#entry walkway pillars

[mastertook]

Hip Roofing Houston Idea for a large, two-story, traditional beige stone house exterior with a hip roof and shingles on the roof

[bluefuzzball]

Natural Stone Pavers Front Yard Toronto An example of a mid-sized traditional full sun front yard stone landscaping.

[hxcgirl666]

Contemporary Exterior Denver Example of a large trendy brown three-story wood exterior home design

[no-reallyimfine]

Working on a new story on WattPad!

Of Night and Day

Description:

Amalie Brightmoor is a Magi woman from Barick (Bah-Rick) in the Northern Kingdom of Krelush, she is a daughter of a successful architect and city designer. She was accepted to attend the Grimsbane University on a Returner Scholarship, she was looking to leave her high pressure homelife and took the first opportunity to leave. Amalie completes her first day of school fairly uneventfully, until a pipe bursts in her dorm room. Due to this, her living arrangements changed to an emergency dorm in the Student Leader Counsel dorm which also houses a flirtatious shifter, a stoic vampire, a free-spirited Magi. After some adjustment to living with these new housemates, Amalie starts to feel the pressure from her family to focus on her studies with the goal of joining the slew of successful architects, city designers, and magic-based engineers. Amalie must make a choice if she is going to conform to familial expectations or follow the inspirational path that her cousin had founded by becoming a story-telling bard as well as the black sheep of the family. As she is trying to figure out her path in life, she finds herself in the middle of blooming feelings for a kindred spirit that does not seem as willing to consider shirking off family expectations.

Part one below:

The first day of school is always terrifying. New people, new expectations, new routines. It always seemed so much for most people, even for me. This was different though; this was a new town far from what I have known in Barick.

I was glad to be away, but something in me ached for familiarity as I walked along the grey bricked paths through lush green lawns to my first class. The building I approached almost seemed church like, large pillars welcomed students like arms to a covered entry way that was adorned with double doors. The building stretched to the sky with a steeple like face that had a large clock that could be seen from across the campus. The slanted roof was shingled in deep green.

I found myself standing in front of the building, staring at the clock as it ticked. Reading 8:45 in the morning. My heart was in my chest as I stood planted in the walkway. People moved around me as they wandered into the building. some reading papers, some walking confidently. Not a single familiar face walked by, but I didn't expect one. It was a lonely thought, to be the only one from Barick at the Grimsbane University.

"Standing here like a tree is not only going to get in the way of everyone around you, but yourself as well. Best get moving." A voice spoke, it was deep and proper. Like the tongue was trained to speak each word with respect of the syllables.

A man then passed me. He was tall with deep, huckleberry colored hair that brushed his waist. He had a leather messenger bag had his hip. He moved with grace and purpose towards the building.

I gulped and the hair on the base of my neck stood on end. He was right, I was only getting in my own way standing here.

I took in a breath of the chilly morning air and walked forward. I pushed against the large ornate door's bass handle; a sense of excitement started to wash through me.

The door didn't budge, and my stomach dropped.

"It's a pull!" A small-framed girl popped next to me, she smiled sweetly and waited for my response.

"Thank you," I laughed nervously and pulled the door to me, it moved with ease despite how heavy it looked.

I stepped into the building and was again filled with nervousness as I looked at the tile floors and the twin staircases that lead up to landings on the second and third floors. The back of the building had large windows that looked out to trees and blue sky as a matching set of ornate doors were at the opposite side of the building.

"Do you know where you are going?" The same girl at the door had joined me at the foyer and was watching me.

"I'm sorry, I don't have the slightest clue..." my voice trembled a little.

"What class are you looking for?" She asked, her voice was gentle as she spoke with me. I turned to really look at her, she was small with a platinum bob that flared outwards at the ends. She wore heavy eyeliner, a black top with black pants and a matching jacket. When she smiled, I noticed her canine teeth looked a bit sharper than I expected.

Turning my attention away, I dug a piece of paper out of my pocket and looked at my notes for the classes of the day.

"I am looking for Intro to Potions, with Professor Kayden." I read off.

She squeaked and jumped up and down on her toes with excitement. "I'm actually headed there myself! Come with me!"

She lead me past the stairways and into a hallway tucked passed the left one.

"I'm Fiona by the way," She turned her attention back to me and her grey eyes squinted in a smile that showed her fangy teeth again.

"I'm Amalie," I smiled back.

"Are you a first year?" She asked as we approached a green door that matched the shingles outside. She held it open for me so I could enter.

"Yes," I nodded. The classroom was set up like a stadium, the desks were mounted like walls rising to the back. Students had filed in and took up some of the spaces farther, but the ones closer to the front remained free.

"First day of first year? Oof, that can be overwhelming." Fiona was casual and welcoming in her tone, she stood next to me as I looked around the class.

I started to walk towards the desks at the front of the room and I could see a glimmer off distaste in Fiona's smile as she followed.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" She asked as she filed in behind me, "First day is always lonely,"

I agreed and she took the seat next to me. We talked for a few minutes as we waited for the class to start, people filed in and more and more seats filled up, but not many at the front of the room.

I had always preferred the front, there were less distractions than further seats. In this room, it seemed as if the students avoided them.

"Why is no one sitting up front?" I asked.

"It has to do with the teacher's assistant," Fiona mumbled and another person walked into the room.

I recognized him from before.

He was tall and slender, with the long, dusty, purple hair. He strode into the room with confidence, walking to the desk to put down the messenger bag. He wore a white shirt with a dark blue suit vest and black slacks. As I looked to at his profile as he passed me, he had a slightly hooked nose that supported his gold framed glasses.

When he placed his bag down, he turned to the board, he held his hand to the board as he walked down it, right to left. In his wake, the class information appeared.

"Pretentious," Fiona muttered as she rested her chin on her hand.

"Welcome class, this is Introduction to Potions," He walked to a podium at the front of the room. He shuffled through a few papers and looked up to the room. His voice was strong as he spoke to the room. The frames of his glasses gleamed under the light orbs; from my perch I could see deep red eyes scanning.

"I am your teaching assistant, Aleksandr Orpheus. Professor Kayden will not be joining us this morning due to a cold, so I have been asked to start the class in his stead." He announced to the room.

He then focused an intense, interested look in our direction.

"Fiona Krass, I am glad to see you front and center for a change." A purple eyebrow raised.

Fiona shot a sarcastic smile in his direction, "Just missed your warm and fuzzy nature," she said.

"Hmm..." He hummed and turned his attention back to the papers in front of him. He started the day with taking attendance and moved into introducing the syllabus, passing out papers that had been carefully produced, I assumed by the on-campus printing press that had been promoted by university staff during orientation.

Through the class, Aleksandr was fairly monotoned and authoritative as he spoke to the class. He spoke on the importance of staying on top of the course work as the term continues, gave an overview of the projects we will cover, and the overall outcome of the class.

Once the hour of his monologuing was completed, most of the class scurried out. I had some time before my next class, that I took my time to gather my things. Fiona was anxiously shifting her weight from foot-to-foot waiting.

"You don't have to wait on me," I smiled.

"Do you know where you are going next?" Fiona asked as she took a step back.

"I know it is in the training complex," I said as I slung my bag on to my back.

"Okay, that isn't too far, meet me at the Student Union Building and we will do lunch together." Fiona smiled and waved as she walked off.

"Glad to see you didn't get in your own way, tree." Aleksandr spoke, his voice commanding the room despite it was just us.

I stiffened at his acknowledgement of me. I turned to look at him as he was replacing his messenger back on his shoulder. His burgundy eyes moved over me as I watch him in turn.

"Don't be late for your next class," He said and walked out of the room as people started to funnel in. As he exited, people cleared a wide path for him like fish avoiding a shark.

[earthenserenity]

[alexgandel]

1013 Scioto Cir Simi Valley, CA 93065 from Alex Gandel on Vimeo.

Welcome to Wood Ranch, where this delightful single-story home in the coveted Regalia community awaits. This charming residence features 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and offers 1,842 sq. ft. of spacious living on a prime 6,949 sq. ft. cul-de-sac lot, complete with stunning hilltop views from the front. As you approach, you'll be greeted by a flower-lined walkway leading to the front entry door with glass side lights. Inside, the marble foyer opens into the living and dining areas, showcasing dramatic pillared arches, a chandelier and a picturesque bay in the dining area, while the living room is adorned with plush carpeting, custom window treatments, and a soaring ceiling that enhances the space's grandeur. The secondary bedrooms are both spacious and refined, featuring mirrored closet doors and windows overlooking the side yard. The marble-lined guest bathroom includes a tub for relaxation. The laundry room is well-equipped with storage shelves, a large closet, and includes newer washer and dryer units. The primary suite is a private retreat with vaulted ceilings, a ceiling fan, and opens to the back patio with privacy. The en suite marble-lined bathroom boasts a luxurious walk-in shower with a seat, marble and stone accents, a hand-held shower head, and a vanity with dual sinks, mirrors, a skylight, and a walk-in closet. From the dining area, a radius throughway leads to the family room featuring marble flooring, vaulted ceilings, a cozy fireplace, and a large window overlooking the backyard. The adjacent kitchen is complete with pendant lights over the breakfast bar, marble counters and backsplash, white cabinetry with some glass display doors, a garden window, stainless steel appliances including a KitchenAid dishwasher, GE double oven, Maytag cooktop, LG refrigerator, pantry, recessed lighting, and a charming breakfast nook with French doors to the backyard. The serene backyard is perfect for entertaining, with a concrete patio, lush grass area, vibrant shrubbery, and fruit trees including peach, apricot, and fig. This light and bright home features neutral wall colors, skylights, raised panel interior doors, and radius throughways and windows. Located in the desirable Wood Ranch community, you'll enjoy beautiful greenbelts, walking paths, proximity to the Wood Ranch Golf Course, parks with multiple playgrounds and pavilions, and the Wood Ranch shopping center. This home is a true gem, offering a perfect blend of elegance and comfort in a prime location.

[2minutetabletop]

The Acid Cave Map

This is my new Acid Cave map, designed around perilous jumps and high stakes. Watery version also included (for babies!)

→ Find it on 2-Minute Tabletop

A 44×32 cave map featuring a vast pool of acid for your player characters to avoid as they jump between narrow stone platforms… I began this cave map with the vague idea of “jumping puzzle.” I drew the central entry/exit tunnel and it’s to-and-fro walkway, and then branched left and right via the oddly-spaced stone pillars. Read more

Each jump is about 10 feet at maximum, feasible to most athletic characters with a good run-up – but where will they get their run up once should they hesitate atop a platform? Throw in some enemies to threaten opportunity attacks, tempt your players to stop and fight, and then watch them squirm when they don’t have space for that run-up. (Am I growing too evil?)

Hope you and your friends have fun with these!

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2020 #30: Splinter

This is my fault.

Trees were torn and shattered. Shards of glass scattered on the ground, making the walkways glitter more than usual.

She could not see the survivors but felt their eyes upon her, hidden in the shadows of the city’s ruin as she walked with slow and certain steps through the rubble.

I should have done more. Tried harder.

The butt of her staff crunched a fragment of someone’s mask. Her feet stepped over a crumpled, burned robe devoid of an owner.

She paused at the bottom of the familiar road, looking up at a building she equal parts loved and hated for all it was and all it had represented.

What did it represent now?

I should have been here.

She climbed the sloping walkway, head high and back straight, her staff tapping along with each remembered step.

A figure moved from behind a pillar. She merely paused, turning her gaze that way, showing no fear or concern.

Even now, there were none here who would think to hurt her. Such a gentle people.

No matter how I deserve their ire.

“There’s naught here you wish to see,” the chords of Venat’s voice were weary and sad.

“They did it,” she answered. “I have seen the cost.”

“Not all of it,” Venat replied. “I have…concerns.”

She laughed bitterly. “Don’t we all.” She resumed her walk to the great doors.

“I have ideas, too,” Venat said, watching her. “I would value your input, given—”

“I have business with the Convocation,” she said firmly. She paused at the door, taking a deep breath. “We will speak later.”

She felt Venat’s acquiescence as she pushed the door open, moving as smoothly as it always did.

The entry hall was empty and still, the only sign of the devastation without. Normally these halls were bustling and abuzz with conversations. She continued through, not changing the cadence of her pace, staff striking the floor when her boots did not.

One last door.

This is my fault.

She took a breath and entered.

Twelve familiar figures paused their discussion, turning from their places in the circle to stare at who dared to intrude. Silence and shadow filled the chamber, the only lights those which shone upon each place for each member.

Without explanation or announcement she moved with the habit of centuries to one of the two empty, lighted spots in the circle.

Beneath her robes her heart beat and her throat tightened, a chilly bead of sweat running down her spine. She knew the other empty spot. All the other robes were black.

Where is Elidibus?

“Azem,” Lahabrea said, voice colder than she remembered. “You removed yourself from this Convocation.”

“Then allow me to petition the Convocation as a private citizen.” She did not point out that he had used her Convocate title.

Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall the last time she had used his name, either. Decades, at least. The last time she had been in the city–before the Sound.

He considered for a time. She sensed Emet-Selch to her right side, tensing as he watched her, waiting for whatever she had to say or do this time.

“Very well,” Lahabrea finally intoned.

She looked at each of them. Her colleagues and friends, for so very long. Despite her many long absences, she knew them all well enough to read them regardless of their robes and masks.

That they no longer treated her as one of them stung, though was expected–she had left, and at the moment of crisis. But there was another, more subtle undercurrent in the room, a sense of static that had never been present before. She was not sure what it was, though had a guess and did not like it in any case.

She cleared her throat. “I stepped down from my role on the Convocation in protest of the planned course of action. Instead I attempted to find other means to stop the Sound and the horrors it wrought.”

“And failed,” Nabriales said. “Where we succeeded.”

“She has the floor,” Igeyorhm admonished, ever the Speaker’s enforcer. Nabriales made a face beneath his mask, but bowed to his peer.

“I did fail,” she replied quietly, their attention turned back to her. “My friends and I were unable to stop your madness.”

The tension thickened, most of them leaning toward her. Emet-Selch looked to the ceiling and she knew he was counting for patience.

“Half of our people are dead,” she said flatly. “The sacrifice was terrible enough. But now I hear you wish to make the same sacrifice again.”

“The world is not saved,” Lahabrea replied. “Our Lord can fix that.”

Ice gripped her heart. Every rumor she had heard rushed into her ears. Every study session and the hours of research she had undertaken filled her head and made her fingers twitch.

“For whom do we save the world, if we continue to feed this nascent god of yours?” she asked.

“We have a plan,” Emet-Selch said. She could imagine his eyes behind his mask.

Or could she, anymore? She even felt the static from him.

“Our people will live,” he continued. “All will be as it was.”

“Enough,” Lahabrea said. He turned his own gaze back to her. “We should not speak of such details with a private citizen.”

She did not allow them to see how that stung. She had expected such barbs after what she had done, and knowing them so well.

Or did I? With all my wanderings, have I ever truly known any of you at all?

She could feel her heart slowly splitting like the shattered trees outside.

“I understand,” she replied, tongue feeling too thick for her mouth. “Though I have one last question for the Convocation, if you’ll indulge me?”

Lahabrea inclined his head ever so slightly.

She looked to the empty circle of light. Her hands felt clammy, her grip on her staff loose.

“Where is Elidibus?”

They were silent, and the answer she had already known was confirmed. “Why?” she heard herself demanding, not quite wailing it.

“He chose,” Mitron answered after another long pause. “Ever eager to do his duty to our people, to our star.” Mitron’s hands clenched. “Unlike some.”

“I did my duty,” she whispered back harshly, the chamber’s acoustics sending the words as clearly as if she had shouted. “And I shall continue to do so–without you, or your thrice-damned ‘god’.”

The surge of aether rose with their sudden anger, all shifting to her–and then blocked by the wall of Emet-Selch suddenly standing before her.

“Go,” he said softly, though there was edged steel beneath the silk. “If naught has changed, this is a waste of your time and ours. We have preparations to make.”

“As do I,” she answered. Now she was certain his eyes narrowed behind his mask, from the way his mouth shifted and set. “When next we meet, it will not be as friends,” she continued, letting her gaze slide past him to each of the others.

He did not respond, or even move; he may as well have been a statue and as distant as if they stood on opposite poles of the world. She turned on her heel and marched back out.

She made it to the bottom of the ramp, where it met the main road. Still empty, still strewn with shattered bits of the world.

This is my fault.

She had walked away, believing she had known better. She had broken the Convocation, left them to their choices, and while the world was saved the cost…

The worst part was, she still could not let go of the feeling that she had been right, was still right. That what they had done in their desperation was wrong, and would only lead to worse, things she never would have thought any of them capable of.

Did I ever really know any of them?

Swanning in and out for years on end, knowing there had been other people out in the world she felt closer bonds to, but the Convocate were her people, her peers, her family…

She half-collapsed against a broken stone railing and allowed herself to sob, giving into the pain of her fractured heart. The deluge lasted for a time, and none disturbed her; they were wiser than that, if they saw.

Eventually she straightened, wiping her tears and turning to look up at the Capitol as she straightened her mask upon her face.

“Whatever it takes, however long it takes,” she said. “I’ll put an end to this.”

The former Convocate, known to all as Azem, made her promise and took up her staff again. It tapped the debris-strewn ground when her boots did not.

She never stopped walking.

[jeanjauthor]

(Made up bit heavily inspired by bit with much much better women’s rights) In England late mediveal or early renaissance time, how would I put a bridge on a very large and wide river that large ships like cogs and big carraks can get under? I’d like to keep to that time period as closely as possible (but with different women’s rights) but I realised I need big carraks and cogs to go up a river I need many bridges on. Would swing bridges do? What would those be made of in those times? Stone?Wood?

eGood to know! Presuming a world without magic...if it's late medieval / early renaissance, just use drawbridges.

Understand that your boats will have to be smaller than most seagoing vessels. However,that doesn't mean they cannot be quite useful, and it doesn't mean they cannot be sailboats; they can! They just need to be more slender and shorter--not just to navigate between the central support pillars for said drawbridges, but also simply to navigate the twists and turns of any river.

This particular scene from the BBC's Edwardian Farm series has an example of just such a boat: https://youtu.be/obIWqJlxniY?t=1030 You should watch it, even though they're actually just discussing using quicklime to neutralize the acidity of the local soils, and how they're importing coal for use in burning in the lime kilns.

The most important feature of the scene for our discussion is how it shows the size of cargo ship that would sail up a slow, calm river. The various boats that sailed up and down the Yangtze River, the Nile, Hudson River, the Mississippi, the gazillion waterways of the Amazon and more, all of these had a lot of river-based commerce. Even the canals of Angkor Wat had a great deal of commerce via boat.

In some cases, such as at Angkor Wat, they would have had stevedores (dockworkers) standing by at bridge causeways that boats couldn't cross. These workers would literally offload cargo from one canal boat, carry it a few yards across the street to the next canal's boat, load it there, and send it on its way along a different canal system. (You'd have to see how the roads and canals at Angkor Wat were built to understand this system.) In other locations, they would have boat-pontoons serving as a floating bridge that could be unlashed and moved out of the way so that cargo ships could cross, and there would often be regular times for these switchups to occur.

But if you're dealing with late medieval / renaissance levels of ingenuity, then winches, gears, capistans, etc, would all be a part of their canal system, with broad, stoutly made drawbridges being drawn up and lowered down at regular points in the day.

Some of these pulley systems could be animal-powered (horse, mule, oxen, whatever), or it could be a wheel that a man would walk along, kind of like a hamster wheel, such as the kind found here: https://youtu.be/s46qP1l39V8?t=628 Though it's a long zoom in, you can see toward the end there are actual humans inside thos wheels, walking slowly to raise and lower whatever needs to get up to the building site. A drawbridge system would be no different.

You can also use folding masts. Since you're not dealing with a specific real-world place-and-time, you can borrow from other eras and traditions, including ancient historical methods, such as the bipod mast: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bipod_mast These were used as far back as the 3rd millenium BCE to sail up and down the Nile...which admittedly didn't have bridges to sail under, but the stability of the bipod mast made it easy to lay it down without overbalancing the ship.

With some clever hinges and pulleys and gears, a Renaissance shipmaster could make a system that would allow the sails to be quickly brought down...though to maintain forward motion when going upstream, they'd probably have to pay a lining service a fee to line the ship upstream. Here's an example of how to line a canoe upstream along a river from Far North Bushcraft And Survival: https://youtu.be/ZQ7940-M5mM

This is literally the same system used to maneuver canal barges upstream (and down!), powered by horsepower, literal horses, donkeys, mules, oxen, etc. This particular scene from the Victorian Farm series shows one such canal barge being used to deliver a load of coal, as they would've done in the Victorian era: https://youtu.be/Ccjyt7BQEVU?t=1374 In the scene, they talk about how it's "...a fly boat, going day and night; they change out the horses..." to indicate that these were in constant use. You can see how there's a path built under the bridge for the horse to walk along.

The barge would be manned and steered in most cases, since that's easier than doing it manually by the two-line method, but they'd still probably have two lines on the boat in most instances, in case the helmsman fell asleep, or there was a change in the current, etc. There would also be strict "lanes" for upstream versus downstream traffic, ideally with walkways on each side so as to keep the lines from tangling--this would be in use in areas with really flat slow/sluggish water, not enough room to use galley oars, not enough room to set sails, yet you still want your cargo to head downstream at more than a snail's pace with the natural current (ideal for big cities).

Small barges could also be poled like the gondolae of Venice, but again, that's small barges, since there's only so much effort poling can manage before it becomes nigh impossible not only to get up to speed, but also to slow down to make a turn, to stop, etc. So consider if your river is slow, if it's a series of canals, how many bridges there are, what sort of workforce there might be for loading & unloading, and for portaging.

To portage is to go around an obstacle that a boat (of whatever size) cannot safely manage. The most famous portages were done by the voyageurs of the fur trade in Canada, where they'd come upon a stretch of rapids too dangerous to traverse or have to leave the river they're on to go in the direction they need to get to the next river or lake system, etc. At that point, the fur trappers/canoers would get out, offload their cargo, and carry it and their canoes--sometimes for miles!--to the next navigable stretch of water...and most cases they'd have to set up camp when they got there, then go back for everything that got left behind, and haul all of that to the new spot.

In many cases in the wilderness, they'd leave 1-2 behind to guard said provisions, etc, either at the offloading site or the final destination site. But if you're dealing with a civilized/settled area, they wouldn't necessarily have to do that, but might instead arrange passage with wagoners / caravaners, the people who got paid to transport river-shipped goods between two points overland.

There are also the possibilities for canal locks (the ancient Romans had a precursor to the system we know of today) as well, but it honestly depends on how much that region has decided to put in the effort to dig and construct and manage them. If it's wealthy, has a history of innovation, and/or relies heavily upon river commerce, then it's quite possible. But most likely, drawbridges and folding masts are going to be ideal.

Just remember that those ships and masts are not going to be designed to withstand open-ocean travel or hurricane force winds, nor to carry hundreds of tons. River ships are not going to be the same as ocean or sea going vessels. For example:

"During the time of King Philip II's reign (1556-98), the Spanish galleon increased in size and capacity. For example, while the earlier galleons had capacities for 120 toneladas (Spanish tons), the post-1560 galleons tended to cross thresholds of 330 toneladas." (https://www.realmofhistory.com/2019/06/07/galleon-spanish-warship-facts/ )

Or: "...a typical American barge measures 195 by 35 feet (59.4 m × 10.7 m), and can carry up to about 1,500 short tons (1,400 t) of cargo." (from the entry on Barges, Wikipedia)

These might seem like good resources, but those galleons are oceanic vessels far too large and/or deeply drafted for river navigation, and those barges are modern ones meant for the lower Mississippi River. The latter are also powered by engines, not by wind, oar, or musclepower (animals or humans lining the boat along the riverbank).

Unless your river is huge--at which point ferries will be your ideal method of crossing, rather than bridges--your river-running ships will be small, sleek, relatively shallow drafted, will most likely have collapsing sails, oars for windless days, ropes for lining (even if their own crew has to do it), so on and so forth.

...You can still have bridges without drawbridges, if your river runs through a canyon deep enough that the bridge will clear the masts naturally, or your engineers invest in long, long, long ramps leading up to and over the central arch spanning the deepest part of the river...and invest in lots of riprap (rocks specifically placed for lining the banks of the river to prevent erosion, etc). Unfortunately, most rivers flowing through canyons flow too fast and hard to make good safe transportation routes...and really tall bridges exhaust humans and animals alike in passing over them, so...it's not very likely.

One last consideration: the river itself. Here is a snippet of a video I took when I had the opportunity to go on a Rhein River Cruise (Viking Cruiseline). The cruisehip is docked. It is not moving.

The Rhein really does flow this fast (up near Switzerland, iirc, but all throughout the trip as well), and it only slowed down somewhat at certain points. The banks in the city zones (and even much of the countryside) are lined with riprap (stones fitted and cemented into place to control the river flow and prevent erosion), and yes, there were a few canal locks along the route. A lot of that riprap was laid in earlier centuries, some of it late renaissance (and much of it repaired since then).

We were warned that if there was a lot of rain during our trip (this trip took place in May) causing a lot of runoff to flow into the river, there was a bridge downstream (near the Netherlands) where we might actually have to disembark from this ship literally cross the street for that bridge, and get onto another cruise ship on the downstream side of the bridge. Why? Because if the river level rose too much, this ship would not be able to cross under that bridge.

Now, the ship's top deck was disassembled to pass under other bridges. It literally had awnings and roofs on hinges that could be lowered to as flat as possible...and yet there was still a bridge they knew they couldn't pass under if the river level rose too high. Even with modern tech, etc, there will be obstacles like this.

So consider that for your rivers and your commerce. In spring and autumn, the water might run too high, perhaps even too wild, for safe & easy river travel. Portaging might be the answer. Or your characters might be crossing over the bridge which has an angry river crew arguing with the city guard about why they can't take their ship under the bridge (because it could damage the bridge, it's the wrong season, etc).

...You can also have droughts (oftentimes in high summer) which could cause the river to become too shallow for boats to pass in certain sections, or they'll have to lighten their cargo to avoid getting mired in the mud, etc.

And if your story is set in a region with cold winters, snow, ice, etc...the river might freeze. This poses a whole host of transportation problems, but then transport wasn't often done in the depths of winter, save maybe for foods brought from the storage barns of local farms. If the rivers don't freeze over, water travel is still possible, though hypothermia is still a danger.

If they freeze only a little bit, still possible...but once the ice gets thick along the edges, it becomes dangerous to try to "cut" through the ice with a boat of any size. This can include ice that is too thick to get the boat close enough to shore to exchange cargo and/or passengers, but also the possibility of ice actually damaging a ship's hull.

And of course merely walking on the ice is sheer danger, unless you know exactly what to look for, how deep it needs to be, etc, to be crossed safely--the idyllic picture of the Dutch ice skating along their canals doesn't cover the fact that many people fell through the ice because they hit a stretch that was too thin to support their weight. Certainly history doesn't tell us exactly how many perished, though logic assures us that many surely did--either idiots who didn't check the ice depth, or who were young and recklessly brave enough to be foolhardy, an unexpected warming of the water coming downstream thinning out the ice in a specific spot in the channel, etc, etc, etc.

River boat crews would be aware of such potential dangers, and would not want to travel in icy conditions if it was at all avoidable. Which brings us to living on a riverboat, and how to keep warm in winter when the hull is literally in constant contact with icy cold water...but that's another discussion entirely. If the canals are in constant use, the water "might not" freeze over because it'd be constantly disturbed by the passage of all those boats...but it also could, especially if a bad winter storm shut down travel for a few days.

Mostly, river boats would be lifted out of the water if at all possible before the river iced over (which the locals would know about). Why? Because ice expands, and it would expand horizontally into those hulls, cracking them. Water and ice are incredibly powerful forces that we often underestimate. This means that winter is the time when boats would be brought ashore, tipped onto their sides, the hulls scraped free of river mussels and barnacles and whatnot, sections would be repaired, the hulls re-tarred, and other maintenance issues tended to.

If river commerce slows or stops in the winter due to ice issues, then you'll have wagons and/or sleighs, etc, bringing in the goods...but again, your horses or other draft animals will have a harder time working in cold weather. Your cities will therefore want most of their goods brought into the city's storehouses before winter falls, if it's an area with harsh winters.

If they're just rainy and wet and miserable for the most part (*cough* the greater Seattle region (*cough*)...then flooding will be your biggest concern. If it's a region with seasonal droughts & monsoons...you could have a whole host of problems, but you'd also probably want retention ponds and lakes to help keep the river flowing--fill them up in the stormy season and let out some of that water in the dry season to keep the river at a hopefully passable depth.

Bridges (and drawbridges), boats, and rivers are all part and parcel with the equation.

One more thing, if your local region is building a bridge in the story (a common occurrence in the renaissance in many towns), it doesn't have to be a part of the story directly, but can be mentioned second-hand, like one of your characters can say, "avoid the Baker's Bridge--remember, they're doing repairwork on it."

If this is a thing you want to toss into the story (it makes your town feel alive, a growing and changing thing, without having to go into exhaustive detail), then remember that the architects will have hopefully taken all the shipping and transportation needs into account...but that section of the river or canal will be blocked by scaffolding, requiring everyone to portage around it. If it is a river split in two by an island, or it's a canal shooting off from or paralleling the main river, you'll still be able to have commerce up and down the river, but it will cause that river travel to be thicker and more prone to clogs, blockages, accidents, arguments, etc.

These are little details you can put into your story to give your world more depth without having to go into exhaustive detail.

Good luck, and I hope at least some of that helped!

[nika-the-hunter]

House of Mist [Ch. 12]

Central Seattle Ruins. Pacific Northwest House Mist Territory +158 Days

 Nicole walked the short distance between the old art museum and the nearest market. Despite the heavy rainfall that drenched everything, Nicole headed down the overgrown street with a pep in her step. Her brand-new House Banner was proudly wrapped around her belt, showing where she had pledged allegiance, and Rykis had painted the House sigil onto her breastplate that morning. Also, the night before had been nice, there were no complaints from the neighbors in the morning. It was not the first time they had been together, nor would it be their last. 

As she approached the market, she saw that the House of Mist had strung up massive tarps, creating a shelter from the torrents of rain that came down over the old city. Nicole could tell the area it was in had been historical back before The Collapse; the brick buildings around her appeared far older than the steel and glass towers that surrounded the low open air market. Mist had been maintaining the area; the vegetation that had taken back almost every inch of the rest of the city had been cleared away, and the road visible enough that one could tell that this street had been paved with brick.

In the middle of the market street, House Mist had erected barricades around the hole in the road she had emerged from five months prior; but they did little to hamper the creek that flowed down the center line and into the old metro tunnels. Flanking the road on both sides, the market stalls were mostly all situated beneath the building's overhang. The architectural term that described the structure had randomly appeared in her memory after giving it a curious glance... It was an arcade, a covered walkway with a bunch of stalls. 

The distinct lack of any real memory, but still being able to remember what things are, had consistently been disorienting. However, since the discovery of her cause of death had yielded no answers, there was nothing that could be done. It might even just be her Ghost beaming definitions and words directly into her mind without telling her. Maybe it was the Great Machine itself providing guidance on a whim. 

Nicole walked through the market for the first time, and with the intent to actually buy something as well. Her Ghost had been stockpiling Glimmer on almost every outing they had been on; the strange glowing chunks seemed to just fall out of the pockets of the House Devils’ Eliksni whenever they went down. It was supposedly valuable stuff.

There were plenty of stalls selling old Human technology, but she was interested in some home-grown Eliksni gear. As she stood, without a ship, her Ghost was just about out of storage space in the weird digital realm that existed in her so-called 'backpack'. She needed one of those spheres that Rykis had.

Nicole window shopped for a bit, glancing through the various stalls, and still not finding anything she was looking for. Eventually, she approached an Eliksni sitting at a table near a pillar towards the outside of the market. A sign on the table said Information in English and scrawled beneath it were the words: I speak Human.

"Excuse me." She addressed the Eliksni in their own language. "Is there somewhere where I can buy some of your equipment? All that I see here is old Human salvage."

The Vandal glanced up at her. Their gaze going up and down over her armor. "Mm, you're that Guardian Viraks was talking about, aren't you? You speak well. If you are looking for our things, there are shops down below. Just follow the signs."

She looked back and could not spot the difference between a sign naming a shop to one giving directions. Bringing her attention back to the Vandal, "I don't yet have a good grasp on reading your language yet."

"Oh, well that sign there." They pointed off towards a sign with a few small arrows pointing every which way. "The bottom entry leads to a shop that might help. It's down the stairs."

"Okay, thanks for the help." She grabbed a small cube of Glimmer from a belt pouch and set it on the table. She was not sure if that was what she was supposed to do, but the Eliksni took the cube and pocketed it with a nod.

She headed down the stairs, going deeper into the old structure, and the building got stranger the further she went. The layout was almost organic with twisted side passages and walls. Old, abandoned shops occupied small nooks and crannies; most were truly original installations with their contents looted and shelves long emptied in the past. She guessed that not much down there was actually used by the Eliksni in the present day. Once Nicole passed through another doorway, she found an area that was much better lit. Big open windows lined the passage, looking west through an active shop and overlooking the former bay and crashed Ketch that sat in its salty water.

The shop she found was large, occupying three of the original suites on the west side of the floor. There were tables upon tables of Eliksni goods and technology. And she was not the only one there to shop. A group of young Eliksni were browsing the selection with bags of scrap, likely to trade with.

There were a few of the flying machines they called Shanks hovering around near the ceiling. They seemed to be keeping watch over everything.

Nicole walked into the shop and scanned across the tables. Her earpiece crackled slightly as her Ghost spoke into her ear. "Hey, need another eye?"

Glancing across the many tables and variety of pieces before her, she nodded. "Yeah, you'd know best what's compatible with my backpack thing."

Without a reply, her Ghost appeared with a flash of his trademark light. The Eliksni younglings seemed surprised at her Ghosts' existence. They chittered to one another in hushed voices Nicole could not understand. Ghost went right to work at scanning over every bit of machinery on the table, while Nicole broke off to wander the shelves.

She was finding that not being able to read the language was quite the hindrance lately. Many of the parts were labeled and she had no idea what they were. There were plenty of portable lights around shelves she was at, but those were the only things she recognized.

Getting reading and writing lessons from Rykis would be her next priority.

Across the shop, her Ghost let out an excited beep. "Found one!"

She turned around and headed back towards his position. Sitting on the shelf behind a few pieces of armor was a cluster of spheres in a variety of sizes. The largest was about twice the size of her fist. Nicole plucked one of the machines off the shelf, it fit nicely into her palm. "Will this one work for what we need it for?"

His eye gave a nod. "Yes, Nicole. We should be able to store pretty much anything besides a vehicle for the time being."

"Great, now... just to find the one who runs the shop." She headed up to the front of the shop and looked around for an Eliksni in charge. There were plenty of others here, but none seemed to fit.

One of the Shanks descended from the ceiling and approached her. This model was unarmed and where the gun would usually be was a container. A speaker on it snapped on and it spoke. "Ah the Niakin. Looking to trade for that now?" The voice sounded old and gravelly. Then the lid on the container opened “What have you got?"

She looked the Shank up and down. “Do I just put it in the box?”

“Let me get a look at it first.” The Shank tilted down to get a look at whatever Nicole was planning to give him.

Reaching into one of her belt pouches, she retrieved a solid chunk of Glimmer about the size of her hand and showed it to the drone’s camera. “Five of these?” If her math was right, compared to what she spent on that wood sheet a few months ago, this was an exceptionally large sum. Close to thirteen thousand units of the stuff. The rest was stored in her Ghost.

The Shank sat there for a moment, and its camera sensors blinked. She could hear the small servos inside whine and adjust for a moment. “Mmm that is fair. Not much for haggling are you Niakin?” They trailed off into a laugh. “Just deposit your Glimmer into the box, and I’ll process the trade.” Nicole nodded, getting curious as to what Niakin actually meant, and placed all the Glimmer she had into the box beneath the Shank. Her Ghost floated over and spawned some more to match the amount agreed upon. With the box filled, the Shank flew off and disappeared into a vent embedded high on the wall.

Another Shank with a different object where its gun should be descended from the ceiling. The shopkeeper's voice extended from the new Shank, and a small actuator extended a sticky slip of paper with a few small Eliksni glyphs on it, “Take this and place it on the sphere. It shows that you legally purchased it from my shop. None of the security of the market will bother you if they see it.”

She took the sticker and applied it across the side of the machine in plain view. "Thank you, I'll be back here in the future for sure."

"Sure thing, Niakin. Good trading with you." The Shank zipped back up to the ceiling, leaving her just as confused as to the meaning of the name with no time to ask about it.

Nicole glanced up at the cluster of Shanks and shook her head. Whoever ran this shop was strange. But she had what she was looking for and she placed it into the pouch that had once contained the glimmer. Heading out of the shop, she headed back towards the stairs. "So how long do you think that it'll take for you to integrate the device?" Nicole asked her Ghost, who had remained in her orbit.

"Not long, do you want me to work on it now?" He blinked his eye and flew closer to her hip.

"Mm, maybe later. Once we're out of the market for sure."

The stairs up to street level were different from the set that she used to get down into the lower market. She was now on the other end of the street from where she went in, on the other side of the hole she had emerged from when she was rezzed.

There was a group of Humans bartering with Some Eliksni at a cart across from the market. From the look of it, it was the Humans that were the people doing the selling. She approached when the Eliksni group had finished up their trades and left the cart. Colorful fruits and vegetables were piled high in wooden crates, all of which she knew of only in the vague shadow memories of words, and none of which she had seen since she had been resurrected.

“Hey, good morning Guardian!” The man at the cart gave her a wave. “Looking for some fresh produce?”

Nicole looked over all the crates with all the greens, yellows, oranges, and even purples. “I don’t know, where did this come from?”

“Oh, those ancient greenhouses up by the old university have really held up through all the shit.” He picked up one of the oranges. “My family has been tending to the site since The Collapse wiped out most of the local farms.” “I see... how much for... do you have a box with some of everything in it? I’ve not had any before and I want to give it a try.”

He gave her a nod. “Yeah sure. I can have Sam whip up an assorted crate for you. What do you have to trade for it?”

“I have some Glimmer, name a price.” Nicole returned the nod. The guy looked back at the other person behind the cart, Sam probably, and exchanged a few words. He picked up a crate they had been working on and set it before Nicole. “Ah, probably a hundred units.”

Since her pockets were empty, she looked up at her Ghost and gave him a small nod. He flew over and spawned a large chunk of Glimmer on the table they had extending from their cart. “That should be a hundred.” Nicole leaned down and picked up the crate.

“Sounds good,” he picked up the Glimmer and placed it in a machine. He was satisfied with whatever the machine displayed and smiled. “We’re headed up to Fort Discovery later. Been there yet?”

“Yes actually, I was just there yesterday.” Nicole readjusted the grip she had on the crate. It was not that heavy, just a bit awkward to carry. Her mind wandered ahead, plotting the best route back to the museum.

“Ah alright, I figure I’ll hear all about it from Athena when we get up there." He shrugged. "If you need more produce, we set up here almost every other day."

"I'll try a bunch and see what I like. Then we will go from there." Nicole gave a goodbye nod and headed off back to the museum.

Leaving the market, she left the safety of the tarps and stepped back out into the downpour. The path south was dark and grey, and the sunlight that made it through the clouds was diffused and dim. It was also still morning, so it was mostly blocked by the ancient skyscrapers.

Nicole left her hood down despite the rain drenching her hair and face. It felt good, it made her feel alive. Surrounded by bright green ferns and trees that stood out even in the dim rainy morning.

With a shove of her shoulder, Nicole pushed through the museum's double doors and raced up the stairs to Rykis' space. She dropped the crate just inside the work area and took a look around. Rykis had gone back inside his home pod and was asleep on his bed. They had been up late the night before, and the morning had started early.

She placed the sphere machine she had purchased outside on the worktable for her ghost to work on and headed back into the pod.

Unclipping her armor's straps, Nicole stripped down to her underclothes and slipped into the cocoon of warm blankets that surrounded Rykis. She wrapped an arm around him and nuzzled his shoulder. She was happy, things were looking up compared to the last five months under Acskis' scrutiny.

Maybe now she should go see other parts of Mist's territory, like that one Baron asked.

[darkelfshadow]

Session Summary - 103

AKA “Return To The Serpent Hills”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 103  (Date: 19th February 2021)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as ���Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male.

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male.

Absent Players - Nil

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Fireday, 5th Sarenith in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party begin this session, in the late evening having just finished the Council Of Crescent Moon the previous session. Most of the members of the Council retire leaving the party to discuss what they have leant about the Knights Of The Radiant Breath and how to approach the Yuan-ti Den of Gill-tan-garas.

- The party ask Ragnar, Cleric Of The Light, to use his divine magic to Commune with his god, Berronar Truesilver, Revered Mother of Safety, Goddess of Life and Light, Radiance Of The Dawn.

- In a private room of the Palace, Ragnar asks his first question to his Goddess, “Were there Knights called Knights Of The Radiants Breath fighting in the last Dragon War?”

- A female voice, without expression, answers simply: YES

- The party become excited. Trenchant prompts Ragnar and the Cleric’s next question is, “Are the stone statues in the amphitheater the Knights Of The Radiant Breath?”

- The female voice answers: NO

- With hope in his voice, Ragnar asks his third and last question, “Are the Knights Of The Radiant Breath still alive?”

- The female voice answers: YES

- Learning that the Knights do exist and are indeed still alive, the party are eager now to learn more, pressing Ragnar to again try to Commune with his Goddess. He warns them that pushing again so soon my fail. He prays again, and luckily his Goddess chooses to answer again. He may ask another three more questions.

- The party discuss what they know about the last Dragon Wars and where the last battle was fought, at the Grey Hills where the Forge Of Spells was located within the Wave Echo Cave. The Dragon Masks were forged in the Forge Of Spells nearly four thousand years ago, that started the first Dragon Wars. The Grey Hills are located in northern part of the Kingdom of Tyriba. The location of the Wave Echo Cave had been lost since that time, after a great arcane explosion blew the Grey Hills apart at that final battle, changing the landscape forever.

- However, The Wave Echo Cave was located within the Grey Hills last year by Gim, Nac (now working for the Zhentarim), Valder (now assistant Librarian of the Lington Royal Library but currently consultant to the Crescent Moon Council), Korvin (who was transformed into some hideous creature evil), and Balasar (who had gone to the Kingdom of Asalea to find his long lost friend).

- Gim is the only surviving member of that original adventuring party that set out from the north of Tyriba, long ago.  Gim tells them about locating the Wave Echo Cave, and how it is now in the hands and control of a contingent of Knights Of The Order Of The Gauntlet, led by Sir Daran, under direct orders by the King Of Tyriba. Knowledge of the recovery of the Cave has been kept secret, known only by a select few: Sir Daran (Order Of The Gauntlet), Archmage Tallous (High Circle Of Magi), Reidoth The Druid (Emerald Enclave), Lady Garaele (Harpers), and of course to King Erotill Alderd III, ruler of Tyriba.

- Given what Gim reveals, Ragnar next asks, “Are the Knights Of The Radiant Breath within 50 miles of the Grey Hills?”

- The female voice answers: YES

- After some discussion by the party as why the Knights are not known anymore, Ragnar asks his next question, “Are the Knights trapped or prevented in some way of making their presence known?”

- The female voice answers: NO

- Now the party are concerned that perhaps the Knights have turned sides. With some trepidation Ragnar asks his last question, “Are the Knights still fighting for good?”

- The female voice, for the first time shows emotion, the room is filled with divine joy as the voice answers in an uplifting tone: YES!

- The party spend more time, pouring over the two books that they have that detail the military units of the last Dragon Wars: the very rare and single last remaining copy of the “Dragons Of The Council” and the most comprehensive history book about that place and era “Tyriba - An Official and Complete History”. They can not work our why the Dragon Knights are not listed.

- Just before retiring for bed, Valthrun The Enchanter walks past and speaks to the party, when he sees their struggle, “I can not speak for the Dragons Of The Council book, I have never seen or heard of that tome but I can vouch for the other book. Yes, I have seen that book many times. It is held in every royal library, kingdom library and any grand Library. I even have a copy in my tower, well that was until my tower was destroyed by the Cult. I have seen that book in these central Kingdoms, to the lands to the far west and to the far east. The Royal Family of Tyriba, very graciously and at great expense, commissioned that book be made in the hundreds and was sent all over the lands. What a generous gift, without asking, the Royal Family of Alderd sent that work everywhere. It is such a comprehensive reference book, that no one has ever bothered to spend the time to research the history of that time and place ever again. Why bother when that book already exists, as such, I am not aware of any other history books that do. Your other book, The Dragons Of The Council one, is a very rare find. Precious. I had thought all over history books were lost.”

- With that information, and at a dead end, the party retire for the night.

- Starday, 5th Sarenith in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party awake, and prepare themselves for their assault into Gill-tan-garas, the main Yuan-ti Den for the followers of Dendar. The Archmage Tallous gives the party a scroll and sigil to return them to Crescent Moon, but he warns them that Yuan-ti Dens are normally warded from arcane forces going into or out of it. They will not be able to Teleport back whilst within the Den.

- The party gather around and then Trenchant uses the Teleport Scroll to transport them to the sigil of Gill-tan-garas. With a loud arcane hum and a flash of power, they immediately they find themselves standing upon a stone dais with the sigil carved upon it, which still glows with residual arcane energy. White loose sands are around them, in this enclosed area. High mountain walls, around 500’ in height, enclose them on all sides. Ancient stone pillars, some having toppled over, lay around them. A series of pillars extends away, towards massive ruin stone features. At the far end is a large free standing stone archway that leads to a set of wide stairs that precede into the far mountain wall.

- Before the party can assess their situation, their presence is immediately noticed by a patrol of Yuan-ti Ophidians lead by a Yuan-ti Malison. Near the stairs, a group of Yuan-ti Broodguards beginning racing towards the party. And from the large stone archway, a pair of Yuan-ti Winged Guardians swoop down to join the battle.

- The party do not delay but commit to the battle, moving forward through the loose sands and engaging the foes. The Ophidians are no match for the party, and the Malison is dropped quickly too, as the party concentrated on the patrol leader. However, the Winged Guardians prove exceptionally deadly and very resilient.

- As the frenzied Broodguards try to tear the party apart, they are cut down before they can do much damage. Eventually the real threat, the Winged Guardians, are dispatched and the party rest briefly and consume some Healing Potions. This first encounter, has shown the party how deadly some of the Yuan-ti can be.

- The party cautiously approach the stairs leading to the main entrance. A large open archway, painted in colours that have faded and worn from time and sand, are decorated with painted snake statues. Gold plated snake statues flank the raised walkway. Green light can be seen from within.

- The party enter a large Entry Chamber, with four large stone snake statues present, their gem eyes glinting from the sunlight streaming in from the open archway. There are two lit passageways going north or south. A large set of ascending stairs and a large set of descending stairs flank a single green flame that gives some illumination to the chamber. Three large round holes are present on the fall wall, each large enough for a two foot wide snake to use but too small for a humanoid in any armour to use. These “snake holes” go up and down.

- The party choose the north passageway, and Sir Krondor and Gim barely leap over a pit trap that they set off.

- The passageway leads to a set of ascending stairs, that proceed upwards for some time, turning back round in a series of corners, that raise the party about 100’ in height to the next level.

- Sir Krondor and Gim move into a long corridor, lit from either side by a pair of candles that illuminates an intricate carving on the stone walls at both ends of the corridor. The carvings depicts hundreds of small snakes all swarming over themselves in a random pattern, each with their mouth open.  

- Sir Krondor and Gim set off another trap as they move down the corridor, and hundreds of small poisoned darts shoot out from the open mouths of all the snakes at both ends of the corridor. Both Dwarves are hit multiple times, taking a little damage, but their tough Dwarvish blood resists the poison.

- As the party move around the corner at the far end of the corridor, a volley of crossbow bolts fly through a forward illusion sent by Trenchant. The party rush forward to find four human Temple Guards, wearing heavy armour and carrying duel swords and crossbows. Ragnar uses a Scorching Flame to burn and force back the Guards, whilst the party move up and engage the stragglers. Slowly all the Guards but one are killed. The remaining guard has fled down a near by corridor, shouting a warning.

- As the rest of the party move towards that corridor, Naillae stays behind to check a dead end for secret doors. She does not find any but does see two more of the “snake holes” here, one going up and one going down. It would appear the Den has multiple ways to traverse between the levels, some only accessible to snakes.

- Ragnar is the first to look around the corridor, to look into a small Alchemy Preparation Room. A volley of crossbow bolts, and hurled magic spells, greets him but luckily he is not stuck. Before the enemy can attack again, Ragnar hurls a Fireball into the small room, engulfing it in an explosion of fiery death. Half a dozen Cultists, hiding around the corner, are immediately killed. And the remaining Cult Fanatics are barely standing, suffering sever burns. The two remaining Temple Guards are badly burnt.

- The party rush into the room, which has fire raging on the now broken and exploded furniture and cabinets from the blast of the Fireball. Broken vials and flasks, their liquid contents now evaporated from the blast, are scattered over the floor. Burnt parchment and scroll papers flitter to the ground in ash. Broken alchemy items lay scattered everywhere, broken Runes, burnt herbs and melted alchemy candles. The smell of burnt flesh mixes with incense.

- The party quickly move in and drop the remaining and badly burnt foes.

<And as the party look around the room which is now a scene of devastation, wondering what valuable items they lost, that is the end of the session.>

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- N/A

Creatures Overcome

- Yuan-ti:

     * Broodguards = 1800 XP

     * Malison = 700 XP

     * Ophidians = 1000 XP

     * Winged Guardians = 2200 XP

- Humans:

     * Temple Guards = 3500 XP

     * Cultists = 150 XP

     * Cult Fanatics = 1800 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

Nil

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start +  Received = Total  (Notes)

Rob : 136966 + 1593 = 138559

Arthur : 109948 + 1593 = 111541

John : 105393 + 1593 = 106986

Travis : 125821 + 1593 = 127414

Paul : 115304 + 1593 = 116897

Bob : 127143 + 1593 = 128736

NPC (Naillae) : + (796)

[july4th1918-mycaptain]

Life At Hogwarts - Diagon Alley and Platform Nine and Three Quaters

This is part one but there is a prologue on my masterlist

notes: anything in italics is a thought and in bold is a reader’s note, I also apologize for any errors, I look forward to hearing any feedback!

Also I am staying close to the actual story with some minor adjustments. Stay tuned for more!!

It is finally the day that you will get all the supplies you need for your first year at Hogwarts. You wrote a letter the day you were accepted to Hogwarts to Minerva McGonagall, the lady whose name was on your acceptance letter, explaining that you had no idea how to get your supplies and sent the owl back to her. You asked her for help and she quickly offered to meet you and take you to Diagon Alley to gather any materials that you might need.

Your father was out for the day so when you heard a knock at the door you knew that it had to be McGonagall. You raced to the front door, smoothed out your clothes to look presentable, and politely opened to door to greet your guest.

“Hello, my name is (Y/N). Thank you so much for taking me to get my books,” you rush out as you extend your hand to her. She takes your small outstretched hand in hers, her nimble fingers curling around your hand.

“My name is McGonagall. It is a pleasure to meet you” she replies politely her tall, elegant frame smiling down at you. “We had better get going if we want to get everything you need” she added.

  As you walked through the bustling cobblestone walkway your eyes darted from one store to the next in fascination.

“I think we should begin by going to Gringotts” McGonagall informed me as you stared in fascination at this new world around you.

“Okay, what’s at Gringotts” you trailed after the elegant woman.

“Gringotts is the bank that all wizards use. It is owned and operated by goblins” she answered simply. You arrived outside a white marble building that towers above all the other shops in Diagon Alley. You and McGonagall climbed the white stairs in between the large marble pillars to the bronze door that is guarded by two goblins dressed in uniforms of deep scarlet outlined in the purest yellow gold. Once through the bronze doors, we found ourselves in an entry hall staring at guarded silver doors engraved with ornate writing that reads:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Once through those doors, we entered the marble hall with long counters on either side of the walkway. The counters had workstations every few feet with goblins carrying out different tasks. The room was light by candles in ornate holders and the crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. As we walked, our steps echoed. The only other sounds in the room were the scribbling of quills and the ticking of a large golden clock that rested on a ledge above a door leading off to the right. We step up to a counter once a goblin become available.

“(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N) would like to make a withdrawal” McGonagall states.

“Come with me the goblin” commands and walks away as you and McGonagall follow closely behind.

“I have an account here” you question McGonagall as you trail behind the goblin.

“You were your mother’s sole heir when she passed. Everything that she had she left to you” McGonagall stated giving you a solemn look.

“My mother was a witch” you turn on McGonagall with wide eyes, astonished with the new information.

“She was, indeed, an immensely powerful witch at that. Has your father told you nothing about her” she asked with a frown etched on her face.

“Only that it’s my fault she died” you mumbled but she still heard what you said. The goblin leads you and McGonagall from the beautiful marble hallways to a stone passageway dimly lit by flaming torches. We all three got into a cart that was on the mini train tracks, the goblin behind the controls. We descended into the tunnel at a rapid pace. The goblin drove the cart around turns as we soared along the track; McGonagall’s face remained stoic while you laughed as the wind whipped through your hair. The cart comes to a sudden stop jarring you a bit as it was unexpected.

“Vault 737” the goblin announces as he exits the cart. He walks up to the door and drags a finger down it and you hear a resounding clank as the door unlocks. You walk into the room followed closely by McGonagall.

“My mom was rich?” you asked as you looked around the room piled with gold, jewels, and artifacts.

“I would have expected nothing less from a woman of her standing” McGonagall replied calmly as she hands you a small pouch for you to point some coins into. You load the pouch with gold coins and hand it to McGonagall for safe keeping. After getting your money the goblin takes you and McGonagall to back to the stone passageway you came from. You exit the cart and walk back through the glorious entryway of the bank, out the doors, and onto the cobblestone walkway of Diagon Alley.

“Okay, the first item on the list is a wand” you read off to McGonagall.

“To Ollivander’s” she directs. As soon as you arrive at the narrow shop you see gold lettering above the door that is beginning to peel telling you that you are in the right place.

“While you get your wand, I will go get your books” she states and she hands you 7 galleons for your wand. You wave to her as you turn to enter the wand shop a smile on your face. An old man was behind the counter and wands were in stacked in boxes and shoved into cubbies all around the store. He lifted his head up from whatever type of wand he was looking at and his shinning pale eyes met your (y/e/c) ones in the dim light.

“Why, hello there” he starts. “Here for your wand already Ms. (Y/L/N). I remember when each of your parents came in to buy their first wands” he recalled. You felt the wind rush out of your lungs; my father is a wizard. You shook your head slightly and the smile returned to your face although this one didn’t quite reach your eyes. The man across the counter seemed to realize your change in expression.

“My apologies I shouldn’t have brought up you mother, it’s a terrible thing that happened to her” Ollivander rushed out offering you condolences. He pulls out a wand and hands it to you. You grip the wand and stare at it expectantly.

“Well give it a wave” he orders and your face heats realizing you had been standing there looking foolish. You wave the wand and boxes start flying out of the cubbies behind Ollivander and you gently place the wand down. You and Ollivander both clearly surprised at the result.

“Different than your father then” Ollivander thinks out loud. Different indeed, you agree internally.

“Perhaps this wand will do the trick” he announces as he hands you a different wand. You wave this wand and the boxes of wands you had previously pulled out of the cabinets swirled around smacking you and Ollivander and you set that wand down as well a confused look crosses the man’s face briefly before he grabs another box.

“And different from your mother” he adds as you pick up the third wand. You pause slightly before waving the wand and you glow under the wand.

“Very nice wand Ms. Barnes. Vine wood with a phoenix feather core 10 ¾ inches and unyielding flexibility (this was the wand I got on Pottermore if you would like to insert your own wand here). I believe that you are capable of greatness, use it well” he advises as you pay for your wand. You exit the shop and find McGonagall waiting for you with all your books in hand. You quickly take the books from her, so she doesn’t have to carry them and thank her for picking them up for you.

“So, my father is also a wizard” you start as you and McGonagall walk to get your robes from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

“Yes, he was” she replied curtly, not offering you any more information than you already had. You arrived outside the purple shop it also has gold lettering, same as Ollivander’s, and it has a rounded display window that is currently showing off robes for students. You go into the shop and quickly get fitted for you robes. You buy the three sets of plain robes you need as well as the protective gloves, black pointy hat, and the winter cloak. You rush out of the crowded shop and breath a sigh of relief and McGonagall shoots you a small smile. The next place on the list is Potage’s Cauldron Shop. You and McGonagall walk to the northside of Diagon Alley to the shop. There is a sign outside advertising the different types of cauldrons available. You open the burgundy door and head into the small shop expertly finding a pewter size two cauldron. You make your purchase and leave ready to check off another item on the list. Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary is the next place on the list you dip into the store and buy your set of phials that your required to have. The next stop is Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment where you buy your telescope and your brass scales. You saved the best shop for last; you are allowed to choose on pet an owl, a cat, or a toad. You decided that you wanted an owl, so you and McGonagall walk to Eeylops Owl Emporium. There are owl cages hanging outside of the dark shop. You entered the shop and were instantly fascinated by all the owls. The shop had Barn owls, Brown owls, Screech owls, Snowy owls, Tawny owls, and Barred owls. You practically bounced from cage to cage entranced by each owl until you came across a small female snowy owl that looked up at you with its wide eyes and you immediately knew that you wanted that owl. You paid for the owl, the cage, and food for the owl while grinning and McGonagall couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the sight. As you left the Owl Emporium you noticed the shop across the walkway, Quality Quidditch Supplies. You wove through the crowd of people and stood in front of the shop looking at the brooms they had on display in the window.

“First years aren’t allowed to play quidditch,” McGonagall informs and your smile drops, “but you can always try-out next year.”

“Yeah, next year” you mumble to yourself as you keep your eyes locked on the brooms.

“I think we should eat, get your bags, and head to the train station” McGonagall plans and you nod in agreement. You turn to leave Diagon Alley but you turn back to give one last glance at the brooms, little did you know McGonagall watched you with mischief in her eyes but it was gone the second you turned back around.

  You and McGonagall arrived a King’s Cross Train Station. You had all your things piled on a cart.

“Here is your ticket” McGonagall states as she hands you your ticket.

“Thank you.”

“Now remember you get to platform 9 and ¾ by walking through the wall that separates platform nine and platform ten,” she explains once again, “I have to go back to Hogwarts, I’ll see you when you get there.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at Hogwarts” you repeat, and she walks away leaving you to board the train. You walk through the station searching for platforms nine and ten. You find the platforms and more importantly the wall that separates them. After you take a quick breath you walk into the wall just like McGonagall told you and when you come out the side of the wizarding world you are met with a black and red train as well as other students. You board the train easily and you hear the whistle blow. As you walk down the narrow corridor of the train you look for a compartment with other people that look friendly. You walk up to a compartment just as the trolley lady is leaving.

“Hi. Do guys mind if I join you” you ask looking between the boy with black hair and glasses and the boy with the red hair.

“No. Come on in” the dark-haired boy answers. I sit beside him, and I notice his lap is filled with sweets. I guess I know why the trolley lady was stopped here so long.

“My name is (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N” I introduce smiling at both boys.

“I’m Ron Weasley” the red-haired boy states.

“And I’m Harry Potter” the raven-haired boy adds.

“Nice to meet you both” you answer.

“You too” they both reply.

[grim-faux]

5 - Down the Drain

A trail of red footprints led from the shadows across to an iron door.  If it wasn’t locked I might’ve continued through, driven on by my sick curiosity.  Beyond the safety of a secured door could await dangers the same as the hall I was now in, but I couldn’t afford not to check.  The thought alone brought chills to my spine, that behind any door a new danger could await.  How far could I run before I was caught?  In this place I welcomed broken lights.

I returned to the lit path now on my left, were another of the countless slain of this place rested.  Briefly, I looked over his body, maybe he had a card or something I could use later.  The nametag read Doug Jenkins, he was high level security, probably down here to regain control and lost himself in the process.  He had no weapons, but he was grasping a walkie talkie.  From that I salvage two batteries, there was a chance they would have no power given the drafty chill that slunk in through every corridor.

As I continued through the broken segregation gate, I realized this was where that camera shy freak had made his scene.  I was glad he seemed to be gone, but his absence was discomforting.  Nothing had changed since I left this area, the gate still locked, but the floor along my right had shattered from some climatic event.  A thin edge of cement remained, enough for me to strafe along I gambled.  It looked sturdy enough with rebar exposed at the crumbling edge, the drop wasn’t far enough to hurt if I did manage to fall.

The Asylum was shut down years ago, and degraded to a condemned state before the Murkoff Corpotration reopened it for their research.  They didn’t even bother with the minimal of repairs to maintain it, they barely shoveled out the collapsed ruble from walls and floors.  I could just picture the memo

All staff must use Cell 52-E to reach the other side of the upper floors

I began to wonder if some of the patients locked away were ever looked in on, or if Murkoff only focused on those used in their research.  Even a doomed dog was fed up until he was put down.  Those affiliated with Murkoff were some of the lowest of the lowest bastards out there.

Carefully I slide my back along the rough wall and tested my weight on what remained of the walkway.  It felt more than sturdy, as I continued to slink along little by little.  I tried to focus on my footing and not get distracted by the lost souls, locked in their broken routine.  The man that had been smashing his skull against the walls had sat down and, I think he was mumbling to himself while he persisted to crack the side of his head on the corner of a pillar.

They could have easily killed me, the opportunity was still there should they decide to pursue - hunt me down.  But the humane side of me felt sickened to the core.  Something about this, everything that was done here, the way they were left, was all wrong.  If there was a way to escape Mount Massive, why had they not left this place?  Or had others already fled?  The Warrant for Seizure indicated so, before all of this came about.

When I reached the other side, I barely recalled the twins and their sick promise.  They were absent.

“You, ah, didn’t wait until I finished.”  I sprang back as the man from the room I omitted to shut, sprang across the distance and shoved at the door.  “But I saved some for you.  Just wait.”  He turned and skipped down the steps like a jolly school boy, his voice full of merriment.  “Just wait…Mm!  Hmm!”

Maybe I should have shut his door AND propped the little chair in front of it, for good measure.

The open hall behind me was the only available route.  The lights above had failed in this section, but I could make out dark blood splatters scrawled on the wall across from me, illuminated by an open door.  I wanted to avoid using the cameras NV as much as possible, but odd sounds were nearby somewhere in the dark.  Beside me was a set of bars, but pressed against them ‘gazing’ up at me was another discarded man tied up in a straightjacket with bindings coiled about his mouth and eyes.

It was easy to feel sorry for him, and attempt to undo the cruelty done to him.  But my instincts warned me to hold my ground, and this time I listened.  The worst killers of our world could feign normalcy, but the soil in their basement could conceal the bodies of many duped by this illusion.  I easily recognized a makeshift muzzle.

From this point on I burned it into my thoughts, if I didn’t I was damned.  Speak with no one.  Trust no one.  EVERYONE wanted to kill me in some way.  The MHS cop warned me to hide, well I could fuckin hide.

Ahead, someone, probably their ‘Father’ Martin, scrawled a new message for me in red.

God annoys…

I blinked and read again.

God Always Provides a Way.

Follow the blood

Below the wording was a red streak, another wide mark was on the ground leading into some sort of pressurized chamber.  The interior was lined with what looked like foil or thermal material of some type, most likely a fire retardant.  I examined the large pipes that ran along the upper corners, connecting into pressurized caps.  As I entered my attention dropped to the floor, where there was a pair of bloody shoeprints I recognized.  The door hissed shut upon my entry and a shriek of hydraulics spooked me.  My mind flashed to Auschwitz, death camps and gas chambers.  I knew at once this wasn’t to be my demise, it was a light chemical spray to sterilize the air.  Though it did manage to stall my heart for a second.

Once the pumps ceased, the opposite door opened and I stepped out.  I was still shaken, but continued on without hitch.  Another broken segregation gate and beyond that stairs that curled up and around leading to the next floor.  Behind the first set of steps lay the crushed pieces of a wheelchair, I ducked to check behind them for anything valuable to my progress but there was nothing, aside from more low key patient files discussing prescriptions for the none volatile class.  The sounds of muttering came to me, and I took the concrete steps softly gazing up at the floor above.

On the wall was a large arrow indicating my route, I touched the edge to certify the blood was fresh, still sliding down the brick wall.  A large plate read A Block.  The Block I just came from was B Block.  Good to know.

The voice grew louder, and echoed as I made the first landing.  Another locked grate, but an area I was excused from exploring.

Continuing up the steps I could pick up an overbearing reek of old copper, along with the source of the voice.  Another emaciated patient scooted sideways, pressing his knuckles into the weathered cement wall until he had worn the skin away leaving bloody smears.

“Down the drain.  With the blood, he said.”  He seemed fully lost in the wall and strafed right, then left, repeating his words.  “Only way out is down the drain.”

Behind him slouched against the wall was what looked like a doctor, he was dressed in thick white scrubs stained black with blood.  My shoes squelched in the fluid as I neared him, and I turned my eyes back to the patient as he continued with his song and dance.  I raised the camera and filmed his jargon, then turned to the dead man.  It looked as though he had been sliced in multiple areas and all his blood poured out onto the floor, I stepped over the puddle and looked into a crimson bucket across from him filled completely with the thick black clumps.

My stomach did a flip and I retreated to the far side of the hall, another dead end blocked with crap.  I sat down on the desk to gather myself while I watched the patient shuffle and repeat.  “Down the drain,” he said.  I took a shallow breath through my collar and exhaled. 

This reminded me of the dead man I found in the lavatory, with “Witness” painted on the wall above him.  Down the drain.  With the blood.  I guess I knew where all the blood scribbles came from.  It was never a mystery in the first place.

There was another file on the desk beside me.  I checked my friend before I turned to the folder and did my best to record the pages with the night vision.

From: n.wolfram@murkoffcorp.us.com

  To: h.granat@murkoffcorp.us.com

  Subject: Patient Art Program / PATIENT “FATHER” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD

  Helen-

  Dr. Zeichner gave me your info to contact regarding the cancelation of the arts program.  My patient, Martin Archimbaud, has made enormous strides in his therapy on account of his finger painting. Just in the week since canceling the arts program, his schizoaffective assertions of some “higher calling” have accelerated enormously. Please, just let the man finger paint. The few dollars you’re saving on temper paint is more than swallowed by the cost of Clozapine. I can’t imagine the logic at play here, unless Murkoff WANTS our patients to become more disengaged from reality.

  Please advise.

  Dr. Neil Wolfram

  Martin Archimbaud.  Yep, sounded like my guy.  It felt good to know for certain he was the one leaving all these messages for me.

Fuck you Murkoff.  Why couldn’t you just let the man finger paint?  It would have saved so many lives.

My heel slipped in the blood as I tried to step over it, but I caught myself before I could lose my balance.  I shuffled along the floor following a set of bare feet prints stained thick with blood leading along the same route, to a hole in the concrete and rebar where the drooping arrow on the wall directed my path down into it.

“With the blood, he said.”

Sighing, I eased myself down the opening and looked around.  Another corridor, blood stained floor, walls eroded and bleached, the usual.  Furniture was crammed down the way with dark streaks across the surface, and another pressurized chamber with blood indicating through a sealed door.

I took note that this was the room I had seen from the other side of the gate, and cursed my bad luck colorfully.

The door failed to open on my approach, it was either locked due to malfunction or just flat out locked.  There should be a way around, but the path marked out for me was through there.  I wouldn’t rationalize following a blood trail left by a psychotic ‘priest,’ but maybe he would show me the way OUT of this place if I humored him.

I didn’t want to think about his plans if this was all some elaborate delusion of his, right before he or one of the other patients decided to murder me.  In the distance I could hear screaming, or someone sobbing, or something between the two.  It seemed like there was always someone crying out, for whatever reason.  I had a suspicion that for many it was their last cry before death.

Or escape through finality.

Light on my feet.  Be observant.  And above all else, survive.

I covered my nose as the heavy stench of rot hit me hard.  Another corpse, right beside the desk I crawled over.  Everyone with a half a mind in this place was dead. 

“Just shut up and let me think for a minute.”

The sound of grunts and meaty thwacks came from around the corner.  I dove down against the wall and listened as the violence continued.  It sounded like someone was sobbing and thumping about with wild abandon.  “Quiet!  Quiet!  Ah!”  Then it ended.

This place was horrible.  I hated this place.  Down the drain.  Gotta get out.  I repeated these meditations to myself as I crawled under a murky window with trails of soggy red slipping down.  The wall would end in a few feet, I would be exposed to whomever was there.

Slowly, I peeked around the edge into what looked like an office, or check station.  Another corpse of the asylum, and fresh I presumed.  A patient stood over the body with a wet club, droplets still dripped from the desk onto the crushed man.  It might’ve been my nerves, but I swore the body jerked as the last impulses left what was left of his brain.

The patient turned his head, then spun fully to where I was.  I froze in place coiled in a crouch ready to sprint.  I was right in the middle of the opening, there in full view of the murderer.

“I’d like you to stay quiet.”

He remained where he was and I stayed right where I was on my hands and knee.  Caught in a stupor, I nodded and scooted away.

That was weird.

I checked a Security door from my humbled position, and he gently reminded me to be quiet.  I used the shelf in the next hall to pull myself up and get going.  I just needed to stay quiet.  That corpse was quiet.

At the halls end waited a metal door which I carefully opened, without so much as a whisper.  Inside the room a figure stood tall staring up at monitors mounted high on the wall.  Below them was a darkened window, I was between figuring out what was marked on the glass and the man as he spoke to open air.

“Trying to trap us in here.”  Camera stupid, get your camera.  I lifted it and checked the visor, needed to hit record too.  Of all things…. 

“Not a lot they can do about it lying in their own steaming guts, is there?”

The variants were responsible for this shit hole disaster.  But how did they manage to kill the Security personal, and the MHS?  As far as body count went (excluding limbs and pieces) those that could be identified had all been staff, very few of the slain had been patients.  This statistic should be reversed, unless they moved their dead.  I didn’t believe enough of them had the cognitive faculty for that, but I hardly viewed a blood stain that was unaccounted for.  I was barely scraping the surface of this horror mystery.

“Who…?”  He had spied me when the door creaked as I leaned in a little.  “You’re one of Murkoff sons of bitches, aren’t you?  I want to show you something.”

He had nearly reached me at the end of that sentence, but I had whirled away to run.  He wanted to kill me.  Thought I was Murkoff or something, maybe I looked too normal for him.  I didn’t feel healthy in thought.

“You FUCKER!”

I tried the metal door across from the librarian, locked.  No shit.  I darted off as my pursuer skid around the corner.  There was no other place for me to go, no place to hide!  Maybe I could get back up the drain, it was my only option I could see.

At the halls darkened end, all but invisible was the hairline creep of light from a door!  I picked up speed smashing it open with an arm, in the same motion I spun about catching the edge and threw it shut.  I didn’t see if he had followed this far, or if his hoots had done him in.

I looked around, another office.  There was a desk, filing cabinets that hadn’t found the hall yet, a barred room with lockers and janitorial equipment.  I walked the perimeter and found an open cell door, through the NV feed I could make out a bed but little else.  I entered and shut the gate and slipped under the bed.  Here I lay safely secured by my only ally, the shadows.  He would know I had no place to hide, no place to run.  If only there was a way I could lock that gate.

The door knob twisted and the door opened.  My breath caught as I turned my face into my shoulder and shut my eyes.

“Son’s of bitches.”  I heard his footfalls fade.  The door of a locker opened and shut, all in the same motion.  “Sooner or later.  Doesn’t matter.”  I pried an eye open as he paced the room, he paused to examine the bars of the room I hid within.  I stare at him unblinking, it felt like my heart and blood ceased all at once.  If he came in he would find me.

But the closed gate deterred him, and he swung away knocking over the computer monitor out of spite.  The screen crashed and flashed out beside my head, I hadn’t flinched from the explosion and saw bright spots as a result.  “Doesn’t matter.”  Satisfied with his inspection, he turned and exited the room whistling an off tune melody.

Even after his song faded, and the clack of a door echoed to the room, I waited.  I could never overcome this icy clutch of feebleness I felt, the overbearing weight that my life was out of my control.  I shoved myself a little more under the bed until my back pressed against the wall.  For a moment I felt safe.

People live in famine, mothers watch their children starve.  Families are torn apart by war, yet life goes on.  Men kill children because their leader orders it, then live free and safe because they are still useful. 

The world had fucked up shit in it.  I was going to get out of here, I was going to survive and tell the story.  Others had survived.  My will couldn’t be broken, no matter what they did.  I hadn’t seen the worst of it yet.  There will always be the worst, waiting just around the corner.

I pushed my arms out and crawled from under the bed.  A little puddle of blood had stained my elbow, but it was so insignificant.  This was probably my most favorite room in this entire place.  It was so…tame.

“They weren’t experiments.”  His sudden voice didn’t alarm me, I think I knew he was there the whole time.  I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, staring into the dark and where his shape moved.  “They were rituals.  A conjuring.”

A conjuring.  This seemed along the same lines the Priest was on about.  This ‘Walrider’ he called it, same as in the project reports that Murkoff based their studies.  And they found it in the mountains.

I rose to my feet and left, trying to find the door so I could shut it, only to recall it was on the other side of the door frame.  He was still muttering behind it as I tiptoed through the hall, listening for the echo of steps not my own.  It sounded like the patient left through the metal gates, but I hadn’t seen the quiet man yet.

Cautious and quietly, I stepped beside the wall that separated us.  He was still there, now staring at the cold corpse.  He didn’t seem too interested as I passed by toward the control room, this suited me. 

I peered into the open room before waltzing right in.  Desk with monitor to my left, control panel where I left it, and lockers with a desk situated in front of them on the far right.  I crossed over to the panel where a button sat on the terminal, one that looked important or might shed some light on my whereabouts.  I gave it a swat and cringed when the lights behind the glass blazed a nasty yellow, the doors hissed as they opened.

Follow the blood.

I had to hand it to the ‘Father’ Martin, he was getting creative with his grim messages.  If I moved side to side I could tell the arrow indicating my path was painted inside the sterilizing chamber, and Follow was scripted on the glass.  It would have been more impressive if the message wasn’t written in blood.

My battery was running low on power, best to fix that now while everything was calm.  I decided to use one that I had salvaged from the guard and popped it in, but was dismayed to find it only had half strength.  Probably because it was some off brand Murkoff had ordered, typical.  Better than nothing.

I listened, picking up the faint pats of bare feet echoing from the hall.  The doors had made a good deal of noise when I activated them.

The camera went to its hoister, and I moved quickly to the lockers and slipped inside.  Two lockers.  Wouldn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure out if both were empty….

I held my breath when he entered.  Indeed, it was the librarian.  He approached my side of the room, checking the brightened window as he twisted the sticky club in his red hands.  He was thinking of leaving, there was no one in this room.  Just turn and leave, there would be no more noises, at least not until I was safe beyond those doors.

His gaze fell on the lockers.  I swallowed as he moved over and pulled the latch on one.  There were two lockers, someone was in the second one.  That was what he was thinking.

He shut the door and turned to the next, right when I decided to throw it open and flew out.  The door smashed into his chest, as a result I couldn’t clear the door and tumbled when my foot glanced the sharp lining of the interior.  He toppled to his knees as I rolled into the filing cabinet. 

“Come back here!” He had already made it to his feet and was nearly upon me as I scrambled to get up, my vision distorted by vertigo like in a bad dream.  I bolted for the open hall dead ahead.

A sharp whistled cut through the air and I felt the crushing blow to my shoulder, causing me to stagger.  The walls quivered as my vision warped, the pain began a slow march up my shoulder into my neck.   I didn’t know if it was broken, quickly I decided it couldn’t be.

I zipped around the corners and flew over the desk, the patient had trouble keeping up from whatever Murkoff had done to him, or I was just moving too fast for my own good.  I skipped across the bloody threshold of the sterilizer’s doors, they shut at once and misted the area with their foul smelling spray.  Even after the other door opened I knelt down for a beat, to calm my nerves and test my shoulder.  It was hurt, not fractured, but it would bruise up later.  Regardless of what could happen, I needed my arms no matter what.  Hell, if they were tethered by little tendons, or bloody-butchered stumps I would still use them.  I couldn’t afford not to.

Red streaks and an arrow greeted me on the other side.  At least it was something.  I stepped out, checking around the corner and listened.  No sounds, nothing but the occasional distant shriek.  I ventured into the decrepit hall and tried the Security door, locked of course.  The hall ahead was still inviting and the familiar echoes of cracking came to me, I stepped over a fire extinguisher as I went.  I wanted to kick the stupid thing but knowing this place it would spew ice or blood, or something else horrible.  The hall took a left, but in an alcove at its end was another dead man, but I wasn’t keeping count.  Looked like another one of Murkoff’s Research division, he seemed a long way from home.

In actuality, I was losing my patience with them.  I had seen so many corpses, dead and crushed in every way imaginable, and why?  Why the fuck did they lose control of this place?  Why wasn’t anyone alive?  Why couldn’t they have gotten out, called someone, and kept me from joining them in this shithole?

I paused and sighed as I reached the corner.  I wasn’t being fair.  I had entered under my own terms, though I had misgivings, I ignored them until it was too late.  The one to blame here was not the people duped into working the system.  It was me.  I had to look in the mirror and remind myself, I had climbed into that window.  I wanted the story.  I was getting the fuckin story of a lifetime.

Just had to survive it first.

“We gave him a chance.”

Oh for Christ’s sake….

“That we did.”

“I’d say we were more than fair.”

“Paragons of patience.” 

The voices drifting around the corner sounded amused, or pleased, or every sort of happy I could describe.  I glanced around the edge ready to bolt if necessary, but it looked like they had another one of those beautiful metal gates between them and me.  I breathed a sigh of relief, and winced.  My ribs hated me.

“Job-like in the suppression of our desires.”

“But now.”

“Now.”

“Now we indulge.”

“Yes.”

“His tongue and his liver.”

“Yours.”

“Mine.”

My options seemed unfairly limited.

I stepped out from behind the safety zone and moved forward, keeping eyes locked on the twins.  They watched my every move with a morbid fascination I was not comfortable with.  The gate between us might have looked locked, or they might wait until I neared and then they would burst through.  They couldn’t know I was trapped here, if they had plans they would wait until I was too close that they could catch me with little effort.  But I had no idea what was going on here.

Aside from the discussion of how to divide me up.  I refused to imagine what those plans entailed. 

The first door on the segregation section had been torn off and left in the middle of the floor.  I stepped on it as I examined the area keeping a portion of my attention on the twins, always.  They were on the other side of the second gate with weapons that could slip through the bars easily to deal fatal injuries.  Beyond the frame on the left was another door labeled Security, I didn’t know if it was locked or not and I didn’t plan to get close enough to find out.  They said nothing more, content to palm the flat side of their weapons and teeter anxiously as I weighed my ‘options.’  On my right was a smashed out window with a dark crimson stain stretched on the sill, but that presented no better route.  Was the mark another indication of my path by the ‘Father?’

I looked out without getting too close, viewing a long drop to Block B where I first explored.  The man that had been smashing his skull into walls had resumed his mission, and patrolled, sobbing about voices.  From the distance he was easily identified by his blood drenched face, as his actions.  I thought he would’ve succumbed to the self-mutilation long ago.

I pretended not to notice the twins as I climbed onto the sill and slipped over, grabbing the ledge on the other side and hung there.  My shoes scuffed against the wall, but my grip was firm despite my wounded arm.  There were no other areas of interest to the right, but I knew the twins could judge my actions and would wait for me wherever I decided to go.  If I slipped under their view I might have a chance to get up on the other side and take off before they could surprise me.

Given there was any place to go once I was there.  A locked door could be waiting, or a blocked corridor.  The fresh bruise in my muscle alerted me to action, as visions of my body plummeting to certain death haunted the forefront of my mind.  I hastened my movements locking it in my mind that I must not let go, no matter what.  Was there even a way in, a shattered window that was away from those two?

There was, but it wasn’t far enough to be worthwhile.  At this point my arm was burning, I needed to rest it or I wouldn’t be able to pull myself up.  From there my only option would be to drop.

I braced my toes against the wall and heaved up over the frame enough to see into the hall.

They were gone.

[luminashdawnwing]

Stemming the Tide

This takes place before the fall of N’Zoth, whenever individual players feel it should have taken place. Co-written with Jaskian (@kharrisdawndancer), in which Luminash and Jaskian do their part to fight the Old God!

The halls of Ny’alotha stood empty. The joint Alliance-Horde expedition of more military-minded individuals had already pushed through, clearing the great entry hall of the Waking City, their front line pushing deeper into N’Zoth’s vision. It was both a spear aimed at the Old God’s heart, and a shield against its forces. Just as this bulwark could be overwhelmed, however, so too could the defenders of Azeroth in the physical world. It was this dilemma that had led Jaskian and Luminash to this point as they stepped into N’Zoth’s dream from the sands of Uldum.

Luminash gazed around the open space, his shoulders tense and brows furrowed, "I do not know what I was expecting, but this is something else entirely."

Jaskian 's gaze was caught below them on the half-hidden runes and words that shimmered on the stone. "Agreed. Disconcerting to say the least." She stood back up, letting her gaze slide over the walls and the various eyes, “I didn't think it would be so.. confined. I feel like we're inside something. I thought it would be more open.”

On nearly every surface, the smooth dark stone unnatural in its slick and angular perfection, eerie glowing eyes watched, moving, pupils dilating and contracting as they took in the vast open chamber.

Luminash focused on the eyes as well, jaw tense, "I thought so, too. Perhaps we are inside something, though. A building, a temple? Either way, I believe it is...watching."

“I wonder if it can process all it sees in real time, or if it needs to sift through all the visions. How does it know where to focus?” After a pause, she continued, “I am not sure we should stay still too long.” With an incantation, her companion elemental materialized, even in this place beyond.

“We should move, then.” Luminash adds, “This antechamber should be clear, from what I've gathered, but I do not like this feeling of being watched."

“Left or right?”

Luminash looks up and around as he steps forward, looking to the forking paths, platforms of that unnatural stone suspended over an abyss below with no apparent supports, "Ah, right I suppose. It looks as if there is some sort of exit across whatever this room is." He pointed, in the distance, to a path upward, an eerie orange light at the top, flanked by two massive obelisks, their eyes burning in their intensity.

The pair began to walk in silence, keeping each other always within arms reach, unnerved by the oppressive darkness around them, pierced only by the ever-present, ever-watching eyes.

Stepping onto the path over the abyss, Jaskian broke the silence, “Do you think it changes? The way the walkway is constructed makes me wonder if it isn't a fixed path, but maybe one that can be reconfigured…”

Curiosity drawing her nearer to the edge, Jasian peered over into the darkness below. She swallowed hard as her stomach turned, “...Oh.”

Far below, writhing in the darkness were tentacles of monumental size, pathways and obelisks stretching down into a sickly fog, where shifting shadows spoke of more horrors.

Joining her at the edge, Luminash replied, “You may be right about these paths. It would not surprise me. The Void and its possibilities... Nothing is constant, and I would be surprised if this place is.” Peering over beside her, he shuddered, "What...is this place, really?"

The pair turned from the edge and forged forward, leaving the question to linger.

“This place makes me feel...oily,” Jaskian finally said once they were far from the lip of the writhing abyss below.

Luminash nodded in agreement, "That is the best way I can think of to describe how the Void felt on Argus, too. There is just something so fundamentally...wrong here. It is outside all natural order. I am not afraid to admit, I...do not like it.”

“I would be worried if you did,” Jaskian replied, shaking her head.

Managing a slight laugh, Luminash answered, "Fair enough."

As they moved deeper into the chamber, they passed a high arch, the door within it closed tightly. As they moved, Jaskian continued to watch the eyes dotting the obelisks, “It's interesting the eyes seem to be on a single plane in this atrium. None face directly on the sides.”

Luminash followed her gaze, thoughtful, “Ah, you are right. So there may be blind spots…”

Nearing the door, Luminash stepped away from their path and reached out to glide a gloved hand across its surface. It was altogether too smooth, and he recoiled, shuddering. Jaskian watched him, looking between him and the massive structure, “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere this way.”

Luminash shook his head, "It seems so. Part of me wonders if there is anything beyond this door, or if it is simply here to trap the unsuspecting." He nodded, "Yes, back to it."

“What makes you say that?” Jaskian asked as they resumed their trek.

“If this place is truly just an extension of N'Zoth's will, why would he create a closed door? The eyes watch, and he could simply...open it up, could he not? It is closed, so it is safe, until it...isn't.”

“Perhaps it's just not used at the moment,” Jaskian posited, “A different configuration.” She continued, musing as the passed by more of those ever-starting eyes, “I wonder if we inscribed our runes on the pillars holding the eyes, but on sides that the eyes aren't on?”

Luminash smiled, eager for a change of topic, "Ah, that is a good idea! The blind spots could be played to our advantage. The less of this place..." He gestured around them, "Seeps out into Azeroth, the better."

“Agreed.”

The path towards the opposite end of the hall continued, winding over the fogged abyss below. Luminash craned his neck to gaze up into the haze above while Jaskian focused on the structure of the antechamber itself, and the rune-carved stone tablets that lined this stretch of walkway, suspended in auras of that now-familiar orange glow.

“These paths seem like tight quarters for some of the creatures I have associated with this place,” Jaskian ventured.

“It makes one wonder how many mortals have thrown their lot in... Reports from those who are holding the line deeper in seem to indicate that this place is somehow home to a number of cultists.” Luminash said in response, stopping to examine one set of the tablets.

Jaskian shook her head a little. "There are always cultists, but I never understand how they come to think that way." Looking ahead into the vast open chamber beyond the hall, she continued, “I have to admit, I thought it would feel more ... organic. Less geometrical.”

Luminash took in the carved stones before them with a sad sigh, "An excellent question. How the madness and nothingness can be a solution to their ills I will never understand. I am glad for that." Following her gaze, he too mused on the geometry of the place, “Perhaps once we are outside this...temple? Maybe then it will have that...organic nature.”

Past the tablets, and nearing the long stairway leading to the exit, Jaskian pointed once more over the edge, “There's something pouring over there. Can you see?” She peered over, resting her hands on the ledge of the platform.

Approaching the lip, Luminash joined her and peered over as best he could, “It looks like... I want to say lava, but it is far too swift. Blood? But it emits light.” He shook his head, "Whatever it is, it is not right."

Sure enough, rushing into a torrent in the gulf below the chamber was an iridescent flow of red-orange fluid, of unknown source towards an unknown destination. Seeing it, Jaskian shivered and scrubbed a hand over her sleeve to get the feel of the stone off her hand.

When the floating walkway rejoined what seemed, at least, to be solid stone beneath the elves’ feet, they noticed a strange shrine, torches of unnatural flame set under sloping stone overhangs covered in unintelligible runes. Above it all was a massive eye, its gaze fixed on the shrine below.

Observing the arrangement, Jaskian wondered aloud, “That gaze is only scanning right below it. Do you think there's something over there?”

Luminash peered up at the eye, "If this is, in fact, a temple, there may have been before it was emptied. It makes me think of...judgment. A great gaze burning down from above."

“Mm. Maybe a station for reflections.”

Whatever it had been, both elves gave it a wide berth as they moved further into the room, passing by channels in the floor, filled with the strange red-orange fluid that had been dropping into the deep, foggy reaches of the Waking City.

“I take it back. I think I prefer the geometric to the...organic,” Jaskian grimaced as she stepped over one of the channels.

As they finally reached the far end of the temple chamber, and the foot of the stairs, Luminash pointed at an apparently inaccessible platform, complete with stairs and altar, rising from the creeping fog, "You are looking more and more right about...configuration. How many halls are there around us that we cannot see?” Swallowing hard, he added nervously, “How actually empty is this place?”

“I'm not sure. But it's eerie.” She pondered a moment, “Going along with your previous comment, could it be a trap? Luring us deeper in?”

“Or it could be both.”

Jaskian pursed her lips again, ears pinning back slightly in her discomfort, “Do you have reports on how long it's been cleared in this area?”

“It's been some time,” Luminash replied, with some hesitation, his frayed nerves showing, “The line has pushed further, out of this structure to my understanding. I only know that much, I am afraid. The details have been...hazy.” He shivered and glanced over his shoulder, "Which hardly surprises me, coming out of here."

Beginning to scale the steps, the oppressive atmosphere had begun to take its toll. Jaskian admitted in a hushed voice, “I don't like how the perspectives seem to shift. I suppose that's the point, but I will have nightmares, I'm certain.”

"I do not doubt I will, as well,” Luminash agreed, “This was not meant for us to see." He took a deep breath to calm his mind, “Ah, the sooner we are out of here, the better." He unconsciously edged closer to Jaskian as one of the spined tendrils far below made a sudden movement, shadows flickering up from below.

At last approaching the grand entryway they had spotted as they entered the Waking City, Luminash and Jaskian stopped. He pointed to the two obelisks, larger than any other in the antechamber, “The blind spots here,” he said as he moved between them, out of the gaze of the piercing eyes, “These will be suitable, do you think?”

Jaskian joined him with a nod, “There is power coming from deeper inside, and many eyes here. Perhaps an arterial route into the deeper city? If we ward against the Void here, it may buy our defenders outside the time they need.” Luminash nodded in response, “And those within can put a stop to this. We shall buy them that time. Here,” he pointed again at the obelisks, “We make our stand. This is the culmination of our work, and there can be no half measures.”

“Shall we, then? We should work fast, though.”

Luminash nodded and began to prepare the tools for the task. He dropped his satchel on the ground at his feet and, kneeling down, pulled out a box. Within are crystalline foci with cores of Azerite, the scrolls transcribed from Nazmir - he looked upon these with a special pride, the memories of all those lost hanging upon them - and another scroll with the reverse-engineered sigil of Void warding inscribed upon it, a mark of Jaskian’s brilliance.

Standing again, Luminash turned to Jaskian, “The foci should provide enough power to leave a mark on these obelisks without exhausting ourselves, and with the right sigil, we can hopefully make quick work of it.”

“Will the Azerite combust?” Jaskian asked, tracing a finger across the box, mind already working on the complications she might have.

“If too much power is channeled too quickly, there is the risk, but they should be secure.”

“All right,” she nodded, “Shall we split up to make it go faster, or would it be best to spot for each other?”

Luminash places his hand over hers, "I would feel better if we were to keep an eye on each other. I am certain it will be accomplished well, however." He smiled reassuringly.

Jaskian smiled back, squeezing his hand with a nod, "I think it would be best, too. Get to work then. I'll help." She motioned and her elemental companion silently moved to keep sentinel for them, its watery form a lonely figure in the empty hall between the mages and the heart of Ny’alotha beyond.

Luminash pulled a focus from the box, and unfurled the scroll with the Void warding sigil. Turning towards one of the obelisks, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, "Very well, then."

“You worked directly on this before,” Jaskian reassured, “You know what needs to be done.” As Luminash set to work, she picked up the box, unwilling to leave it unattended, even alone.

Luminash scanned the scroll, eyes following every line and flourish. He closed his eyes, then, and opened himself as a conduit of power, channeling it through the Azerite focus, a beam of blue-gold light surging towards the stone as his body became a vessel. He guided the focus as one would a pen, slowly tracing out the curves of the rune in his mind, eyes still closed in concentration, "Thank you, Jaskian." When he spoke, there was something otherworldly in his voice, an echo of power drawn from someplace beyond.

“Always, Luminash,” Jaskian replied warmly, though still wary of their surroundings.

As he neared the halfway point in forming the rune, Luminash began to falter, the Azerite focus surging and crackling with the channeled power. He gritted his teeth and continued, "Almost there. This should work..."

Jaskian glanced down to the box in her arms, feeling the thrum of the energy resonating within the other foci. She shifted on her feet, the uneasiness of the place settling on her and her own nerves taut, "You don't have to finish all at once, Luminash. Take your time if you need."

As he engraved the final element of the sigil on the obelisk, Luminash abruptly threw the now-overloaded focus to the side, where it sparked brightly and then lay depleted. He let out a heavy breath, the power flowing through him dissipating, "And one is done."

He slumped forward, resting hands on his knees and shaking his head, “I should have listened. I went too quickly, and nearly lost it. I suppose that is a lesson learned, but everything about where we are is... It is making this more difficult than it ought to be.”

“No, I understand. It is difficult to feel focused,” she murmured, glancing back to her elemental guarding the way.

Luminash took her hand again and gave it a slight squeeze, "Your patience surpasses mine most days, so you should have little trouble. We are here together, though, and ought not be anxious too much." He managed a little laugh, “Or so I say after nearly burning out the focus."

“You are sometimes excitable. It's part of why I love you.” Jaskian smiled warmly at him, not letting himself sit in his momentary brooding.

Luminash pushed himself back up and leaned over to kiss her cheek, "Only sometimes excitable? That's generous, isn't it?" He smiled more genuinely then.

“It's really quite charming and I'd never want you to be self-conscious of it. You're at your most brilliant then, too.” Jaskian leaned into the kiss, her nerves settled somewhat by the reaffirmation of their presence together.

She took a deep breath, then, and passed Luminash the second focus, “I feel more confident with you finishing them. Your fine control is better than mine and I haven't worked with Azerite nearly as thoroughly.”

Luminash took the focus and turned towards the other obelisk with a nod, "Alright. As long as you stay right here, I'll do just as you ask." He managed a last bit of playfulness before once more centering himself and beginning to form the sigil, brimming anew with arcane power.

“It's always nice when you listen to me without fighting it,” Jaskian teased back, but then let him concentrate, eyes still roving the area and alert for threats.

Although he did not open his eyes or break the formation of the rune, directing the beam of Azerite with as much precision as he could, Luminash still cracked a smile at her teasing remark. His work continued, moving more slowly this time, less power forcing itself through the focus, but still leaving blue-gold traces etched into the obelisk.

The final lines lighting up on the slick stone and the sigil humming with power, Luminash completed the carving of the rune much more neatly this time, the Azerite focus not sparking, sputtering, or otherwise failing as he eased off the flow of magic. He opened his eyes and beamed at Jaskian.

She breathed out and smiled in return. "We should tell the others what we've learned."

Luminash nodded, clearly exhausted, "And let them know that, until this whole vision comes crashing down, they might just have been bought some time."

“I think...I would like to leave now,” Jaskian replied, a smirk on her face.

Luminash laughs, a wave of relief washing over him, "Oh, I thought you'd never ask! The sooner we are home, the sooner I can scrub this...this wrongness off, after all."

Jaskian threw the bag over her back and led the way, her elemental leaving its vigil as the mages wound their way back through the empty halls of Ny’alotha. Behind them were their marks, surging with power, a dam against the torrent of the Void, a stone in the stream, carved to stem the tide, to buy Azeroth even a few moments more time, lest the walls of reality crash down too soon.

[siribear]

‘so.’ alice loads another clip of microfusion cells into her laser rifle. ash whirls around her shoes as they move past another section of subway tunnel, and she pointedly ignores where it came from. ‘you said there’s danger in publishing the paper?’

‘people don’t like hearing the truth all the time.’ she pitches her voice high. ‘piper, why don’t you publish good news for once? they’d rather eat up lies than swallow the truth.’

‘poetic.’ alice searches the pockets of a dead triggerman, coming up with a handful of bullets for her 10mm. ‘ignorance is bliss, i suppose.’

piper brushes invisible dust from her coat. ‘right. enough that they’d try to poison me instead of listen.’

‘wait, you were poisoned?’

‘oh, man.’ her eyes light up like she isn’t remembering a near-death experience. ‘so, there i am at the dugout inn, winding down with a drink. i turned to talk to someone about... something, not important, but the next swig i take tastes funny.’

at the end of the half-collapsed subway tunnel is a closed vault door, vault 114 printed on the cogwheel shape. alice frowns, unspooling the plug on her pipboy to unlock the vault door in front of her. ‘funny how?’

piper shrugs, watching. ‘off. so i start getting woozy and before i can pass out, i stick my head under the still and just start chugging moonshine.’

code flashes by on her pipboy screen, just like when she opened the door in vault 111. piper is too into her story to realize alice knows too well what she’s doing for someone that just picked up a pipboy.

‘and i just - just vomit all over the floor. yefim wasn’t happy with me, but hey. no poison.’

the vault door screech open when she presses the manual override button. the door turns like a wheel, sliding into the wall. yellow lights strobe around the room beyond. ‘well, i’m glad you aren’t dead,’ she says when the grating noise stops. ‘how’s nat feel about all this?’

piper’s smile falls. she pulls her hat down to her eyes. ‘that’s, uh,’ she pauses when two triggermen appear to investigate the door opening. wielding only bats, they don’t even make it close. ‘that’s kind of what worries me, sometimes.’

alice hums in understanding. they make their way into the vault. it’s more cluttered than vault 111 was. shelves create a labyrinth after they walk across the grated walkway into the vault entrance. crates and boxes line the shelves; some empty, some with supplies that she and piper take for themselves.

‘do you think she could be in danger?’

piper pauses, halfway to tucking a stimpak in her coat pocket. ‘i don’t know. after mcdonough threatened us, i’m kind of worried that she is. and i don’t know what i’d do if something happened to her.’

because of me, alice imagines she isn’t saying. ‘why don’t you move, then? or give up the paper.’

‘because, as dangerous as it is, it’s the right thing to do.’

-

after following the winding halls and rooms through the vault, a staircase finally leads to a room that opens up to a large area, indefinitely under construction. digging equipment is still lodged in the dirt walls, mid-job. alice leads the way across metal catwalks over the dirt floor. their shoes echo on the walkways.

another handful of triggermen rush out to greet them, but between piper’s quick shooting and alice’s laser rifle, they make quick work of them.

‘are you with the brotherhood of steel?’ piper asks, watching alice pick through more pockets.

‘no. i helped the squad that was trapped at the cambridge police station. the gun was a gift.’

piper crosses her arms over her chest. ‘yeah? didn’t know the brotherhood was so.. giving to anyone that wasn’t one of theirs.’

alice shrugs as she sorts through ammo. ‘they definitely tried.’

‘but you managed to get a custom brotherhood weapon without joining?’

the line of questioning is fair, alice thinks. probably deserved, since she’s done nothing but pry since they left diamond city. ‘i assume you aren’t a fan.’

‘they’re not the most accepting group. and they don’t like anyone else sharing their toys.’

finished with her looting, alice stands and brushes ash off her jeans. they exit the excavation room only to find a smaller room similar to the ones before except - it’s a dead end.

‘well. great.’ hands on her hips, piper looks around. ‘what now?’

alice walks around a large pillar in the center of the room. in the back corner is a terminal and, almost comically in front of it, a hole in the floor. ‘here,’ she says, craning her neck to look down the hole. it’s not a far fall if they land on the piece of ceiling to the second floor that juts out.

‘okay... that’s not dangerous at all.’

‘more dangerous than taking on a gang with just us two?’ alice asks with a raised eyebrow. before piper can respond, she sits at the edge of the hole, turns, and swings down to the ceiling. it holds. she helps piper down to the next level, then jumps down to the next room.

rifle drawn, she sweeps the room and finds it clear. piper stumbles after she hits the ground, but steadies herself on alice’s arm. ‘are you okay?’

‘i’m fine!’ piper exhales heavily. ‘do you think other journalists do stuff like this?’

alice smiles. ‘you’re the only one crazy enough.’

‘you’re... probably right.’

-

when they finally find nick valentine, it’s in a room at the very top of the vault atrium. a pair of voices drifts down the open room, one distinctly accented and the other belonging to another gang member.

‘that’s nick,’ piper whispers. ‘sounds like he’s stuck up there.’

alice and piper quietly make their way to the top, turning at the top of the stairs. a triggerman argues with nick through a circular window, his voice growing panicked as their argument continues.

‘the black book?’ says the triggerman, voice fearful. ‘i-i better go clear things up with skinny. don’t-don’t move, valentine.’

‘wouldn’t think of it, dino,’ comes nick’s response, dry and flat.

dino jogs their way and gets the butt of a laser rifle to the face when he gets close enough. he crumples in a heap, blood flowing from his broken nose. alice nudges him with her shoe, but he doesn’t get back up.

‘piper, that you?’ nick asks when piper passes in front of the window. ‘what’re you doing here?’

‘brought you some help! hang on, nicky.’ piper begins tapping away at a terminal on the wall.

when alice passes by the window, the room is too dark to see much. a single ceiling light illuminates nick standing in the center, but all alice can make out is a yellow trenchcoat.

‘hey, think you can get this?’ piper says, smacking the side of the terminal. ‘i hate these things.’

alice hacks the terminal easily and keys into the option to unlock the door. the door itself opens with a hiss. alice steps into the room just as nick steps fully into the light, a half-lit cigarette in hand.

yellow, glowing eyes stare back at her, same as the synths she fought back at arcjet. her hands twitch toward her gun, but nick either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t mention it. when he removes the cigarette from his mouth, he has no breath to exhale.

‘can’t say i don’t appreciate the irony of the reverse damsel in distress scenario - ’ he snuffs out the cigarette in an ashtray on the desk next to him. ‘ - but who are you?’

alice grins. ‘your knight in shining armor, princess.’ nick’s robotic face, plastic skin stretched over a metal skeleton, is impassive. ‘i’m alice.’

a gear whirs in the exposed joint of his jaw. ‘and what brings you to help out an old detective?’

‘i need your help finding a missing person.’

‘hey, uh,’ piper calls from the door. ‘we might want to get going. i’m hearing footsteps.’

valentine takes alice’s offered handgun. ‘alright. you and i will talk when we get out of here. let’s go.’

-

at the bottom floor, the trio hides in a side room. a handful of triggermen enter the room, guns drawn. ‘dino?’ one of them calls.

‘up here!’ dino yells, leaning over the top railing with one hand. ‘some bitch broke my nose!’

‘there goes the quiet option,’ nick whispers beside her. he shoots a triggerman in the chest when he runs into their hiding spot. dino, when he stumbles down the stairs to the mid-level of the atrium, gets himself shot in the head, courtesy of alice’s hunting rifle.

their way out of the vault is a bloody one. more triggermen try to stop them, only to be gunned down. in contrast to the empty maintenance rooms that made up their entry to the vault, they fight their way through the residential areas. one triggerman surprises them by jumping out of a nursery. alice hesitates, breath catching when she sees an empty crib. the triggerman’s bat slams into her arm.

she hears bone snap before she feels it, pain lancing through her arm. her rifle clatters to the floor. nick spins on his heel and fells the triggerman before his bat can come down on alice’s head.

‘hey. you alright there?’

the crib is blurry in her vision. she closes her eyes. ‘yeah,’ she grounds out. ‘peachy.’

‘that didn’t sound alright,’ piper says, behind her. ‘i think her arm’s broken.’

nick tries to touch it, but alice shies away when she feels a hand grab her sleeve. ‘we have to set it before we can use a stimpak.’ alice opens one eye. ‘hang on.’

‘fuck,’ alice swears. one of nick’s hands - metal, skeletal - holds her arm in place while the other injects a stimpak into her skin. she exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and forces herself to breathe.

‘doctor sun can take a better look at that when we get to diamond city. are you good to move?’

she flexes her good hand, knuckles still white from clenching her fist. ‘yeah. like i said - peachy.’

she doesn’t look back at the nursery.

-

nick had told them skinny malone’s name was ironic, and it wasn’t a lie. a bigger man in a tuxedo stands in front of them, flanked by two triggermen. a woman in a purple sequined dress stands to the side, a bat held tightly in her hands.

‘what’re you doing, nicky?’

‘you shoulda told your dame to write home more often, skinny,’ nick says. ‘or none of us would even be here.’

the woman frowns heavily. ‘you should have killed him earlier. but no, you had to go soft on him because of old memories,’ she mocks.

‘shut up, darla. you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘what i know,’ darla spits, ‘is he brought his friends here to wipe us out.’ skinny malone half-turns to darla, ready to argue.

‘darla,’ alice begins, weary. she holds her healing arm lightly, not enough to be obvious she’s injured. ‘you shouldn’t even be here. you’ve seen what we can do - you have a family that’s waiting for you to come home.’

darla turns to her, eyes wide. her grip on her bat loosens. ‘i - ’

‘darla,’ skinny warns.

‘that’s what i was sent here for. to bring you home,’ adds nick.

it’s the nail in the coffin. ‘y-you’re right. i - don’t even know why i’m here.’

‘d-darla?’ skinny’s voice wavers. there’s a vulnerability there alice wasn’t expecting. ‘what’re you doing?’

‘what i should have done a long time ago, skinny. it’s... over,’ she says, almost sadly. her bat falls to the floor.

‘wow,’ piper whispers. alice agrees.

when skinny gives them ten seconds to leave without a fight, they don’t need to be told twice. nick leads them to a side room back in the subway tunnels and a ladder that will take them back to the surface. he goes first, alice follows one-handed, and piper brings up the rear.

the manhole opens up in the middle of boston, halfway between park street station and diamond city. the sun has already set on boston, and the city is quiet for it. after checking her pipboy, the trio head back toward diamond city.

‘how did you know where i was?’ nick asks in the silence.

piper swears, startled. alice responds, ‘your assistant, ellie, sent me.’

‘hm. i should give her a raise.’

-

they reach the diamond city entrance tired and hungry. a few of the guards greet nick happily, but alice and piper merely shake their heads. happy to see him, but none of them were willing to go after him. piper breaks away, heading home to check on nat.

doctor sun they catch just before he closes up shop, and he’s none too happy about it. though, when they pay him extra caps, he stops his grumbling. the doctor grabs her arm, ignoring her pained wince, and inserts another stimpak. this time, after a moment, she can move her arm with little pain.

nick walks her back to the dugout inn, and at his word, yefim gives her another night in her room for free.

‘i don’t need sleep, but you look dead on your feet.’ when he tips his hat, he reminds her of the detectives on old television shows. ‘we’ll talk tomorrow.’

he leaves her alone in the room. alice falls asleep before her head hits the pillow.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Remnants, Part VII

I’m so sorry to do this to you, but the angst was inevitable. If you’ve got questions, shoot me an ask and I’ll answer if it won’t spoil the plot : )

Part I,  Part II,  Part III,  Part IV,  Part V,  Part VI

Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

    Thanks so much to @kitkatcronch  @kpopperotp12  @seafrost-fangirl  @sassystrawberryk  @perfect-rami  @txmel  and  @limabein for reading : ) If anyone else wants added to the taglist, let me know. I’ve greatly appreciated the feedback!

    Warnings: Smut. Ahk is a solid 20 years of age to be certain to avoid any squick factor.

“My god . . . we’re in Thebes.”

 Ahkmenrah’s expression darkened at your use of the Greek name for his beloved city.

 “I prefer its true name to that of the conquerors, but yes, that is where you now are.”

 “This is incredible,” you uttered, walking toward the outer wall of what was clearly a palace, laying your hand against the warm stone, half expecting your hand to just fall through it like a ghost’s.

 You looked at Ahk and your mouth dropped open into a smile of awe. Your heart was thudding inside of your chest, and you thought that this is what it must feel like when someone is about to die from happiness.

 Ahkmenrah’s face returned your joyful grin, and he asked, “Are you ready to go inside?”

Your ecstatic smile fell from your face as you took in his appearance and your own.

 “Ahk! Our clothes—we can’t be seen here like this. I can’t be seen at all! I don’t look like an Egyptian!”

 Ahkmenrah reached out and grasped your upper arms, locking his eyes onto yours, steadying you.

 “It is okay, Y/N,” he spoke slowly. “This is a memory. Or what I have come to call an ‘advanced memory.’”

 “Advanced?”

 “While the tablet seems to be able to open a portal to the underworld, it cannot, as far as I have figured out, open a door to the past, unless it is through a memory. So, I focused on a specific part of my childhood, wanting desperately to see my parents and siblings again, and when I configured the tablet, a door opened and brought me here.”

 “So, we really are in the past?”

 “Sort of. We are inside of my memory of the past. People cannot see me, but I am as the Akh in my ability to interact with them.”

 “Interact? The Akh? As in one’s spiritual self who returns to earth to re-do wrongs, or something like that?”

 “Come. It’s easier to show you,” Ahkmenrah said, before asking if he could put the tablet in your backpack for safe keeping.

 You shook your head and after he zipped up the tablet, he reached for your hand, pulling you forward as he pushed open the palace door.

 As archeologists unearthed more of ancient Egypt, they had discovered that the dusty stone palaces were once bright and colorful, all thanks to some hunks of stone that had been sheltered from the elements for a few millennia.

 But looking at a small section of colorful stone could only allow the human imagination to delve so deep. Being there, in Ahk’s past memory, you were overwhelmed by the richness of the colors, by the ornateness of the details on everything from the floors to the walls to the ceilings. Depictions of the gods and their actions were everywhere, along with idioms, almost reminiscent of those found in today’s homes, although you had yet to read anything that was quite as cliché as something like, “Home is Where the Heart is.”

 You could’ve spent a lifetime analyzing what was just an entry room, but the great wooden door thunked closed behind you. The sets of guards standing on either side glanced in your direction but made no movement that indicated they saw you or felt your presence.

 “I am not really sure what they see when we interact with inanimate things,” Ahkmenrah explained. “If they do see anything at all.”

 As Ahk lead you inward, you noticed that the room was getting taller. It was such a gradual change that you marveled at the engineering. After you had been walking for several minutes, you also noticed that there was a bright, golden sun carved into each stone, and as you stepped forward it was also growing larger.

 Every pillar was painted and held intricate carvings that were clearly telling a story; Ahkmenrah explained that they told many of the same stories that had been immortalized in his papyruses.

 “Though, these stories tend to focus more on the members of our royal line of succession than on my common relatives,” he explained.

 By the time you reached the throne room, the pillars were so tall that they seemed to disappear into the ceiling, and the sun had grown so large that as you entered the throne room, it took up almost the entire space of the floor, its brightness deafening.

 You wanted to look elsewhere, but the yellow paint of the sun held your gaze, and then you realized why the paint in the throne room was different than that on the stone walkway—

 “Ahkmenrah,” you whispered as you dropped to the floor and touched the sun in disbelief. “This is . . . it’s made of . . . of gold.”

 Ahkmenrah laughed, a deep laugh that echoed through the room. You glanced up, your eyes scanning the rows of the guards that lined the throne room and the small crowds of people that milled about, but his laughter caused no disturbance.

 “Yes, Y/N. As are many, many things that you will encounter in the palace. What’s a bit of gold to the king of Egypt?” Ahkmenrah said through a smirk that did nothing to hide his pride at your reaction.

“I think I need a minute to just sit here.”

 Ahkmenrah held his hand out to you, stating, “That is one thing we do not have a lot of. According to my calculations, 15 minutes inside of my memory is nearly 45 minutes in reality. I don’t think I want to know what happens if I fail to return to the present before dawn.”

 You let Ahkmenrah help you up and lead you up the stairs to the throne. You stepped past a man, clearly a foreigner, who was kneeling on the stairs and speaking in an unfamiliar language.

 You stopped and stared as you took in a young Ahkmenrah, clearly only a boy of 8 or 9 years old. He was so adorable that you felt your heart swell and your face break into a grin. His curls were closely cropped, and he wore a small golden crown. He was shirtless, not yet old enough to don something as sophisticated as a Wesekh, but he wore a thick band of gold as a necklace that was connected by two golden, painted Horuses. His shendyt was short, flowing, and dyed a deep blue with ribbons of bright purple threading. He stood stoically beside his father while his father listened to the man on the stairs.

 On the other side stood Kahmunrah, clearly bored and far too old to be entertaining himself by stepping on a line of ants that were moving between two of the stones on the floor. Looking between the two boys, you saw that Kahmunrah was Ahkmenrah’s opposite in almost every way. While they shared the same dark, curly hair, stature, and skin tone, Kahmunrah’s face was cruel instead of kind, his eyes dark, like his father’s, and his lips were thin, prone to curling into a sneer as he made no point to hide his boredom.

 You whispered to Ahk, “I can’t recall the name of your father.”

 “Merenkahre.”

 Merenkahre was handsome and emitted a strong feeling of ancient power from the way he sat statue-still to the boom of his voice as he addressed the man on the stairs. Merenkahre seemed to bear only a slight resemblance to his youngest son, and you wondered if Ahk’s appearance favored his mother.

 Ahkmenrah interrupted your observations as he spoke up from beside you, “Let me show you how I can interact with them.”

 He moved closer to his younger self and bent to ask, “What are you thinking about in this moment?”

 No one but you and Ahkmenrah paid any attention as his younger self spoke in a hushed, hurried tone, almost as if he were speaking in a stream-of-consciousness.

 You picked up on a word, maybe two, but looked at Ahk, puzzled.

 “He, well, I said, ‘I wonder what this man’s village looks like because his clothes are reflective of the very strife of which he speaks. I need to ask father to show me where the village lies on the great map in his office. Perhaps he does not honor the gods in the same way as us, so they punish him and his people? If so, we need to help because we have the means to do so. No one should be starving while we have so much.’”

 “Were you always so serious?” you asked, smiling at this little version of Ahkmenrah who returned to studying the man as if he had never even spoken.

 “In the throne room, yes. I understood what it meant to be a king. My brother never did. Come, watch this.”

 Ahkmenrah moved to stand beside his brother and asked of him the same thing.

 “Boring, bored, boring. Why doesn’t father just kill him? He has the power of Ra. He could squash him like all these tiny ants. ANTS tremble before me, the great Kahmunrah and future king of all of things great and small! Ha! Ha-ha!”

 “Good god,” you said. “He’s. . .”

 “Disturbed. I know, well, I certainly know that now. This is mild compared to some of the other thoughts I have pulled out of him during my visits. He hid the more extreme aspects of himself well, but not well enough since my parents skipped him and crowned me instead.”

 Ahkmenrah gave Kahmunrah one more forlorn look before taking your hand and leading you out of the throne room.

 Instead of exiting through the entrance of the throne room, you went off to the right. Ahk led you through an archway that headed into an outdoor hallway that ended by opening into an elaborate garden. It was a small oasis with grass and large fern-like plants, trees cropped up in tall clusters and provided ample shade, and flowers that you had never seen before blossomed along tiny streams that flowed out of a large fountain.

 Ahkmenrah’s feet followed a well-worn path to a hammock-like seat in the upper corner of the garden.

 “This was one of my favorite places as a child. It is in the center of the palace and separates our house from our place of business. I played here in peace or with my sisters. Kahmun never had much interest in our games or in nature. See that tree over there, how it is much smaller than the others? Kah cut it down when we were playing a game, but Sitmut and I nursed it back to life.”

 You were quiet for a few moments, the weight of your question filling you with dread.

 “Ahk, have you returned to the time of your death?”

 Ahkmenrah took a deep breath and looked at you with shame in his eyes.

 “I want to know, Y/N. I have always wanted to know, but I am not sure I am ready. I am not sure I can do it alone.”

 “Get that damn look off your face. You have nothing to be ashamed of—who, in their right mind, wouldn’t feel afraid to witness their own death? You don’t have to do anything alone, Ahkmenrah. You have me.”

 Ahkmenrah looked at your face, his eyes searching to make sure you were serious.

 “When I am ready, will you return with me to that memory?”

 “Of course,” you said, cupping his face and kissing him.

 “Thank you.”

 You and Ahk sat together, enjoying the garden for a few more minutes before Ahkmenrah whispered that he’d like for you to meet his mother.

 He took your hand again and lead you out of the north end of the garden. You walked for what felt like forever through hallway after hallway. You couldn’t believe the size of this palace; your precious books fell so short in comparison to being here, seeing, smelling, touching everything you had only ever read about, and it made you feel heady, overwhelmed in the most delightful way.

 Finally, you could hear voices, the pretty trill of feminine laughter spilling out beneath a door. As Ahkmenrah pushed open the door, you found yourself squinting into the sunlight until you realized that the courtyard was not only full of sunlight, but full of women, mostly in white, flowing garments, while white linens hung in the doorways that led into other hallways, all billowing in the slight breeze. You looked around, your head moving comically fast as you noted just how diverse the body types of the women were. Ancient Egyptians were vain, believing that however they painted themselves on their tombs would be however they were resurrected. If only they had known how beautiful their diversity actually made them. Perhaps you didn’t give modernity and progress enough credit sometimes.

 Many of the women were topless, their breasts shaped, once again, with a diversity that was lacking in their paintings. While their skirts or gowns were mostly white, their jewelry was colorful, many of them having jewels beaded into their dark hair. You had started to walk closer to a group of women who were chatting, wanting to look at their makeup, when Ahk pulled you along into another garden. This one, however, was more subdued, filled mostly with flowers.

 You knew her from her aura before you even registered the regality of her clothing. She had the same largess of presence that her son did, and the same warmth radiated from her smile as she turned and saw young Ahkmenrah approaching.

 Shepseheret was dressed in a sheer bright blue skirt, her skin much darker than Ahk’s or his father’s. Her skirt was wrapped around her hips and she wore a golden belt that matched the golden beads that mixed with other colors of beads within her Wesekh. She wore no top, instead only an arm cape of a matching bright blue, mixed with another layer of purple. Her Wesekh was ornate and left only the undersides of her breasts exposed. She looked like the goddess Isis herself.

 Young Ahk bowed to his mother and she opened her arms, pulling him into a tight hug that he relaxed into. Then, he began to talk to her, rapidly, as a young child with much to tell was wont to do.

 Ahkmenrah translated their conversation as you observed their body language. It was clear how much love the two had for one another and it hurt you to think about how much he must miss her. She fussed over his curls and ran her hand down the side of his face before kissing his forehead.

 Young Ahkmenrah had confessed his concern over Kahmun’s lack of interest in the foreigner, and his mother reassured him that Kahmun would learn to embrace his duty, and if he did not, it was up to her and Merenkahre to worry about it, not her youngest son. She praised Ahk for his sensitivity, his quiet skills of observation and told him that they were strong qualities, qualities that he must nurture.  

 “Ahk, she’s achingly beautiful, so warm and loving. You have her eyes and her presence.”

 “I miss her very much,” Ahkmenrah said, the sadness and loneliness from the first night you met filling his eyes.

 You squeezed his hand before Ahkmenrah let go to approach his mother. He looked at her face for a long moment before asking her what she was thinking.

 She whispered a short, simple sentence, and Ahkmenrah translated it with a thickness in his voice.

 “Ahkmen, my sweet, loving boy. I wish I could keep you safe with me, here, always.”

 Your eyes filled with tears at the genuineness of her love for her son, and you looked away, feeling like you were intruding on something deeply intimate.

 Ahkmenrah, not missing your reaction stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

 “What is it?”

 “The two of you. . . you’re just so pure, so raw in your emotion. She loves you so much, and it’s almost as if she knew that fate was going to take you from her.”

 Ahkmenrah gripped you tightly and kissed your temple.

 “So many retellings of our history are rife with betrayal, anger, and a hunger for power. But I was so happy here, so happy with my parents and sisters, even my brother. This is what I was hoping you would understand—we were unafraid of loving, of sharing, of truly living each day to its potential.”

 “And it was cut so short for you. I’m sorry for that, Ahk. Sorry that you never got to experience having a family of your own.”

 “It makes me sorry, too. But,” Ahkmenrah said, turning you in his arms, “fate brought me to you.”

 You smiled, his words wrapping you in a warmth that rivaled the heat of the desert.

 “How much time do we have left?”

 Ahkmenrah pulled a watch out of his pocket.

 “Another hour. What would you like to see?”

 “How about your room?”

 Ahkmenrah led you down another series of corridors, not too far from his mother’s wing of the palace. His room was as you had imagined a young prince’s room would be—large, ornate, and with a great view. His room opened onto a balcony that overlooked the Nile and the many farms of Egypt that littered the banks. The view took your breath away, and once again, you found yourself wishing you could spend an eternity here, just gazing out over the land of this ancient civilization.

 Ahk’s movements inside his room drew your attention back to him. He was laid out on what you assumed was a bed. It was small, and it was comprised of a woven mat. Ahk’s head currently rested on a curved slab of marble, and you scoffed, unable to believe that living people slept like that. You had always assumed the Egyptians’ discovered version of a pillow was used only for entombment. Apparently, you were wrong.

 “I guess the luxury of a big bed with fluffy pillows wasn’t something that came about until people got a bit lazier,” you said as you poked at the bed.

 Ahk twisted out and gestured for you to get in. You cautiously laid down, terrified you were going to fall through it, wondering how the hell anyone could’ve copulated on such a thing.

 You fit your head onto the pillow, and fixed Ahkmenrah with a look of disgust.

 “No, not lazier. People just got smart enough to realize that sleeping on a rock sucks.”

Ahkmenrah chuckled and then fixed you with a slightly lecherous look. “I know that is not all you are wondering about.”

 You huffed and sat up, attempting to bounce slightly on the bed only to realize that there was absolutely no give on the mat.

 “Care to show me how that worked then?”

 Ahkmenrah ushered you into an adjoining room, this one even more private than his bedroom.

 Your mouth dropped open as you took in the elaborateness of this room. In the center was a large bath, closer to how you would define a small swimming pool than a bathtub. It had four carved pillars that formed fountain heads in the shape of the god, Min, that were running with water flowing from—

 “Ahkmenrah, I think this room is vastly inappropriate for a child.”

 He laughed, explaining, “We are educated about sex at a young age. We grow up knowing that it is our responsibility to pray to the gods for fertility, not only to propagate amongst ourselves but to also propagate the land. Fertility was the center of most of our worship, and that,” Ahkmenrah said, gesturing to the very prominent phallic fountain head, “was a very strong sign of it.”

 For the millionth time that evening, you found yourself caught up in the disproportion of reading about something versus actually experiencing it.

 You went back to studying the room and noted that the water itself was littered with petals. It smelled so sweet it was almost like a narcotic, rushing to calm your mind.

 All around the bath were various steps or stone curves with blankets and squares of stuffed fabric that resembled pillows. Also littered around the room were mirrors, some of them directing beams of sunlight from openings in the roof directly into the bath.

 “The mirrors—that’s how the bath was kept warm. How clever!”

 “Most of the mirrors serve that purpose, yes. As you can see, once I got older, this is where I would . . . entertain.”

 You looked around the room once more, taking it all in. You imagined what it would have been like to have been a guest of young king Ahkmenrah—except you didn’t really have to only imagine it.

 “How much time do we have again?”

 “Mmm, about 40 minutes now.”

 You turned to face Ahk, your chin tilted up in a haughty stance, and declared, “I’d like to conduct some research.”

 His face split into a wicked grin as he pulled off his t-shirt and stalked to you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Quickly, you both undressed, but you hesitated, clearly unsure about how this would work.

 “I think you need to command me, my king,” you said with a shy smile.

 Ahkmenrah looked at you with half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile on his lips as he stepped into the bath, settling with arms spread out to either side of him, completely relaxed.

 “Come here, my queen. Slowly. I want to watch you.”

 You walked to the edge of the bath, eyeing the steps inside of it. You sedately entered, allowing the warmth of the water to pull you further and further in.

 Once the water was up to your collar bones, standing on your tiptoes, you hesitated, waiting for another command.

 “Sit on my lap.”

 You moved slowly through the deep water and back into the shallow as you stepped up to take a seat on Ahkmenrah’s lap. The water ran down your freshly exposed skin in tiny rivulets, cooling your breasts and making your nipples impossibly hard.

 “Kiss me.”

 You bent your head and kissed him, languishing in the taste and feel of his tongue as it swirled with your own. You ran your hands along as much of his skin as you could touch, and when you were both nearly breathless, Ahkmenrah tilted his head back, breaking the kiss. He looked into your eyes, his pupils dilated. You watched his lips form the command that sent a shiver of lust down your spine.

 “Fuck me.”

 The starkness of his command, the pure power that radiated from his eyes as he looked at you when he said it, made you wetter than the bath itself.

 When you centered yourself above his cock, slowly lowering onto him, you noticed that you could see yourself in one of the mirrors that was directly behind the bath, and that mirror pointed directly at a mirror Ahkmenrah was staring into. You looked at him and he gave you that wicked grin again.

 Your breathing picked up at the thought of just how sensual this was, and both of your moans mingled and reverberated through the room as you sunk down and engulfed his hard length.

Ahkmenrah never moved his arms from their place on the edge of the tub as you rode him, so you shifted your own hips and chased your own orgasm as you leaned back, your breasts a tantalizing sight for him as you bounced, splashing water over the sides of the bath. Never once did he buck his hips. Never once did he reach out to cup your breasts or bend to take a nipple between his lips. Never once did he grasp your hips to control your movements.

 You were almost flabbergasted by how quickly you found your orgasm, watching your mirror-self bite your lip as your climax took hold, eyes rolling back, surprised at just how erotic it had been to be commanded by your soft, sweet Ahk.

 It was clear that this was his place, his time, and he was a king here.  

 You slowed down a bit to catch your breath, but Ahkmenrah commanded, this time in a more biting tone to remind you who was in charge, “Fuck me.”

 You entered a new state of bliss as you continued to drive Ahkmenrah to his own peak of pleasure, your thighs trembling with your continued movements, your hands digging into his shoulders, leaving tiny nail marks in his skin. When his mouth finally parted as his head lolled back, a stream of ancient Egyptian tumbled from his lips in a deep growl as he climaxed, his hands tightening on the edge of the bath.

 You, fully enmeshed in this fantasy, didn’t stop moving until Ahkmenrah commanded it, the muscles of his own thighs twitching beneath yours.

 Once his breathing steadied, he raised his head to meet your eyes.

 “Can I kiss you?” you breathed, his softening cock still inside of you.

 “Of course,” he whispered, clearly returning to the persona of Ahk that you were used to, and as you kissed him, he wrapped his arms around you, finally shifting to pull his cock from inside of you as he moved you to the center of the bath to ease the goosebumps on your upper arms.

 You were wrapped up inside the warmth of the water and of Ahk’s arms and longed for this to be your life. No more stress, no more decisions, no more school, no more need for money, nothing but Ancient Egypt and Ahkmenrah.

 Except this was only a memory, a place confined to the limits of Ahk’s own experiences.

 And as if he read your mind, Ahkmenrah pulled you out of your thoughts as he said, “I’m sorry, Y/N, but we need to return.”

 You looked at him, taking his face in your hands, running a watery hand through his hair.

 “Thank you for bringing me here. This is . . . incredible. I was just wishing that we could—”

 “Do not get stuck in that wish, Y/N. It would be too easy for us to just stay here, to just be stuck inside of this, but that is what we would be. Stuck.”

 You raised your brow and with an alarming sincerity said, “I could be okay with stuck.”

 Ahkmenrah laughed softly and kissed your nose. “I appreciate that, but we both know it isn’t true. Come on, my queen. Let us redress in our regal clothing of the present.”

 You chuckled at Ahk’s quip and climbed out of the bath to dress. He pulled the tablet from your backpack and opened a doorway that led you out of his memory and back to the museum.

 * * * * *

 After experiencing Ahkmenrah’s memory, you redoubled your efforts on your dissertation, finding that your writing flowed with a new ease. If you wrote anything that needed backed up with more research, your chairs would catch it. After all, every good thesis took some risks that sometimes took their authors their entire life to fully prove.

 For the next two weeks, you built time into your routine to visit Ahk and explore his memories. The two of you had worked your way up to his crowning and through the first few years of his rule. It was almost time to return to the night of Ahkmenrah’s death, that thought filling you both with dread.  

 However, Ahk didn’t know that you were also carrying another heavy burden; you had to make a decision about Ryan’s invitation.

 It was once again the first Saturday of the month, so you were headed to the museum’s after-dark tours. Your latest chapter was submitted to your chairs, and that gave you a little time to relax while you waited on their feedback.

 Ahkmenrah was standing in the lobby in his full regalia, waiting for one of the volunteers to count out the members of his tour group. You gave him a wave, and his face brightened when he saw you.

 “Can I join this group, please?” you asked of the somewhat frazzled volunteer.

 They nodded without looking up and declared Ahk’s group filled. You loved watching him walk confidently around the museum, interacting with the public, the authority of his presence something that people accepted, unable to figure out why a young museum docent would elicit such a feeling.

 Ahkmenrah was clearly a favorite, and two teen girls whispered excitedly beside you, talking about how hot the docent was. You smiled to yourself, imaging that you’d be thinking the same thing at their age, at least for a minute before you found yourself asking no less than a hundred questions about ancient Egyptian life.

 Ahkmenrah was about halfway through the tour, when you saw Ryan approaching. You couldn’t stop the dread that filled your stomach in an instant as you wondered what he was doing here. Ryan, at first, didn’t notice Ahkmenrah.

 “Hey, Ry. What are you doing here?”

 Ryan raised his brows, “Seriously?”

 You huffed in response. “I told you we’d talk when I was ready.”

 “Babe. It’s a week out. I’ve let you mull it over for two weeks. I’m dyin’ here without an answer.”

 Ahkmenrah had definitely noticed Ryan, and even more definitely noticed when the tour moved on and you did not. He could tell something was wrong by the distress on your face. He led his group into the next exhibit and told them they had ten minutes to explore on their own before moving on.

 The glitter of Ahkmenrah’s apparel caught your eye as he approached, and once again, your nerves seemed to ignite, anxiety clawing its ugly way around your chest.

 “Is everything alright, Y/N?” Ahk interrupted, clearly sending a signal to Ryan that he was very aware of your discomfort.

 Ryan took in Ahkmenrah’s appearance, a little surprised, then smirked.

 “Maybe you can talk some sense into her, mate,” Ryan said. “She’s certainly not listening to me.”

 “What do you mean?” Ahkmenrah asked, his brows furrowing slightly, but his posture remaining straight and intimidating, even though he was smaller than Ryan.

 “We don’t need to talk about this now, Ahk. In fact, it really wasn’t something I wanted to talk about at all. With anyone.”

 “Y/N, I’m trying to be patient because I want to do this with you. We could be happy, really happy. You’ve never been good at just letting life hand you a little bit of something good. Just because this doesn’t come with some steep, universal price, you don’t want to believe it could be a damn good thing!”

 Ahkmenrah’s expression remained mostly stoic, but you could feel him growing angry just by the slight tightening of his mouth and his intake of breath.

 “Ryan, let’s just go. Let’s talk about this—”

 “Oh, I think you should talk about it here, Y/N,” Ahkmenrah interrupted, turning his stormy eyes from Ryan’s face to your’s.

 Ryan was quiet, and watched the interaction, wondering if you’d lied to him about Ahkmenrah not being your boyfriend.

 “Ahk, no. You’ve got a tour, and this is really complicated,” you said, a desperate edge hanging onto each of your words.  

 Ahkmenrah’s clipped tone shot through you. “Complicated? You seem to spend a lot of time getting yourself into complicated situations with a variety of people, don’t you?”

 “That’s not fair. This has nothing to do with you, with us.”

 Ryan couldn’t stop himself, and you wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor when he raised his voice and said, “Us? I knew you were fucking this guy! Damnit, Y/N. You said there was nothing there, and like a fucking idiot I believed you!”

 Your eyes darted around the crowded museum, your hushed conversation and now Ryan’s outburst clearly drawing attention. You could only imagine what your trio of confrontation looked like to outsiders. A glittering pharaoh, a muscular Australian, and a girl who wished she were a piece of tapestry on the wall.

 “You do not speak to her in that manner!” Ahkmenrah’s voice boomed, causing you to jump a little.

 “Oh, no, no, no. We are not doing this, not here, no, no, no,” you said as you grabbed each of them by the arm and pulled them into the nearest stairwell.

 As soon as the door banged shut, Ryan was in Ahkmenrah’s face.

 “She has the opportunity of a lifetime in front of her. Do you want to be the one to fuck it all up?”

 Ahkmenrah’s gaze, still thunderous as he glared up into Ryan’s face, said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 Ryan stepped back and crossed his arms, the desire to fight receding as he realized he was the one with the atom bomb in his pocket.

 “Tell him.”

 You slumped against the wall, and ran your hands through your hair before sighing, “Ryan’s gotten a grant that will take him to Africa and to the Museum of Cairo for a total of six months. He can get me a spot, and if I went, I’d leave next week. It’s . . . it’s the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Ahkmenrah looked at you, the fight having gone out of him with every word you spoke until there was nothing left in his eyes but that familiar, distant sadness.

 No one said anything for a long time.

 “I need to return to my tour,” Ahkmenrah said, his cape trailing behind him as he pulled open the stairwell door and left you and Ryan alone in the echoing stairway.

 “Nothing going on between you and the pharaoh, huh?”

 “Oh, shut up, Ry. Don’t act like you never saw other girls.”

 “I guess that should’ve been my big clue. You never really were jealous.”

 “No, I wasn’t.”

 “Does that mean I have my answer?”

 You looked at him, his sandy hair, his handsome, clever face, his strong arms, and you met his blue eyes for what you thought would be the last time for a long, long time. They reflected the sadness you felt at the realization that this was it—there would never be anything else between the two of you because you weren’t in love with him.

 “I can’t go with you, Ryan.”

 Ryan nodded. He didn’t say anything as he pulled you into a long, tight hug, one last time. He let you bury your face in his chest, until you could stop the threat of tears. When you pulled back and looked up at him, he said, “I hope he’s worth it, babe.”

 Ryan turned to jog down the stairs and you listened to the steady echo of his receding footfalls.

 * * * * *

 By just after midnight, the museum was completely empty of its strangers. You had spent the last few hours brooding in the break room, waiting for the tours to finish. Many of the exhibits were still dancing, carrying on and living their best un-lives, and the party atmosphere provided a stark contrast to the anxious dread that filled your mind.

 As was becoming the habit when you fucked up, Ahkmenrah was sitting on the bench in his exhibit, his face a mask of disquiet contemplation. Before you could take a seat next to him, he raised his hand, stopping you, and said, “I want to go back to the night I died. I meant it when I said I needed you there. But after that, we will no longer see each other.”

 “Ahk, I’m not going with Ryan because—”

 “No. This is exactly what I feared when we crossed that line between friendship and created a deeper, more intimate connection. It is not fair to you nor to me. We have been foolish and—"

 “Damnit, Ahkmenrah! I’m not going because I’m in love with you!”

 Ahkmenrah lowered his gaze to the floor and closed his eyes, his voice maintaining an enviable steadiness as he spoke. “Please, Y/N. Stop. I am a means to an end for you. Once you have finished your dissertation, I will become nothing more than a remnant, a period of time that you look back on until you do not even want to do that anymore.”

 “You’re wrong! Time doesn’t work like that when—”

 “DO NOT LECTURE ME ABOUT TIME, Y/N!” Ahkmenrah shouted, his voice reverberating through his exhibit, his Anubis statues shifting, reminding you of their spears.

 Your eyes filled with tears and your lip trembled, threatening to break the dam you had so cautiously built to contain your emotions over these last few months.  

 “Be here before sunset tomorrow,” Ahkmenrah stated, his tone dismissing you.

 “Okay,” you said, your voice weak and strained, fighting off the lump in your throat that threatened to choke you.

 You got as far as the first few steps from the door of the entrance to the museum, and as it shut behind you, you sunk onto the cold, stone stairs, your head in your hands, and sobbed.

 Alone in his exhibit, Ahkmenrah let out a shaky breath as a single tear slid down his cheek.