Aurgin battled the spike of anger. “My name is Aurgin, and you will call me so, tin-skin, else I’ll mash you into scrap! Yes I care! She and I are to complete this quest with Maker and… I want her to see it done. What is wrong with her?”

Maker looked at Arnith. “Your lore is better than mine, I do not know.”

The one-eyed Sentenate took a step forward. Aurgin’s hand strayed toward her maul. “The wraith struck her, with pain and with fear. She will not wake unless healed by magic.”

The single lens considered Aurgin seriously. “Aurgin, if that is what you are, I can heal her. You speak of a quest, and it is not mine. I will help you, but you will need to tell me more about this world I have awoken into. Do you trust me? Will you help me as I help you?”

“Help her, not me! And yes, I will tell you what I know.” Aurgin held Aileen up. Her arms quivered under the weight of her body and chainmail, but she held firm. Arnith moved with mechanical accuracy, placing a metal hand on the cleric’s chest. The Mathuni warrior tensed, watching with forced calm as the recently awoken Sentenate worked.

The same light that banished the wraith of dust and smoke shone throughout Aileen, her unhealthy parlor evening out even more. When the Cleric spasmed and sucked in a huge breath, it took all Aurgin’s discipline not to yank her close and away from Arnith. She didn’t even notice when Aileen flinched, the rim of the cleric’s shield hitting Aurgin in the collarbone with a dull thud. 

Aileen rolled deeper into Aurgin’s arms, coughing as she did. Arnith stepped back, then met Aurgin’s stare. “There. She will recover. I am surprised to find she survived at all, a wraith can conjure incredible agony in even the slightest scratches. If you are to face more undead, know their most dangerous weapon is not the physical trauma they inflict, but the spiritual trauma. Now, Aurgin, you must tell me where and when I am.”

Maker wandered off as Aurgin began her halting explanation of Kyranta at large. They knew there was such a large gap between when the Sentenate were last conscious and now that there was no explanation holistic enough to bridge those long centuries. Maker themself had endured a myriad of explanations, treaties, debates, and lectures about the state of the world, and it had brought nothing but more confusion. What happened in those interim years, how the very landscape had changed, where the nations of the past went, why the names of the divinities are different, all of these things were unexplained.

The only Folk living who could speak at length about what had happened and where everything had been moved to were the Elves, and they had turned to enslaving maniacs. The undead were just as present as they had been in the remote corners of the world. The roving hordes of Maerui, then called Orcs, had formed their own societies free of the whispers of Gathra. There were also new Folkish races, like the Drazgol and Slazgol and the Grulai of Hoeperlund. 

Beyond this, the very Endless Above had changed. Not just their names, but their scopes and their realms. Maker pondered a time where each endless had a real and tangible place, a position in the greater cosmos that was theirs and theirs alone. Tanis of death. Judge the ferryman. Uncountable years and the change that came with them had not spared the Endless Above. The very thought of these immense beings weathering the winds of time the way the Folk did shook Maker in a way they could not place.

There were a number of theories about the origin of magic, of war, of love and of hate. Some from before the world as Maker knew it had ended, and some that were the same today as they had been then. Along the stone walls of the fort were deep grooves, some were from the chisels used to shape the bricks and blank rock; some were from the claws of the undead and the scoring of enchanted weapons. How is it that the scars of a war long forgotten and ended are more permanent and unchanging than the primordial forces that govern the very rocks they are carved into?

Maker gazed into the dark of the further reaches of the fort. The forge room, pentagonal after the way of the dwarves, had a back hallway that led around to the personal room of the family that had lived here. Maker did not bother checking the store room as not even the most salted provisions would last hundreds of years. Aurgin and Aileen had enough food for themselves.

The bed was caked with dust and pebbles, and the fireplace beside had caved in. Maker wondered idly if the forge’s chimney had suffered a similar fate, and if it had been the point of weakness her platoon worried it would be. Down more narrow hallways led the Sentenate to a pair of sarcophagi, their lids slotted into the walls around them. None of her squad knew the dwarves who rested here so they passed the time on long patrols guessing at their temperament and history. Maybe they had been low-born royals, maybe ascended merchants.

In the room beside was an oddity, something Maker did not remember. A battered chest, held together mostly by the rusting iron bands to which the rotted wood was riveted. With a bronze hand Maker unhooked the remains of the lock and lifted the lid. Inside was exactly what everyone who spent hours digging around dusty ruins hoped to find.

Arnith and Aurgin sat, backs to the dusty stone wall. Aileen was asleep with her head in Aurgin’s lap who brushed the cleric’s hair with a calloused hand. The Sentenate’s single lens took them both in without expression. At least Maker looks Folkish, with eyes and a brow Aurgin thought to herself. Aileen shifted in her sleep causing the warrior’s heart to stumble.

The Sentenate finally spoke. “So much… Nothing I remember has a link.”

“A link?”

“You didn’t mention the name of a single civilization that shares or is unmistakably similar to one from my world. Caelumnar? Lamante? Turgandy and Ogroth? Yes, the Twilight Star is the same, but they were mountain peaks, not islands. What of Dwerlum and Schakatan?”

Augrin shrugged. “I have never heard of those. My dad has spoken about how few books there are from more than two thousand years ago. He insists that something should’ve survived, as there are equally fragile works from before, but no words remain.”

“The Age of Heroes.” Arnith said to the silent forge.

“Hm? What was that?” Aurgin asked.

“What we called our time. The Age of Heroes.” The Sentenate paused at the sound of a distant creak. “The role of the paladin, my role, was the latest in the war against the undead. And the orc.”

Aurgin’s thoughtful face twisted. “Mathuni.”

“What does it mean? I don’t remember your… kind having much of a language. You were too new, and Gathra’s hand crushed most everything except your temper from your minds.”

The casual way in which Arnith spoke of the Mathuni during, if the Sentenate was to be believed, their earliest years in existence stabbed at Aurgin’s mind. A furious sense of condescension, a parching curiosity, and a juvenile insistence to not learn more out of spite. She held her silence for a moment, deciding not to ask further. If the Sentenate was to give her answers, they would need to prove themself more respectful.

“Mathuni. The Forgotten, or We Who were Forgotten,” she said at last. There, she thought to herself with a nod, disarming ignorance is disarming hatred. She heard it in her father’s voice, with more gravel than a landslide.

“The Forgotten. I suppose that is fitting, considering how you all vanished,” Arnith said, turning to face the sound of Maker’s approaching footsteps. “The plague of the undead made it very easy to forget everything else.”

Maker loomed out of the darkness behind the forge, their too-smooth gate unexpectedly springy. They were holding a rotting chest banded with rust. Before Aurgin could open her mouth to ask, Maker answered.

“It would appear that our reinforcements used your gravesite as a hiding place,” they said as they heaved the chest to the ground. Aurgin and Aileen both coughed in the storm of dust the box kicked up as it slammed to the stone, unseen parts of it snapping and buckling. Maker flung the lid off, causing an awful squeal of metal on metal from the hinges. Inside was the grim-covered but unmistakable shine of enchanted goods.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Another Atmospheric River Hits British Columbia

About a month after a powerful atmospheric river brought abundant rain to coastal British Columbia, another storm drenched southern parts of the Canadian province and western Washington in the U.S.

The atmospheric river made landfall over British Columbia on October 18, 2024, and moved down the coast on October 19-20. Portions of southern Vancouver Island recorded up to 300 millimeters (12 inches) of rain between October 18 and 20, while the Vancouver metropolitan area on the mainland received up to 150 millimeters (6 inches). According to the Vancouver Sun, the rain overwhelmed the city’s storm drain system, leading to widespread flooding.

Toward the south, the storm also brought rain and wind to portions of western Washington. Up to 150 millimeters of rain was also measured on the Olympic Peninsula. Gusty winds toppled trees and contributed to 14,500 households in the Puget Sound region briefly losing power on October 19. NASA-led research has shown that atmospheric rivers are associated with the most damaging storms in the middle latitudes, especially with regard to the hazardous wind they produce.

A second pulse of water vapor moved over southwest British Columbia and northern Washington on October 20, when the VIIRS (Visible Infrared Imaging Radiometer Suite) on the NOAA-21 satellite acquired this image. In the image, an elongated stream of water vapor—the hallmark of atmospheric rivers—had reached the western coast of North America after crossing the Pacific Ocean. When atmospheric rivers encounter land, they often release that water vapor in the form of rain or snow.

According to the Center for Western Weather and Water Extremes at the University of California, San Diego, forecasters expected the atmospheric river to hit western Canada as a Category 3 or 4 event, the second- and third-highest tiers on the scale. The storm follows an unusually strong Category 5 atmospheric river that hit British Columbia in September 2024. Experts suspect that the September atmospheric river was among the most intense events to transit the northeast Pacific in a satellite-based record going back to 2000.

NASA Earth Observatory image by Wanmei Liang, using VIIRS data from NASA EOSDIS LANCE, GIBS/Worldview, and the Joint Polar Satellite System (JPSS). Story by Emily Cassidy.

[sarandipitywrites]

DRDW: Ch 3 is LIVE

CW: on-screen violence, death, car crash (implied)

Daxter's zoomer — a two-seated craft that looked as though someone had lashed two of Keira's S-Classes together with cables and metal and called it a passenger vehicle — sat at the threshold where the cobbled road of the slums gave way to shining metal. The roads, the buildings — everything gleamed under streetlights of violet-tinged blue. The eco pulsed under Jak's feet, tangible even under the layers of earth and steel. There were mines down there, Aster had said — enough eco to sink Haven Peninsula into the Iron Sea. "Where're you goin'?" Daxter hissed. Only the flaming plume of his ponytail was visible; the rest of him was crammed under the dash, his arms elbows-deep in wires. Jak was starting to think that, maybe, this wasn't actually Daxter's zoomer. "Get your ass in the zoomer, 'fore—" "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Daxter's head popped over the body of the zoomer. He blinked at the red armored guard. "Uh, crime. What's it look like?" The guard stepped back, raised its gun. "Get out of the vehicle. Now." It cocked the gun, squeezed the trigger in the span of a heartbeat. Jak was faster. He barrelled into the guard. It toppled, hit the ground with a metallic thunk. Bullets sprayed into the air, rattled like hailstones. A scream. A crash. Scalded metal, searing eco. Charred flesh. The guard's helmet in his hands, visored eyes staring up at his. A twist. The back of the helmet. The front again. A wheezing gasp from the ground as Jak leapt over Daxter, landed in the zoomer. Arms twitching, fingers seeking. Damn. Usually that killed them.

if you're an enjoyer of Jak & Daxter, dystopian dark fantasy, or the above snippet, check out Dead Roots, Dark Water on Ao3, perhaps

taglist: @sam-glade, @televisionjester, @surroundedbypearls

[wayti-blog]

"Archaeologists using laser-sensing technology have detected what may be an ancient Mayan city cloaked by jungle in southern Mexico, authorities said Wednesday.

The lost city, dubbed Valeriana by researchers after the name of a nearby lagoon, may have been as densely settled as the better-known pre-Hispanic metropolis of Calakmul, in the south part of the Yucatan peninsula.

What the study, published this week in the journal Antiquity, suggest is that much of the seemingly empty, jungle-clad space between known Maya sites may once have been very heavily populated.

"Previous research has shown that a large part of the present-day state of Campeche is a landscape that was transformed by its ancient inhabitants," said Adriana Velázquez Morlet of Mexico's National Institute of Anthropology and History, a co-author of the report. "Now, this study shows that a little-known region was a urbanized landscape."

Mexico's National Institute said about 6,479 structures have been detected in LiDAR images covering an area of about 47 square miles (122 square kilometers). The technique maps landscapes using thousands of lasers pulses sent from a plane, which can detect variations in topography that ware not evident to the naked eye."

continue reading

[minecraftdreamer]

The morning was coming with the persistence of a hangover that followed a long night of revelry. The sun cast a delicate warmth across the cloudless sky, glimmering off the tranquil surface of the water. It was a good sky. A sky that seemed to know of the deep greens and endless blues that colored the world below it.

A small house perched on the edge of a gentle peninsula, half-hidden by the eager embrace of ivy and wildflowers. Its red-tiled roof, a testament to forgotten crafts, spoke of seasons withstanding and the permanence of nature’s eternal cycle. It was a simple abode; its white walls reflected the early light, and its windows were the eyes to the soul of the landscape.

A wooden pier stretched out into the water like the calloused hand of a fisherman, weathered and steady, floating on the whispers of ripples that kissed the muddy banks. It was the sort of pier that knew stories of quiet mornings and the hooks that braved the depths.

In the distance, emerald hills rose and fell with easy grace, a patchwork quilt sewn by some grand, unseen hand. They held secrets, those hills. They knew the silent songs of birds taking flight and the rustlings of small creatures amidst the underbrush.

There was no sound but nature's own here – the melody of rustling leaves and the soft conversations of waves meeting the steadfast shores. On days like these, the earth spoke in hushed tones, and one could almost feel the pulse of the world, slow and full of intent.

This home, this land, was a declaration of simplicity, a sanctuary from the racing world. Here, time paused and waited for men to stop and listen to the honest rhythms of life.

[essektheylyss]

Trick or treat! :3c

okay so in poking around my discard piles, I realized I still have the original first scene of chapter two for luminous worlds, and it is delightful and also has some very :3c fjord vibes, so here's the full thing under a cut! this is actually the only thing with remnants of SIGNIFICANT plot divergences; it was back when Gemma and Artur were one character and neither of them were outside the Exandrian atmosphere. (also feat. Maryllis's original filler name lol)

The sun glints brightly off the distant sea, enough that your sensitive eyes are tight as you look anywhere else though you are protected from the shade by a slatted trellis covered in grape vines, but the breeze is pleasant enough and the surf here laps quietly against the rocks at this low of tide, the peninsula where Palma Flora sits protecting the coastline of Port Damali from the strongest currents of the Lucidian Ocean.

Fjord pours over maps, of the Coast, of Western and Eastern Wynandir, and you should be reading the unfamiliar names, familiarizing yourself with how the continent has changed while you slept, but the sun is beginning to pulse a migraine behind your eyes and your mother’s warnings echo in your mind. A servant sets out another immaculate tray of appetizers, followed by breakfast dishes of poached eggs and a tangy cream sauce that you know you have tried, but only in this region, though you don’t know what it’s made of.

It smells delicious, and you half-heartedly cut into your eggs even as Fjord eats heartily, still staring at his maps, laid out far enough away that they aren’t in danger of spillage. His reading glasses rest halfway down his nose, and he peers through them as you watch, one hand smushed against your cheek.

“Aren’t we in a rush?” you ask, as he reaches across to butter a piece of bread with some kind of herbed cheese. “Do we have time for all of this?” You gesture toward the food in his hand, and his eyebrow skyrockets as he shoves it whole into his mouth.

“Well, I prefer to save the world on a full stomach, personally,” he says, and covers his mouth with the back of his hand as he talks around his bite. “And I also prefer to discuss the fate of the world over brunch rather than in some dark war room. So I think we are doing just fine on time.”

“I have eleven days before this,” you flick your wrist, and the beacon you have kept in stasis all these centuries falls into your palm, “starts spitting out souls that Leylas Kryn would very much like to get her hands on. She will not mind invading the Menagerie Coast to do so, considering that is already on her to-do list. So perhaps—“

“Eleven days until it opens, yes,” Fjord agrees, and spreads cheese onto another slice of bread, maddeningly. “We have longer than that to counter her movements, however. She doesn’t even know you’re awake, in fact, and she certainly doesn’t know where you are, so right now, we have the element of surprise.”

“Mother told me—“

Fjord chokes on his bread. “Your—“ his voice lowers an octave as he clears his throat. “Your mother? Spoke to you?”

You nod, and flick your wrist again, sending the beacon back where you have it hidden for safekeeping. “I can speak with any soul held inside a beacon within my possession.”

“They just… talk to you? Anytime?”

“No, in dreams.”

He laughs, a small nervous chuckle, and goes back to his breakfast. “Well, better you than me.”

Your lip curls, revealing one sharp canine. “Fjord, do you fear the souls of the dead?”

He purses his lips, avoiding your eyes. “Not my cup of tea, thank you. What did your mother tell you?”

“She said I should get in touch with my brother. He would know best what is happening inside, though I… admittedly don’t know if he’ll talk to me. If he’s even alive, against all odds.”

“Well, your dead mother sounds like a very wise woman,” Fjord agrees, with a bit of apprehension that does not seem to alleviate. “Fortunately I am in contact with your brother, as a matter of fact. We should be able to get some good information from him.”

“Verin is alive then?” Your heart feels as though it has risen to your throat. “He became consecuted?”

Fjord nods slowly, and you lean forward.

“That means he found Mother’s notes?”

“Yes, he did,” Fjord agrees, and he peers at you with softness, a gentleness really, that you can’t place.

“Where are they?”

“Safe, but I do not have access to them at the moment. They are in very trusted hands at the Cobalt Soul.”

Memories flood back, of blue monk robes and a wicked swing. “Beauregard didn’t—“

“No, no. But she found a trustworthy individual in the Port Damali archive, and they chose another, and so on and so forth.” He smiles. “And right now, my great-great-great-great—well, some amount of greats down the line—granddaughter has them kept away within the Archive at a secure location. Unfortunately, she is in Tal’dorei at the moment on some kind of assignment, so I don’t know that we will be able to obtain the papers before our… ah, other engagements.”

Eleven days. You would very much like to get your hands on those notes, but there is other work to be done before then. “Perhaps you should reach out to Verin. Like I said, I… I don’t know that he has any interest in speaking to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fjord chides, returning to his maps. You half-heartedly eat through another third of your breakfast, though the hunger that gripped you yesterday has subsided. “He will be thrilled to hear you’ve awakened.”

You can taste blood on your lips, the remnants of a memory that hasn’t fallen into place, and somehow doubt it.

“Where is your wizard friend?” you ask casually, though Fjord can see through you like a window.

“He will be joining us, I imagine. Could you please let up on the man?”

Fjord did in fact sleep through your conversation last night—that’s perfectly fine by you. You don’t want to have to explain to him why you are struggling to read the notes Caleb left you, even if you understand that they could be useful. Your heart stopped ignoring emotion for reason a long time ago, and by now your reason is so muddled by memory that you hardly recognize yourself. “Man? He’s barely a boy.”

“I could say the same about you.”

You splutter, and Fjord sips his coffee with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t test me. It won’t end well for you.”

“Oh, fine.”

“And he’s not much younger than you, with regards to what he has lived. Don’t be such an ass.”

“But aren’t I always?”

“No, you are not. I did not suffer your husband’s self-pitying bullshit and I will not suffer yours.”

A quickly stifled laugh echoes behind you, and you spin to see Emryn step out from beneath the eaves. His hair is freshly washed, and you can see the bronze of it where he has braided it out of its face. Even with the sun not yet risen over the house, it gleams.

You exhale and turn back to Fjord who is watching you intently.

“My brother. How do we reach him?”

It had felt so simple, in your dream—of course, Mother, I’ll find my baby brother, who blames me for the death of you, Father, and countless others—but now in the light of day, you look at Fjord and you are at a loss to move.

That is all you have felt since you awoke. Loss, and uncertainty. You were not lying when you told her you’d rather go back to sleep.

You are so far from the shadowed streets of Rosohna, separated by space and time, though you can still remember fleeing from that glittering throne room with everything you hold dear from your home in your hands. It feels odd, to think how your priorities have changed in the time before you went to sleep, how uncertain they are now.

When you only knew how to run from something, how do you change direction to run toward it instead?

“Verin and I have a system of communication, I’ll show it to you after breakfast,” Fjord says. “Emryn, care to join us? I can have a plate sent.”

“I stopped by the kitchen already,” he says. He takes the chair next to you and pours himself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the table. “I trust you slept well after our conversation?”

You almost choke on your eggs. Fjord’s gaze turns into a very interested stare, and you nod, willing yourself to remember how small talk works. “Yes, thank you. You?”

“I slept just fine.”

“‘And Fjord, how about you?’ Oh yes, I slept quite comfortably, for falling asleep at a damn desk,” Fjord grumbles, wrapping a bundle of fruit in a cloth and tucking it into the pocket of his vest. “Alright, in that case, if we’ve all eaten, Essek, I’d like you to accompany me to speak with the Marquis.”

You blanche. “The Marquis? What for?”

“To persuade him that he does not need to prepare for war, you idiot.” He stands and pushes his chair in, and then stares into your face for a long moment. “Ah. Right.”

“The Port Damali Marquis and I do not get along.”

“The Port Damali Marquis that you do not get along with has been dead for nine hundred years.”

“Has the Coast recognized Brokenbank yet?”

“They are in negotiations, which should hearten you.”

“Negotiations—!” You splutter, and he takes a large breath in as if to argue, but you cut him off before he has the chance. He heads down a corridor, waving apologetically to Emryn as he leaves, and you follow after, ignoring the wizard altogether. “After all this time, we have gotten to negotiations?”

“I will have you know that the only reason they’re even considering it is because of the renown the school has received, so you should be proud!”

“It’s been nine hundred years! That school had renown nine hundred years ago!”

“Well, perhaps you can put in a good word,” he offers, and holds the front door open for you. Beyond it, a bright street lays before you, and you suddenly freeze, uncertain what the city of Port Damali has in store for you, after all this time.

[famwell-health]

Capturing Memories in Montreal’s Vibrant Scene

In the hustle of daily life, health often takes a backseat—especially for men who might shrug off routine checkups or dismiss early warning signs. Yet, in Michigan, a quiet revolution is underway, one that champions proactive care and tailored solutions to keep men thriving. Through preventive health care services and specialized Mens Health Services Michigan, the state is carving a path toward longer, healthier lives. This article explores how these initiatives are reshaping men’s wellness, blending science, accessibility, and a deep understanding of unique health needs to create a blueprint for vitality.

The Silent Risks Men Face

Men in Michigan, like elsewhere, encounter health challenges that often sneak up unnoticed. Heart disease, prostate issues, and mental health struggles top the list, fueled by factors like stress, diet, and a tendency to delay seeking help. The numbers paint a stark picture—men tend to live shorter lives than women, with preventable conditions playing a major role. Preventive health care services step in as the first line of defense, offering screenings and checkups that catch problems before they escalate. In Michigan, this approach is gaining traction, encouraging men to rethink the “tough it out” mindset and embrace early action.

The beauty of prevention lies in its simplicity. A blood pressure test during a routine visit can flag risks for heart disease, while a quick chat about mood can uncover hidden anxiety. These small steps, woven into everyday care, empower men to stay ahead of their health rather than chasing it after a crisis hits. Michigan’s focus on accessible, no-fuss services ensures that even the busiest guy can fit wellness into his schedule.

Tailored Care for Michigan Men

What sets Michigan apart is its commitment to Mens Health Services Michigan, designed with the specific needs of men in mind. From the urban pulse of Detroit to the rural expanses of the Upper Peninsula, providers are tuning into the realities of local lifestyles. Think of the factory worker in Flint needing testosterone checks or the outdoorsman in Traverse City seeking joint health advice—these services adapt to the man, not the other way around. This personalization makes all the difference, turning generic health advice into a plan that fits like a glove.

Specialized care dives deeper than surface-level checkups. Prostate cancer screenings, for instance, become a priority as men age, with Michigan’s health networks offering advanced diagnostics to catch it early. Low testosterone, a condition affecting energy and mood, gets attention too, with treatments tailored to restore balance. By focusing on these male-specific concerns, the state’s health ecosystem ensures that no man slips through the cracks, blending cutting-edge tools with a human touch.

The Power of Prevention

At its core, preventive health care services are about rewriting the script. Instead of waiting for chest pain or fatigue to force a doctor’s visit, men are encouraged to act preemptively. In Michigan, this means annual physicals that cover the basics—cholesterol, blood sugar, and weight—while also opening the door to deeper conversations. A doctor might ask about sleep patterns or stress levels, unearthing clues that lab tests alone might miss. It’s a holistic approach that treats the whole person, not just the numbers

.

The payoff is tangible. Early detection of high blood pressure can lead to lifestyle tweaks that dodge a heart attack down the road. Regular cancer screenings—think colon or skin checks—spot trouble when it’s most treatable. Michigan’s push for prevention isn’t just about avoiding illness; it’s about adding years of fishing trips, family dinners, and morning runs along Lake Michigan. It’s health care that doesn’t just react—it anticipates, giving men the tools to shape their future.

Breaking the Stigma

One hurdle Michigan tackles head-on is the stigma around men seeking help. Cultural norms often paint health care as a sign of weakness, especially when it comes to mental well-being. Yet, Mens Health Services Michigan are flipping this narrative, normalizing visits for everything from depression to erectile dysfunction. Providers create spaces where men can talk openly—whether it’s over a virtual call or in a quiet office—making it clear that strength lies in taking charge of your health.

This shift is subtle but seismic. A construction worker might quietly book a session to address anxiety, while a retiree in Grand Rapids opts for a hearing test without hesitation. By weaving mental and physical care into the same fabric, Michigan’s services dismantle old taboos. The result? Men who feel seen and supported, not judged, stepping into a health care system that meets them where they are.

A Roadmap to Longevity

The future of men’s health in Michigan hinges on accessibility and education. Preventive health care services thrive when they’re easy to reach—think mobile clinics rolling into rural towns or telehealth options for late-night consults. Pair that with outreach that speaks plainly—ads at a hockey game or a chat at the barbershop—and you’ve got a recipe for engagement. Michigan’s health advocates know that getting men through the door is half the battle; once they’re in, the benefits sell themselves.

Longevity isn’t just about dodging disease—it’s about living well. Mens Health Services Michigan aim to boost quality of life, whether through nutrition counseling to shed pounds or exercise plans to keep joints limber. It’s a vision where a 60-year-old hikes the Porcupine Mountains with his grandkids, unhindered by ailments that could’ve been caught years earlier. By marrying prevention with purpose, Michigan is crafting a legacy of wellness that echoes across generations.

[h0llywoodsbleeding]

chapter twenty two

The morning air was crisp as Mair and her mom stepped through the revolving doors of The Peninsula Chicago, an extravagant hotel nestled in downtown Chicago. The lobby dazzled with gleaming marble floors and grand chandeliers, their warm light softening the edges of the busy city beyond. A delicate aroma of eucalyptus wafted through the space, harmonizing with the gentle strains of classical music that floated over polished surfaces. In that moment, the chaos of everyday life seemed to melt away.

Mair’s mom adjusted the strap of her purse, her eyes wide as she took in the grandeur. "I don't think I've ever been in a hotel this nice," she murmured, a mix of awe and quiet excitement in her voice.

Mairead gave a wry smile. "Welcome to the rockstar girlfriend life, Mom."

Her mom raised an eyebrow, amused yet curious. "You're telling me you've done this before?" she asked, half-teasing, half-incredulous.

"A may have a couple times," Mairead admitted softly. "Whenever I flew out to see Austin or after a rough week at school, he'd book a spa day for me."

Her mother nodded slowly. "That boy has been in love with you forever."

Mairead's heart fluttered at the familiar sentiment, though a part of her remained guarded. As they approached the reception desk, a friendly receptionist with sleek blonde hair and a warm smile greeted them immediately.

"Good morning, you must be Mairead, welcome! We have everything set up for you and your mom today," the receptionist announced, her tone effusive yet professional. "Your boyfriend called yesterday to ensure every detail was perfect. He left us a list of special instructions."

Mairead's pulse quickened as the receptionist continued, scrolling through the itinerary on her computer screen. "He requested extra pillows for the lounge areas, slippers, and he specifically mentioned that the massage therapists should be extra mindful of your belly. He even asked us to set up a scalp massage for both of you, knowing you'd love it."

Mairead's cheeks warmed with a mix of embarrassment and affection. "Sorry," she muttered, almost under her breath. "He can be a little much sometimes."

The receptionist shook her head, smiling kindly. "No need to apologize, it's very sweet. He just wants to make sure you're taken care of."

Her mother gave a small nod and a half-smile. "That sounds like him," she said matter-of-factly, a hint of amusement in her tone.

After confirming their reservation and handing them plush white robes and soft slippers, the receptionist guided them along a corridor adorned with tranquil artwork and lush plants. The atmosphere was peaceful, the gentle murmur of water features in the background and the faint scent of fresh linen wrapping around them as they entered the private changing area.

Inside, Mairead quickly changed into the robe, slipping her feet into the fluffy slippers that felt like a cloud. Her mother followed suit, and they soon found themselves in the serene treatment lounge. A large window overlooked a quiet courtyard, and the soft ambient music made it seem as if time had slowed down just for them.

They were then led to the hydrotherapy tub area, a warm, inviting space where water jets and gentle lighting promised an escape from the stress of daily life. Mairead sank into the water with a sigh, feeling the warm water envelop her tired muscles. The jets massaged her back, easing away the tight knots that had built up over months of worry and exhaustion. For a few precious hours, the relentless pace of her life softened into silence.

Her mother reclined next to her, eyes closed and a contented smile playing on her lips. "This is so exciting," her mother said softly, almost to herself. "I've never been to a spa like this before."

Mairead chuckled, a small, wry smile on her face. "Get used to it, Mom. There are some perks dating a singer, you know?"

Her mother laughed lightly. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for the rockstar life, but I'll definitely take the pampering."

As the hydrotherapy session ended, they were escorted to the massage rooms. The massage therapists, with gentle hands and soothing voices, worked out the tension in Mairead's shoulders, back, and legs. The warm oils and delicate pressure melted away the burdens of the past few weeks of late-night worries, of a relationship that had grown complicated by distance and rumors, of a future uncertain yet inevitable. Each stroke seemed to whisper promises of relief.

After the massages, Mairead and her mother were treated to rejuvenating facials. A cooling mask was applied to Mairead's skin, and as the serum seeped in, she could almost forget the relentless buzz of her phone and the anxious thoughts about Austin. Even her mother, who had never been one for indulgence, seemed to be swept up in the moment, her eyes half-closed as she savored the pampering.

By mid-afternoon, they were comfortably reclined in the relaxation lounge, wrapped in fluffy robes, with cucumber-infused water in hand. The room was quiet, the soft music and gentle chatter of a few other guests melding into a harmonious backdrop. Mairead felt her mind quiet down, if only for a little while, the weight of everything outside this sanctuary momentarily forgotten.

After a while, her mother broke the comfortable silence. "So, speaking of Austin—what's going on with you two?" Her tone was gentle, curious but not intrusive.

Mairead's eyes flicked up, meeting her mother's gaze. For a moment, she hesitated, the familiar walls around her heart rising up. "No one was talking about him," she replied defensively at first, her voice guarded.

Her mother raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, her voice soft yet insistent. "I'm only wondering because he spent the night last night."

Mairead's stomach clenched at the mention. "He slept on the floor," she clarified quickly, trying to dismiss the topic.

Her mother's eyes widened slightly in mild surprise. "What? Why? He could've slept on the couch, couldn't he?"

Mairead bit her lip, feeling the vulnerability creeping in. "He just—wanted to be there without crossing any lines. He didn't want to push me into anything I wasn't ready for," she said quietly, her voice wavering just a little.

Her mother studied her for a long moment before asking gently, "So, how do you really feel about it?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and inevitable. Mairead hesitated, her eyes drifting to the patterned rug on the floor as she tried to gather her thoughts. Finally, with a deep breath, she admitted, "I still love him. It's always been Austin. He's been mine forever." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, "But I'm not ready to forgive him, not yet. I'm not ready to be back together. But I don't hate him, Mom. I can't hate him."

Her mother's hand reached over, gently squeezing Mairead's. "You don't have to have all the answers today, sweetheart," she said softly. "You'll know when you're ready. Take it one day at a time."

Mairead nodded, the sincerity in her mother's words stirring emotions she had long tried to keep locked away. The memory of all those times Austin had been there for her��the small, thoughtful gestures, the late-night calls, the way he'd always managed to make her smile, mingled with the pain of his mistakes, creating a bittersweet ache in her heart.

The receptionist's earlier words still lingered in her mind as they made their way back to the lobby. The detailed itinerary, every specific request about extra pillows, slippers, and instructions to be careful with her belly, made her both cringe and smile. It was almost too much to take, yet it underscored the depth of Austin's care even if it sometimes felt overwhelming.

Despite the uncertainties that still loomed over her relationship with Austin, the day had brought a small measure of peace, a moment when she could simply be cared for and let the world fall away.

The remainder of the spa day passed in a haze of soothing treatments and quiet conversation. Mair and her mom sat side by side in a plush relaxation room, the gentle hum of ambient music mingling with their soft laughter. Between treatments, they shared stories about simpler times, with her mom recalling how she'd always appreciated the little gestures from Austin, even when things were far from perfect. Mairead found herself laughing at the memory of Austin trying to juggle his schedule, determined to make every moment count even if it sometimes meant he was a bit over the top.

Before leaving, as they stepped back into the lobby, Mairead felt a sense of renewal that was rare in recent weeks. The spa had been an oasis, a place where she could momentarily escape the relentless pressure of her public life and the complicated emotions tied to Austin. The gentle pampering and the heartfelt conversation with her mom had soothed her, even if just for a day.

Her mom, still riding the wave of newfound relaxation, picked up her phone. "I'm going to need to text Austin and thank him for today," she declared with a playful tone. Then, with a pointed smile, she added, "Unless he'll be sleeping over again?"

Mairead groaned, but her smile grew wider as she shook her head. "Mom," she said softly, amused despite herself.

Her mom chuckled. "Just saying, sweetheart. He's really taken care of you and been over more hasn't he?"

She nodded, her heart warmed by the genuine care in her mother's words. The day had been long and full of introspection, but it ended with a glimmer of hope, a small reminder that even when everything was tangled and uncertain, he was here.

As they stepped out into the cool evening air, the city lights twinkled like distant stars. Mair felt lighter, if only for a moment, as she considered the possibilities of tomorrow. Though she still carried the scars of past hurts, she knew that in time, she would heal. And maybe, just maybe, she and Austin could find a way to navigate the complexities of their love once more.

Walking down the street side by side, her mother squeezed her hand. "You're going to be alright, Mairead. Just keep doing what feels right for you."

Mair offered a small, hopeful smile. "I will, Mom. I promise."

Deep in her heart, she knew that while the future remained uncertain, the day had given her a chance to breathe again. A chance to rediscover a bit of herself amid the chaos. And that was enough to carry her forward.