#its name is marshie :)

[marshiemonarch]

@ultrabean I think they could be friends :3

[gelarshiesprofruitboarder]

marshie that doesnt make you look cooler in the slightest im so sorry

[vimbry]

I can't look at my own bio post header too long I feel compelled to squish that thing and it's not a tangible object. but I can Feel how it would be if it was. so sad.

[nothingmoment]

I was in the middle of a Pokéathlon tournament and I just now noticed my DS battery has died. I'm going to hit myself don't talk to me

[alphynix]

Spectember/Spectober 2024 #10: Nosey Sea Monkey & Louse Mouse

Okay, let's finish up this year's round of speculative evolution concepts with one last post before we get back to normal paleoart content.

(…what do you mean it's November 3rd? how did that happen?)

Belial Lyka asked for a "marine proboscis monkey with a somewhat buoyant nose":

A descendant of modern proboscis monkeys, Phusarhinus beliallykae is a large semiaquatic primate found in shallow marshy coastal areas of what was once Southeast Asia. Around 4m long (~13') it has a lifestyle somewhat similar to ancient early sirenians, feeding on soft aquatic plants and hauling out onto land to rest.

Its dense rib bones and long flipper-like grasping forelimbs make it rather front-heavy, allowing it to naturally float with its head and arms hanging down closer to the bottom for energy-efficient foraging. When it needs to resurface to breathe it shunts air from its lungs into its large inflatable nasal sacs, altering its buoyancy enough to tip its head back up towards the surface.

Unlike its ancestors the elaborate nasal structures are found on both males and females – although they're more brightly colored in males and are also used for visual courtship displays and as resonating chambers for loud booming calls.

———

And somebody who only gave their name as "bunny" suggested a "parasitic rodent":

Sanguichelonamys bunnyi is a highly unusual descendant of a rakali-like semiaquatic rodent that had a symbiotic relationship with early members of the Phusarhinus lineage. The rodents initially just removed algae and external parasites from the bodies of the increasingly bulky aquatic monkeys, but things have recently started to turn more parasitic.

At just 3cm long (~1.2") Sanguichelonamys is one of the smallest mammals to ever exist, with a wide flattened body and sharp hooked claws used to cling onto its host monkey's thick skin. Although it still does remove other parasites, during haul-out periods it will also use its sharp incisors to deliberately enlarge the wounds left behind – or even open up new ones – and directly feed on fresh blood from its host.

The thickened keratinous skin along its head and back has a specialized hydrophobic surface that traps a layer of air while underwater, acting as a "rebreather" bubble similar to that of water anoles. Along with the ability to drastically slow down its metabolism and respiration rate, this allows Sanguichelonamys to survive being submerged during its host's lengthy foraging dives.

[skyward-floored]

HEY @thepinklink HERE IS YOUR PROMISED LEGEND WHUMP! I hope you were able to get some sleep last night despite the evil cockroach. I would come get rid of it for you if I could but I hope this at least makes your day better 💖

...

Wild hated thunder blades.

He never used to— in fact, they used to be one of his favorite weapons he’d find. They were great for quickly incapacitating monsters, especially if you were trying to steal weapons, and their attack power wasn’t bad either, which made them great in Wild’s book.

But that was before he’d seen Legend get stabbed straight through the shoulder with one.

His scream was oddly clear through the cacophony of the battle, and Wild heard at least one person yell Legend’s name in a panic. He shot a stalfos through the head, and cast this gaze around for the veteran, gasping as he caught sight of him.

A moblin had somehow managed to stab Legend straight through his shoulder, its weapon a thunderblade, of course, and it’s face twisted in an ugly grin as its sword pumped electricity through the veteran.

Wild dove off of his perch, shooting the moblin that had gotten the lucky hit in straight through its skull.

It died with a snarl, and Wild bolted across the battlefield, his boots sloshing through the marshy area they’d been fighting in.

“Legend,” he gasped as he arrived, and the veteran managed to meet his eyes before another jolt of electricity spasmed through him, making him scream.

Wild lunged for the hilt of the sword and yanked, not even thinking about how he should probably leave it in. Legend cried out, but no matter how hard Wild tugged, the blade wouldn’t come out.

The moblin had slammed it deep into Legend’s shoulder, almost up to the hilt. It had gone straight into the tree behind Legend, and was now keeping him pinned there, all while electricity continued to shoot through his veins.

Wild let go of the sword, mind going into overdrive as Legend continued to writhe in place. He had to get the blade out, that was the immediate problem, but Legend’s continuing screams were making it hard to focus on anything except the need to help him now.

The charge of the blade couldn’t last forever though, and suddenly Legend’s screams died, the veteran slumping as much as he could.

“Legend?” Wild asked frantically, and he managed to raise his head, still trembling from leftover electricity.

“G-get it out,” he croaked, and if Wild hadn’t known better, he would almost think the words ended with a bit of a sob.

“Yeah, I know, I know I’m thinking Legend, I can’t pull it out by myself,” Wild said, pushing his brain to think of a solution. The thunderblade was still recharging, but he had less than a minute until it replenished itself and it was full of electricity again.

Legend was barely conscious now. Wild wasn’t sure what yet another bout of electrocution would do to him.

A shout came from behind, and Wild whirled around just in time to see Sky kill a monster that had been about to sneak up on him. He nodded a quick thanks, and Sky’s face went pale as he saw Legend pinned to the tree.

“Oh Hylia, Vet,” he gasped, and joined Wild’s side immediately. “We have to get him out!”

“It’s in so deep I can’t pull it out” Wild reported miserably, still trying to think of something else they could do. “It’s stuck too, I don’t know if even the Rancher could get it out.”

Legend clawed a jittery hand at the weapon, face agonized, and Sky took his hand, giving it a bracing squeeze.

“Easy Vet, we’re working on it,” he soothed, running his fingers over his palm. Legend didn’t relax much, but he looked a little less frantic at the contact, holding Sky’s hand in return.

Wild watched him, thinking through the blade, the tree, what gear he and Sky had...

And then suddenly he had an idea.

“Wait, I think I can get it out!” Wild realized, and he yanked out his slate, scrolling through the options with fingers he wished were steady.

Warriors ran up to them as he scrolled, blood running down his neck. Sky gave him a look, but he ignored it as he knelt beside Legend, eyes darting calculatingly over the veteran.

“I have a potion, but we’ll have to get that out first,” he said, and Wild nodded, finally getting his slate set to the magnesis rune.

“I think I have a way. It won’t be the prettiest, but it should work. The electricity is about to kick back in though, I don’t know if—”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when the blade turned bright yellow again, and the pain in Legend’s eyes turned to pure fear.

Then yellow-green electricity tore across his body and he screamed, back arching as it seized him again.

“Stand back!” Wild shouted, and Sky and Warriors listened, though neither of them looked like they wanted to pull away from the thrashing veteran.

Wild locked on to the blade’s metal, praying this would work, and didn’t wait a second longer.

He gave his slate a harsh yank, and magnesis tore the blade from Legend’s shoulder with a gut-churning sound of metal through flesh. Legend screamed again, but the sound was weaker as Sky and Warriors ran forward to catch him, body collapsing in a bloody, jittering heap.

Wild flung the sword into the bushes, then ran to their sides, Legend’s shoulder bleeding violently, his limbs still jerking with electricity.

“Easy Vet, it’s okay,” Sky soothed, his voice remarkably steady while Warriors tried to staunch the bleeding. Legend thrashed against their hold, eyes wide and panicked, and Wild moved to help the two hold him down.

Warriors directed Sky to the potion in his bag, and Wild flinched as Legend let out a very un-Legend-like whimper.

“Legend, you need to drink this,” Sky coaxed as he uncorked the potion. “Can you do that?”

The veteran didn’t reply, eyes half-lidded, breathing erratic. He choked on a shaky breath, the sound more like a sob, and Wild took his hand, trying to meet his eyes.

“His heartbeat’s off,” Warriors noted grimly, Legend gasping when he tightened his grip on his shoulder. “He needs to drink that potion, now.”

Wild nodded and took the potion from Sky, the other knight carefully tilting Legend’s head up and holding it still. He pressed the glass to Legend’s lips, carefully pouring some of it into his mouth, and Sky rubbed two fingers on his throat in order to coax him to swallow.

Legend sputtered, but some must have gone down since his eyes brightened a little. He leaned forward just a bit, and Wild helped him slowly drink more of the potion, emptying it more than half before he went limp in Sky’s hold.

“Legend?!” Wild asked frantically, and Warriors waved a hand, calming him.

“He’s okay, he’s okay. That was enough. His shoulder’s going to need attention, but that fixed most of the electrocution issues,” he sighed, running a hand through Legend’s sweaty bangs. “I’m impressed he stayed conscious that long.”

Wild nodded, his brain suddenly registering the sharp smell of blood and burnt flesh in the air. He swallowed, fighting down the urge to gag, and squeezed Legend’s hand again, his screams still echoing in his ears.

Sky looked similarly queasy and shaken, but he helped Warriors pull Legend’s layers away so they could bandage the much shallower wound in his shoulder anyway.

Wild did what he could to help, but Sky and Warriors were already doing the legwork. All he could really do was hold Legend’s hand, and hold him still when a tremble ran through him.

Warriors and Sky finally finished, and Sky pulled Legend up into his arms, the veteran still horribly pale. The battle had ended while they’d worked, and the others gathered around Sky, Hyrule and Twilight especially persistent in their checking that Legend was okay.

Wild stood back a few paces, feeling relieved, but also... still nauseated.

Legend’s head flopped bonelessly against Sky’s shoulder as Hyrule tilted it to look at his eyes, and Wild swallowed, his own heart still pounding from the franticness of the past several minutes.

“He’ll be okay, Champion,” Warriors assured from beside him, his voice quiet. “That was some quick thinking with your slate.”

“Thanks,” Wild replied, though his heart wasn’t in it. Legend had still spent a long time with an electric blade piercing his shoulder and pinning him to a tree, and the memory of his screams made him shudder. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Legend always seemed tense when it came to thunderstorms— Wild could only guess because of the lightning. Which made the whole thing even worse.

Warriors squeezed his shoulder, and Wild breathed out, leaning into the touch a little.

He looked over at Legend again, and though the veteran’s face was pained even in unconsciousness, he was already looking a little less pale. Sky ran a slow hand over his head as Hyrule checked him, and gently thumbed away the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Wild exhaled again, trying to calm his heart. Legend would be fine.

...he really, really hoped so.

[evolutionsvoid]

Name: Great Serratodus

Title: Razor Jaw Wyvern

Species: Piscine Wyvern

Element: Water

Status: Bleed

The Serratodus are small monsters that dwell in tropical environments where water is plenty, swimming through flooded zones and marshy areas. In most cases, they don't draw too much attention to themselves, just another piscine lurking in the waters. They seem to mind their own business, only nipping at those who get too close. However, this calm facade of their melts away the second a drop of blood hits the surface. At the faintest whiff of blood, the Serratodus are thrown into a frenzy. They leap, thrash and gnash their razor jaws in excitement, eager to taste prey. The waters will boil with their frenzy, as they rush to the source of the smell in hopes of a meaty meal. Serratodus are seen as ravenous scavengers, feeding on the dead and bringing down those that are close enough to dead. Any sign of weakness or injury shown in their waters is seen as an opportunity for food, and they will assault the wounded beast with a whirlpool of sharp teeth to finish the job and strip the corpse clean. Though they have a powerful bite, Serratodus do not target healthy prey, only the dead and dying interest them. However, situations are quick to change if the Great Serratodus is around. Though their younger brethren hesitate to feed until blood is spilled, the Great Serratodus chooses to draw first blood for themselves.

The Great Serratodus are full grown adults of the species that have proven themselves in size, strength and ferocity. While the younger ones are confined to the waters, they have developed a strong pair of legs that allows them to stalk onto the shore. Big, bulky and with a nasty jaw full of blades, the Great Serratodus is on the hunt for prey. They tend to stick close to the waters, with the aim to wound another large monster and drive them into the waiting jaws of their lessers. While the Great Serratodus is not the most powerful beast in the ecosystem, they can quickly gain the upper hand with sheer numbers if foes are foolish enough to remain in the water. The scent of blood drives the Serratodus wild, and they will converge upon the wounded beast and pull them into a maelstrom of gnashing jaws. Other beasts hardly stand a chance against the relentless assault, all while the Great Serratodus knocks them about with their bulky body and tears into them with tooth and spine. When enraged, the Great Serratodus will unveil rows of razor sharp teeth on its bulbous head, as well as spines that will protrude from open slits. These teeth are anchored to strong muscles, that will use small rapid movements to vibrate them at high speeds. With this, the Great Serratodus is able to cleave through flesh and bone, using powerful blasts of water from its gills to launch itself forward and disorient foes. These same gill blasts also help knock off other Serratodus who may bite into their Great's hide when lost in the bloody frenzy. 

While the lessers typically cause no issues for villages as long as folk are careful, the presence of a Great Serratodus usually calls for hunters to come in and dispatch it. These larger specimens will target beasts of burden and livestock who get close to the water, and any evidence of injury will lure one in. Woe be to any trade caravan carrying fresh meat with them, as the scent will certainly grab their attention. Hunters often put out bounties on these monsters as well, due to their tendency to take advantage of other hunts. There are few things more frustrating than putting in the time, energy and effort to wear down a target monster, only to have a Great Serratodus barge into the battle and tear it to pieces. Many hunters share frustrated stories of their kills being stolen, or never having the chance to carve their reward after a target perishes near the water. All it takes is for one quest to be spoiled by one of these monsters, and then the bounty is immediately slapped onto the quest board. 

Though many hunters would relish in the idea of taking down the beast that devoured their bounty, the Great Serratodus is no easy prey. On their own, their bulk makes them quite powerful and their razor sharp teeth and spines can easily slice through armor and flesh. To make it worse, their gills releasing blasts of water allows them to zoom across the zone, evading attacks and blindsiding hunters with charges and rocketing bites. And once the Great Serratodus draws blood, the hunt gets much more chaotic. If a hunter is inflicted with bleed, the lesser Serratodus in the area will go absolutely berserk. They will whip themselves into a frenzy and descend upon the wounded hunter in a ravenous horde. Though a single Serratodus is an easy foe to fend off, having a dozen of them launching themselves at you is an utter nightmare. Wounded hunters are forced to fight or flee when faced with these hungry fish, and it isn't easy when the Great is nearby dishing out even more pain. When it is enraged, its head full of teeth will cause an even higher chance of bleeding and allows them to rip through the environment like a saw. Their protruding spines also cause simple attacks like hip checks and tail whips to have a chance to inflict bleed as well. And if it has fed recently, its watery gill blasts will take on a crimson hue...

While the Great Serratodus and its horde can be daunting, there are ways to mitigate the frustrations. Though the Serratodus are hungry for blood and meat, they will not pass up food that doesn't resist. Dropping raw meat or slaying small monsters will create a new target for the fish, who will turn their attention upon this meal instead. Flash bombs can also be used to blind the swarm, making it harder for them to coordinate an attack. For the Great Serratodus, it is advised that hunters drive them to dry land, where they are more awkward and slow. Meat can also be used to entice them, and a wise hunter would leave those tainted with the likes of poison and paralysis to weaken the target. Using the presence of other large monsters can help with the fight as well, as the piscine will spend more of its energy trying to bring down the bigger meal. With bleed being an issue, stocking up on items to cure it is a must. Lifepowders are also highly recommended to aid those being pursued by the swarm, as they do not have time to stop and heal. Like the Great Serratodus itself, the use of teamwork and numbers can help win the day. Thankfully, your fellow hunters aren't liable to start chewing into you the second you fall over...   

---------------------------------------------------

"Great Serratodus"

You know what month it is, and thus what time it is! Indeed! Mer-may! The time of the year where I post anything aquatic related to make up for the fact I haven't drawn anything mermaid-like! So get ready for fish, whales and sea beasts, because I always fail to prepare for these things, so enjoy what I hastily pull from my posting folder!

And you know it ain't a Monster Hunter fan monster if it isn't a Piscine Wyvern! That and crabs, it's all I make! For now....

[fallenclan]

made a little map of fallenclan territory! :D here's some notes about the locations

star-pool: named because of the way the stars reflect off it at night. very deep water, good spot for fishing and for teaching apprentices how to swim.

split-stones: commonly a monument that apprentices dare each other to climb. notably, it is nearly impossible to do so--the stones are covered in slick moss and have very sheer sides. its rumored that Goldenstar managed it once, but whether or not this is true remains to be seen

eagle's talon: the highest point in Fallenclan's territory. common place for eagles and ospreys to have nests, regarded as very dangerous, with poor hunting. sometimes cats will travel to the peak on a dare, and bring back an eagle feather back as proof

sky pine: the largest tree in Fallenclan territory. possibly a redwood. who knows

abandoned barn: not much more than a rickety frame and some rotten planks at this point, but it provides decent shelter from the weather, and is a good hunting place. sometimes young twolegs can be found lingering there

fox-pelt thicket: named for the incredibly thick underbrush, not unlike the thick pelt of a fox. good hunting, but difficult to maneuver

honey spruce: not the only spruce tree in the meadow, but the only one with a bee's nest. cats tend to give it a wide berth

river split: a large patch of sandy and rocky ground on the river's bank. a good place for elders to go and sun themselves

sungleam lake: so named because it is an excellent place to watch the sun rise. poor fishing, sometimes populated by twolegs

frog hollow: a marshy valley where frogs, slugs, and newts are often found. very thick, sticky mud, and large clumps of deer-grass. one of the most hated borders to patrol, due to the terrain

[fioreofthemarch]

yearnings

[✨ this was written for zelink week 2023 organised by @zelinkcommunity and is a companion piece to 'repast' and 'kin'] Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link/Zelda Words: 1140

Despite all that time has taken from her, the Light Dragon can still recall names.

The skies in which she swims belong to Hyrule, and her sister dragons that she shares them with are Naydra, Farosh and Dinraal. Yet the Light Dragon no longer has a name, and her heart cries out in search of one — though she does not know why.

Each day at sunset, her sisters join her above the clouds. Sister, they say, come with us, to where the land meets the sky and where the mortal beings dwell. Each day, for many years, the Light Dragon cannot accept. She awaits another, one who will awaken on the Great Sky Island that she dutifully guards. This purpose, though its details are lost, burns within her.

When the swordsman finally awakens, the Light Dragon senses him immediately. She watches with muted curiosity as he begins to explore her island in the sky. Why had he come to this place? Were all the mortal beings so small? Soon she finds him on the ancient circular landing behind the island’s temple, and watches as the sword in his hand disappears in golden light. She is drawn to him then, called by a voice within: the swordsman must have a sword. Perhaps on the surface, where her sisters call to her, he will find another. Determined, the Light Dragon splits the clouds guarding the island from the world below. The swordsman does not wait; he leaps, surface bound. The Light Dragon follows.

The vast lands below swallow the swordsman whole. There are deep valleys that cut the earth and mountains that pierce the skies. There are churning rivers and yawning bays. There are open plains, marshy swamps, and rolling deserts. He must be out there, somewhere, and across all four corners of Hyrule the Light Dragon searches.

In winding canyons flooded with water, she meets her sister Farosh. Have you seen a swordsman? she asks. Farosh answers: None with valour and courage enough to impress me, sister.

Among rocky crags and cooled lava, in the shadow of a great volcano she meets her sister Dinraal. Have you seen a swordsman? she asks. Dinraal answers: Hyrule has seen many, sister, for blood flows here as easily as water flows to the sea.

Between gentle mountains, as snow feathers down, she meets her sister Naydra. Have you seen a swordsman? she asks. Naydra answers: Yes, he flies as we do, sister. I am sure he will visit you soon.

But he does not. The sorrow the Light Dragon feels at this is powerful and achingly fresh. Against her will, tears well in her eyes. She begs them not to fall; each time they do, they take more of her with them. She tries to hold on, and hold fast, but the tears fall anyway. The Light Dragon forgets why she was crying.

It is not long after this that he finds her. And it was as Naydra said; the swordsman could fly like the dragons, capturing the winds to soar through the sky. He lands softly on her back, his footsteps tickling, almost pleasant. Then he is holding onto her mane, holding very tight; is he worried he might fall? Then she can hear weeping. She hopes he is not unwell.

After some time, the swordsman speaks: “Is that really you, Zelda?”

She does not understand nor does she answer the question.

“Gods… you have the Master Sword. You’ve really had it all this time…”

Then he is moving, light feet padding about her mane. “Sorry, old girl, I’ve gotta take it from you.”

She is just thinking that she likes the gentle weight of him when a blinding pain rips through her head and down the length of her body. She lurches skyward, roaring, but the pain doesn’t stop, and it’s like something is tugging very hard on her head. It is not nice! Whatever it is should let go! It is her fur there! It keeps her warm! Let go! Let go!

The sky suddenly flashes white, and next she knows she is enveloped in clouds of shimmering gold. Calm washes through her and she relaxes, allowing herself to float. The swordsman is still there, murmuring: Hylia help me, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that’d hurt— Are you okay?

Yes, it is all going to be okay. She closes her eyes and recalls the final piece of her memories that had not yet slipped away; she has the sword, which she guarded much as she guarded her island in the sky. How this came to be, and why, is lost to her. But it is no matter. Her purpose is fulfilled. She is at peace.

After this, the swordsman visits her often. He brings her apples cooked in butter, which she eats even though she can’t really taste them, doing so because it seems to make him happy. Then he brings her flowers, threading them into her mane, which she likes for the soft pull of his fingers through her hair. Sometimes he comes to talk, telling stories of the surface, using words she doesn’t understand but enjoys for the sound of his voice. Sometimes he just comes to sit, clinging to her mane, always clinging.

Then, the last time he comes, she is sitting with him on top of the temple on the Great Sky Island, dozing. Her sisters have teased her for this. Sister beloved, what need does a dragon have for sleep? The swordsman sleeps, she has told them, and often sleeps for entire days. It seemed a pleasant activity to try, and she has found it helps her to enjoy the feeling of the sun on her back.

On this final day, she awakens to find the swordsman brushing her mane, running his hands through the strands.

“I have to go soon, Zelda,” he says. “I’ve stalled for a long time. I need to finish what you started.”

He has an apple in his hand, which she obligingly eats. “If I don’t come back, old girl, you know I love you, right? If there’s even a tiny bit of Zelda in there, I want her to know…”

Zelda. She yearns to understand this word. Is that a name? If it was, could it be hers? She does not know how to tell the swordsman this — that she can be his Zelda, if he wants. Instead she pushes her snout into his hand, nuzzling against him.

In response he wraps his arms around her, holding tight. At his back is a noble sword, in a scabbard of blue and gold. Then he lets go, runs a gentle hand across her fur one last time, and departs.

The Light Dragon Zelda returns to the sky, unmoved. He has left her before, and always returns.

Content to wait, she flies away free.

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

Drinker

Euthrix potatoria

The drinker moth is of the family Lasiocampidae. It was described and named in 1758 by Carl Linneaus. Linneaus chose the species name potatoria as it means ‘drinker-like.’ Dutch entomologist Johannes Goedaert had previously called the moth dronckaerdt, meaning ‘drunkard,’ “because it is very much inclined to drinking” or because this moth repeatedly puts its head into water. The common name ‘drinker’ comes from the same reason.

Description This moth is distinguishable from other eggar moths by a diagonal line crossing the forewing and two white spots also on the forewing. Males are usually reddish or orangish-brown with yellow patches. Males in East Anglia are often yellowish. Females can be yellow, a pale buff, whitish, or a darker reddish-brown than the males. Male and females also differ in size and antennae shape: females are slight larger than males, and males have fluffier antennae.

Wingspan Range of Fully Grown Drinker: 45–65 mm (≈1.77 - 2.56 in)

Diet and Habitat The caterpillars of this species feed on grasses and reeds in genuses such as Alopecurus, Deschampsia, Dactylis, Elytrigia, Carex, Luzula, and other Gramineae. A few examples are Cat grass (Dactylis glomeratus), Common Reed (Phragmites australis), Reed Canary-grass (Phalaris arundinacea), and Wood Small-reed (Calamagrostis epigejos).

In the spring, they feed mainly at night and can be found resting on low vegetation during the day. The larva also supposedly drink morning dew because it had been observed to repeatedly put its head in water.

This moth can be found in Europe. It is common throughout England and Ireland but tends to favor western Scotland over eastern Scotland. It prefers habitats of marshy places such as fens, riversides, tall and damp grassland, marshes, damp open woodland, scrub, and ditches. However this species does sometimes live in drier habitats such as grassy terrain and urban gardens.

Mating Adults can been seen between July and August and presumably mate during this time. There is only one generation per year. Eggs are laid mainly on the stems of grasses or reeds in small clusters.

Predators Adult moths fly at night and are presumably preyed on by nocturnal predators such as bats.

Fun Fact Both sexes of the drinker moth are attracted to light, but males are especially susceptible.

(Source: Wikipedia, Butterfly Conservation)

[insirisarts]

Origins of Olympus - Reimagined

Chapter 1: Welcome to Camp Oasis!

The sun beamed down onto the sand; the sky was clear of any clouds. The heat of the desert would’ve been unbearable for any human unlucky enough to be caught in its never-ending expanses. After all, mortals could not find their way to a place like this, especially not to its oasis. Even if they did, the gods would smite them for trespassing onto the sacred land. A place where the finest of greenery and produce grew; food was abundant, the water was so clean, you could drink it from the source, and filled with fauna so docile, even tigers could have been considered house pets. However, these individuals are by no means ‘mortals’. For these people are children of the gods. Blessed to walk the lands of Gaia with the grand powers of their parents. Striking the earth with powerful volts, bringing the motions of the tides, guiding souls to their final resting place, and even becoming the light of the sun themself.

An echidna stood tall on the entrance platform, backlit by the magic doorway behind her. Orange scales shining in the mid-afternoon sun. Her large wings sat solidly on her back, accentuating her posture. The woman's human upper half was covered with a red-orange dress, which was trimmed and decorated with gold. Gold bracelets were also placed on her upper and lower arms, and on the end of her serpent tail. Each of these bracelets were jeweled with three bright orange stones which matched her fiery irises. Scales traveled up the young woman’s body, spotting her shoulders, ears and face with the same burnt orange as the asymmetrical horns buried in her dark brown hair. Her heavy-lidded eyes surveyed over the slowly building group. Demi-gods to be specific.

“Hello everyone, I am Kaykrea and welcome to the Oasis of Demeter.” Kaykrea introduced, catching the attention of the present demi-gods. She had situated herself on the marble steps leading to the entryway of the camp, which was blocked by a form of powerful magic that none of the others could quite figure out. 

Beside her was a girl who had arrived earlier that day, a harpy named Marshie. She was white winged harpy, in a dark crop top with a long striped light purple shawl that fell past her shoulders. Her laurel was decorated with small golden sunflowers and sat atop her long strawberry blond hair, some of which had been pulled back to make a cute loose ponytail. Her outfit was finished off with some jean shorts that stopped above her more eagle shaped legs and taloned feet. They had taken time to chat during the wait and already found that they got along rather well.

“I will be your designated camp counselor.” Kaykrea's large, scaled wings spread to frame her sculpted body; her lower serpent body raising the human half to stand tall over all of the campers. “Today will just be a simple meet-and-greet with a tour of the campgrounds. Then we will have a short session with The Oracle later this evening.” 

Many already had looks of admiration or excitement on their faces; except for a man with long shaggy white and red hair off to the side, who simply rolled his eyes at her. She figured that this one may eventually become a problem and mentally noted to keep an eye on him. “First will be introductions, we will start with you.” She stated, pointing at a man with black hair and yellow highlights, frizzed by what appeared to be static. 

The man stood a bit straighter now that the attention was on him, his black eyes widening slightly from being singled out, “I am Mario, son of Zeus, God of storms and lightning!” Mario proclaimed. His looks only pushed the idea. His toga was black and yellow with hints of white under the garment and light blue accents. Lightning motifs could be found in his laurel, arm armor and his white sash in the form of a lightning shaped fibula brooch. Throughout his arms and legs, his veins seemed to glow an electric yellow on his sun-tanned skin. He stood with confidence, almost looking like he was about to burst with unstoppable energy.

The Echidna nodded in approval; a child of Zeus was sure to bring some excitement. “Thank you, Mario. Now you, the one in blue.” She moved on, gesturing to a man with a much shyer demeanor, as he sat much more hunched over compared to the rest of the group.

“Uhm… Jakey, one of the sons of Poseidon.” Jakey mumbled, just loud enough for Kaykrea to glean. Besides the small, high collard coverup on his shoulders, he was shirtless, showing off his swimmer's body. The armor over his left pec was layered and traveled over to part of his back, with large light blue inset jewels glittering in the light. At his hips sat a blue 5-layered skirt-like bottom that split at his right hip, the exposed part of which was covered by a cloth tied to the skirt. His arms and legs were protected by silver armor shaped like fish and similarly jeweled like the rest of his armor; his hands were covered in dark blue fingerless gloves. A tasteful crown was planted in his brown and blue hair with the same light blue gem, his hair had been put into a french-styled braid on both sides of his head that then came together into a long skinny braid in the back. On his back, sat a long bident with jewels spotted on the head, and the end had a shark fin shape.

Kaykrea nodded in satisfaction and was about to move on to the next camper when a new voice joined the group.

Distant shuffling sand could be heard from the distance. “I’m sorry, I’m here, hold on-!” Shouted a young man with short white hair. His ears were pierced with round red earrings and accompanied by golden ear clips covered in rose leaves. His neck was adorned with a red choker. A cropped himation draped over his right shoulder which was pinned by a sort-of star shaped fibula brooch. His two-layered red skirt with gold trim swayed with the movement of his legs. He had shoulder pads that appeared to have rose designs that matched the rose on his dark gray belt, which matched the leather armor on his arms. Small white wings flared from the shoulder pads and his golden shoes. Two hooked swords were connected at the hilts which gave the shape of an S sat on his back along with a small satchel, assumedly a physical god pocket, likely it had all of his other essentials in its magic confines. He skidded to a stop with the rest of the group; bending over to catch his breath, using his knees as support.

“I, huf, apologize, hrff, I was distracted, hooh…” He rushed between labored breaths; his body lightly shook from overexertion.

“And… who might you be?” The orange serpent inquired, drawing out her sentence. 

With one last deep gasp of air, the white-haired man responded, “I’m Bryan, the son of Aphrodite; the goddess of love, beauty and passion herself!” Bryan flicked his hair back haughtily and stood with his head held high. The motion made him look back and lock his eyes onto Jakey. This made him freeze in the middle of his display; a light pink softy grazed his face, and he awkwardly took a few steps back to get a proper look at the other man, honey brown eyes holding an intense stare.

‘…Poor guy…’ Kaykrea sympathized, even though the boy in blue didn't even seem to notice Bryan. However, she quickly corrected herself and went back to the meet-and-greet. “Thank you, Bryan. Now then, let's move on to… you.” She brought attention to a man with ashy skin.

The man with the sides of his head shaved and a braid going down the back of his scalp, a chunk of which was bronze. Thick sideburns lead to a scruffy but well-trimmed beard. He awkwardly lifted his hand in a wave. 

“Ah, Xylo. Son of Apollo.” Xylo greeted. His laurel also had a bronze color, sporting, strangely enough, pomegranate leaves. Bronze spartan armor on his torso and lower legs, along with a layer of leather pteruges at his waist along with shoulder pads that had sun designs glazed on. Over his protective layer there was a bright multi-colored sash, going from a dark purplish blue to a bright sunny yellow curving around his body to also become his belt and dangling the leftover fabric in the front. The cloth was pinned down by bronze peronai on his right shoulder and where the cloth hung off at the belt, they were in the shape of the sun with four points, inside being bright yellow glaze. He had single point claw gauntlets in a similar sun shape attached to thick fingerless leather gloves. At his hips, an open hip cape hung to his knees, a bright pattern depicting a sun in a wavy sky adorned the garment. Another odd part of his look were his dark purple eyes, it almost looked like they didn’t belong, or that he didn’t belong.

Kaykrea had scrunched her nose in frustration, heavy lidded eyes glaring aggressively, bowing her head to show off her dark orange horns at the ashen man. Apollo… Apollo… Mother…

“Ah… thanks.” She bluntly stated.

Xylo had an expression of mild offense but decided to leave it be for the time being.

As the rest of the meeting went on, more of the godly children introduced themselves. A second son of Poseidon named Mitch. He too, lacked a shirt and wore a coverup on the upper part of his torso and wore a far more gaudy golden crown. Although, his face was half covered in black scales. He was much darker than Jakey, with a more deep sea/ocean look to match with his black and blue clothing, with small bioluminescent adornments. He also held the trident, at this mention, Jakey made his own snide remark about poor choices in part on their father. 

The man KayKrea had taken note of earlier was named Brandeen, who was a son of Ares. His style leaned towards more human than Olympian it appeared, not that it was any concern to her as plenty of gods and demi-gods had spent at least some time around mortals and their ever-expanding culture. His overall appearance was dark, his disheveled black and white striped shirt and ripped black pants made up part of his look. A dark red pleather biker jacket with the sleeves measly ripped off, which was accented with smaller bits of a brighter red, brought it all together. Around his arms were bandages with blades tied at the ends that pulsed with divine energy; those must be his weapons.

Further back was a Satyr woman named Relena, the adopted child of Artemis. Her hair was a subtle mix of light and dark brown and subtly blended into the fur on her ears and face; which were both rather animal-like. She was dressed in much more casual human clothing, having a halfway split turquoise and light pink short jacket over a plain white crop top, the pink matching her horns. The jacket had its sleeves ripped off, showing her strong arms. Her jeans were intentionally ripped at her knees, keeping it out of the way of her more animalistic legs and hooved feet. An attempt was made to paint her hooves the same pink as her horns. Slung across her hips sat an ornate silver bow with a quiver of arrows.

At the end of the lineup stood a man almost completely clad in black, battle armor being placed over his original clothing. His name was Brick, one of the very few children of Hades. He had a black war helmet with the holes for the face covered by a bright purple energy. His speech was short and abrupt, only giving his name and heritage in a sharply cold manner.

Kaykrea knew there were other campers yet to arrive, but she had to start with the tour before it got too late in the day. So, with a large flap of her orange wings, she instructed the present campers to follow her for the tour of the grounds. With an expert waver of her hand, she dispelled the magic that blocked off the entrance to the camp.

Entering through the enchanted doors of Camp Oasis, guarded by large spear-wielding statues, they followed a small path. The path led to a sort-of roundabout, which had small sections of path that lead away to other parts of the camp. Surrounding the group was a quaint little garden, and at the roundabout’s center was a marble fountain that poured water as blue as the sky. Many flowers covered the area surrounding the outer rim of the path around the fountain. However, Bryan took particular interest in the Rose bushes.

“Oh, I heard about the nature here!” He exclaimed with adoration and fondness, earning him odd stares from the others. “About how it all seems to live or even thrive! These roses are beautiful, what do you do to make them grow like this?” He would have continued to fawn over the red flowers if he weren't interrupted.

“Bet you sure know a lot about this junk, huh?” Mario taunted. It sounded playful, but that didn’t stop Bryan from shooting the other with a sharp glare.

“Sure do…” The white-haired man mumbled. Mario sucked in his lips, like how one would with something sour, he figured that he shouldn’t have spoken up.

“Alright!” Kaykrea interjected, clapping her hands together to catch the two boys' attention. “Let's get a move on up the path!” She ushered, wanting to avoid a first day conflict.

Up the path was the training area. Fully packed with dummies, targets and even a small sparring ring with a little viewing area. A good handful of campers took potshots at the targets, using either their weapons or godly powers, with varying rates of success and accuracy. Further down was a sports area, consisting of both old Olympic sports and modern human sports. Next to the sports fields were the cabins. They were charming, being made in a rustic style and crafted from the same wood as the surrounding towering trees. She said that cabins would be assigned after the tour, during dinner. Most were able to house two or so people and stood overlooking the surprisingly close gulf that led out into the ocean. Nearby, a dock sat with fishing boats stranded on the shoreline. Fishing equipment had been provided on the dock, along with some outdoor cooking equipment in a small shed nearby. Next was the camp hall, for campers to meet and socialize. A bonfire circle sat just beside the mess hall, it had yet to be lit, although it seemed to have been recently stocked with firewood. 

“This is where we will have our rendezvous after you settle in and have dinner this evening.” She explained, letting everyone gather before continuing. “Then The Oracle will come and give us a free prophecy. Afterwards, you will earn the right to meet with them eventually, but that is a discussion for later throughout your stay.”

Then the mess hall. The Hall was very large, it would have no trouble fitting the entirety of the camp once they were all there. A heavenly smell came from the building, a mixture of sweet and savory that caused the campers mouths to water with anticipation. Finally, was the shower and bathroom area, having both separate and unisex washrooms, and a small bath house.

She pointed to a distant building. It was a small temple, with a securely locked door. So secure in fact that there was no lock, only magic.

“That is where The Oracle resides. You are not to bother them unless you are given passage, or they decide to summon you.” She declared with finality. Asserting that the building was fully off-limits otherwise. 

  With that the campers were released and left to their own devices. Some had gone to chat by the cabins and others went to either look around the camp or to use the training area. Kaykrea herself went to the mess hall to finish preparing for that night's feast.

Soon enough, they were brought back to the mess hall, where an entire buffet was set up. Different tables had different types of food. Fruits and vegetables were set to one side of the buffet. Large fruit bowls held exotic fruits not even native to their part of the world, and the veggies had been grown right on camp property and harvested that day. A range of different meats sat in the middle of the arrangement, from the finest steaks to moist and well-seasoned fowl and poultry, to fish from both fresh and saltwater. At the other end were deserts and drinks. Pies, cakes and pastries alongside juices, nectar and ambrosia. It was now bustling; some others had arrived at the camp over time and joined in on the festive atmosphere.

During this time, Kaykrea went around telling campers to take a card from a small deck. The cards were in pairs of colors and a cabin number, and those with matching pairs would bunk together. On occasion, some did not get a cabin mate, not that any of them seemed to mind, like Mitch. However, most did have two people. Xylo and Jakey, Relena and Brick, even Brandeen had a cabin buddy. Although, she had not learned his roommate's name yet. Glancing around, she could see the Demi-gods socializing, looking for anyone who had a matching card or simply enjoying the food. Bryan approached her to receive his card, fittingly, red. Not that she knew if anyone else had a red card, but she had caught a glimpse at his. She internally chuckled at the mild irony.

“Did anyone else get red?” He inquired over the crowd, causing a brief awkward silence as everyone else double checked their cards.

“Over here!” A voice replied, a hand darting up over the crowd to display their card.

Bryan made his way over to his roommate for the summer. Only to come face-to-face with Mario. He could hardly hide his disappointment. Obviously still salty about the comment made earlier that day. Mario held a poorly disguised expression of awkwardness, not knowing how to tackle the subject. Kaykrea was about to confront the two about perhaps changing cabins before the man in black and yellow asked if the shorter boy would be willing to meet with him outside. With a stiff nod, Bryan followed the fellow demi-god out the door. Just to be safe, the serpent woman discreetly accompanied the two.

The full moon hung at the edge of the sky, the final dim glow of the setting sun moments from vanishing. Cool night breezes chilled the earth from the heat of the summer day. The pair stood in silence, not sure how to begin the conversation. The tension was thick enough to be sliced by any blade. Which Mario dared to do.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier… I thought it sounded joking enough, but I could tell it flumped entirely.” He kept his warm black eyes on the ground, not really wanting to see the look the other man was possibly giving him.

“Yeah, I get that.” Bryan spoke blankly, staring off in a random direction. “But it still hit a cord… kinda sounded like my mom…” This came out far more dejected.

“Really? Why would Aphrodite, of all gods, judge flower stuff?” The raven-haired man replied in mild shock.

Kaykrea was inclined to agree, very odd for the goddess of love.

Bryan continued, waving his hand in circles to sort his thoughts. “Not so much the flower thing, more so just not really understanding or accepting my interests…” The other supplied, “Me not being like my siblings… or her.”

“Whoof, I feel you there, my dad doesn’t really give me much thought. Given that he has so many other kids.” Mario chuckled at his little jab at his father; he was right after all, Zeus wasn’t known for his… marital devotion.

Kaykrea had to quickly stifle laughter at the thought. She couldn’t risk getting caught.

“Not to mention that a lot of them have become either legendary heroes or have impacted history in some major way.” Mario ended his sentence with a light huff of amusement and an awkward lean “Those kinds of expectations can make someone pretty awkward huh?” he asked rhetorically, obviously trying to railroad to find common ground. 

Quickly, under his breath the black-eyed man added on, “and dad can’t keep his clothes on so-”. The smug smirk that plastered his face made the other demi-god snerk a little, a light red came to his cheeks and ears in embarrassment as his lips scrunched to a futile attempt to hide his amusement.

“Gross-“ the man in red shot back with a humorous sly grin, gently shoving the other. “-but… same… only with my mom.” He amended, “Anyways, no one likes to think of the goddess of love and beauty being a violent god, despite her history. I just can’t help but wonder about it.” This came in a more soft-spoken cadence, walls starting to fully drop.

“Yeah?” Mario tentatively eased. “I’m sure it must make things awkward?” He raised an eyebrow. Although drama in the Aphrodite family was not surprising, nor unheard of, seeing that outward facade be shelved for honesty and openness took Kaykrea aback slightly. Maybe she shouldn’t have eavesdropped on this conversation. It was beginning to become a little too personal and raw.

Bryan began to lean in, speaking both softer and with sincerity, the haughty persona being fully abandoned before responding.  “Mhm.” He started with a small nod. “You see, I’m a huge fan of the legendary wars and heroes of the past. That led to me digging, especially since my mother was one of the main causes for the biggest war in our history…” his eyes seemed to shine excitedly, passion bleeding from his slight movements and the small grin on his face.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Bryan continued, “I just wanted to understand why we had to throw that part of our past away. Just because our family represents the many forms of love doesn’t mean we couldn't enjoy combat or sparring. Heck, I even got a gift recently that-”.

All of a sudden, Bryan trailed off, his eyes becoming listless, losing that excited bright shine. The feeling of discomfort filled the still air, and his muscles tensed.

“What?” Mario cocked his head, “Something else on your mind?” He pushed.

Bryan backed off, glancing to the side in embarrassment. “Sorry, shouldn’t have said anything…” he muttered under his breath, shoulders sinking subconsciously.

The black clothed man quickly waved his hands, trying to brush off the others embarrassment. “No, no! I was just… uh.” He took a pause; he was ruining this again.

“It’s ok. Not many people know about my mother’s past with war. Especially after The Iliad was published.” The shorter man chuckled, starting to backtrack “But I want to know… even if she doesn't really like me digging into it.” Bryan was standing normally now, a lot more bashful and uncomfortable talking about his family.

Mario planted his hand on the other in a comforting gesture, rubbing small circles into his back. In return, Bryan leaned into the touch slightly, the muscles near his shoulders flexing oddly. It was like he wasn't used to touch, or at least it had been a while since he's been comforted. Although, from what Kaykrea had observed, and her prior experience with the Olympian gods. The awkward nature of the white-haired man seemed to suggest the former.

Bryan lifted his head to look at Mario, taking a small calming breath before speaking again. “To be honest, I don’t think I know much anyway. A lot of my own memories are fuzzy…” This earned him an odd look from Mario, and Kaykrea couldn’t help but do the same. It is rather strange that he would have a bad memory. Was this what the smaller was trying to talk about before? Well, whatever the case may be, the black-haired man let it be and merely nodded in acknowledgment.

It seemed the two had spoken their peace. Overall, a little more comfort had been built between the two. Mario stuck out his hand, offering an apology and a truce to their minor conflict, which Bryan accepted with a small smile. Kaykrea huffed a small sigh of relief, glad that a fight hadn’t broken out on the first day, nor that any enemies were made. She made a quick escape back into the mess hall, moments before the other two made their reentry. It was felt in the room, everyone could tell that whatever issue was happening between the two, it had been sorted out. They went off to join the others again, starting to take far more enjoyment in each other's company than before. At least that was resolved.

About two hours had passed at this point, Kaykrea taking the time to clean up as the festivities came to a close. Many campers had joined together into small groups or cliques and every once in a while, there would be thunderous laughter that would trail back into a comfortable buzz and light chatter. She was frankly quite surprised; no fights, mild and quickly resolved conflicts, and not a single misunderstanding! It was almost as if they were in a normal human camp and not a camp full of physical embodiments of natural concepts. Although she knew that it all had to come to an end soon, it was almost time to meet with The Oracle and she needed to pick up the mess hall before then.

“Okay, everyone!” Kaykrea called, waiting for the campers' conversations to end before she announced, “It is almost time to meet The Oracle, I would like all of you to go to your cabins and drop off your things, decide who wants what bed and such. We will meet back at the bond fire, I will move on with the night whether you make it or not, so be there if you wish to listen to The Oracles’ predictions.” With that, she went to clean the tables of the leftover dishes and scraps of food.

The campers had left for their cabins to drop off their things and to get sorted before heading to the large bonfire. When it seemed that all had arrived, Kaykrea used her flaming blade to ignite the kindling, and soon enough, a fire was brought to life. The flame was large and danced with the slight breeze of the night. Cracks and pops from the wood soon followed, allowing the meeting to officially begin. Xylo, with hardly any regard for the current evening event, suddenly pulled out a large bag of marshmallows, announcing a query of whether anyone wanted some. Most around the fire whooped at the human treat, receiving their share from the armored man.

Mitch had grabbed two and offered one to Jakey, who had taken it upon himself to grab his own from the son of Apollo rather than accepting one from his brother, Mitch practically looked scandalized. Mario had done the same with Relena, who happily accepted the offer, and Bryan, who simply denied the sugar pillow after giving it a questioning glance of uncertainty. Brandeen seemed all too eager to receive the food from the violet-eyed man. The two had been talking a lot earlier and appeared to have hit it off in some fashion, although Xylo did give him a standoffish look. Kaykrea was far from amused, seeing how all began to disregard what this meeting was about. She simply rolled her eyes and slithered away when Xylo attempted to offer her the bag's contents. In return, he merely shrugged and received a plush confectionary for himself.

The fire in the center of the gathering began fully burning in a bright blend of reds, oranges and yellows. Accenting the woman's appearance and making her look just as bright as the flames. With a faux clearing of her throat, she called to attention all of the present campers for the night's announcements.

“I’m sure some of you all are anticipating the reason as to why we are out so late.” She began, more so wanting to give a reminder to the campers. She continued “First, I do have a few announcements. Starting off, in a few days we will be having the Trial of Ares, which will be a sort of… death match.” This statement brought a few panicked faces and alarmed exclamations to the campers “However, with less… death involved. Close to death, I should say.” Her amendment melted some tension, but the atmosphere still weighed heavy in the group. “It will allow us to see who is at the top, and where others' experiences lie before we get into the real training.” Uncertainty followed the final word of the first announcement, nervous glances were shared between the others.

“Will we get anything?” Was a quick question from Xylo.

“Excuse me?” Came the indigent reply from the camp counselor.

“If one of us wins the trial. Do we get anything?” He clarified.

“That will be discussed at a later time” Was the firm response from the brunette woman.

“Now then. Secondly, as you all know, there is a special guest for you all tonight. They would like to pay a visit to all of you.” Suddenly the meeting area was filled with gasps of awe and excited mermers at Kaykrea’s reveal, some nodding that they did, in fact, remember the prior mention. “There is a message that they would like to give you all, a prophecy.” Her voice suddenly hardened as she followed up with a demand. “I do ask that as a way to show respect to The Oracle, you must stay completely silent, and to not have… snacks, while they are here…” This prompted Xylo to quickly hide the bag of marshmallows and for everyone else to swiftly finish their part of the treat. “Are we clear?” The serpent finished, allowing for any present questions.

Xylo ended up asking another query, the primary one on everyone’s minds. “What if we have questions about what they say?” Soon pipings of agreements followed and Kaykrea was quick to respond.

“There will be no questions for The Oracle at this time.” she asserted. “Although, perhaps in the future, but not today. Am I clear?” She took a pause so the campers could give their affirmation, albeit tentatively. “Alright. Introducing… The Oracle.” The winged woman slithered back as the flames of the bonfire began to grow unnaturally, responding to the approaching powerful presence. The once gentle breeze started to pick up and blow back locks of hair. Even the moon appeared to shine brighter as a soft flapping of wings could be heard just over the cracking and popping of the fire. A small shadow formed in the glowing space above the flames, and as it came closer to the light, The Oracle was revealed.

They were small, looking no bigger than the length of an arm vertically and horizontally if the wings and tail were fully stretched out. Right, they had a tail, covered in small iridescent scales that transitioned from black to a deep blue to a bright green, speckled throughout were small white spots, it’s unclear if those were the scales shining or just part of the pattern. Underneath was a black belly with long smooth scales that came up to the main ‘head’. The bat-like wings shared similar traits to the tail, with the black, blue, green with white speckles, pattern. Their head could hardly be considered a ‘head’, since it was just a single large eyeball. The unnerving sight was only enhanced by the odd shaped iris and pupil, which had the shapes of diamonds. The iris itself shared the previous color pattern of the tail and wings. The eyelashes themselves didn’t help either, being large and thick. The top half was long and had two protruding chunks on either side that enhanced the bat-like look. The bottom came to multiple sharp points. Large openings where the eyelids met showed the connective corners. It all was so disproportionate and unnatural, yet here they were, right in front of the small crowd.

A voice, as soft and smooth as the nearby ocean waves, whispered through the open air. Despite not having a mouth, The Oracle spoke as though projecting their message straight into the minds of the camp's inhabitants. “Ah, and so arrive the children of the gods…” Like a knife through butter, the voice cut through the silence, demanding the attention of all those present. The single eye glanced with a piercing gaze over the group, barely stopping on anyone specific. But still, The Oracle already was seeing the future of the campers. “How interesting… hmh… very interesting.” The eye began to glow in rings, looking like the flaring of the sun when looked at through a window or from a recording. The fire began to build, and the smoke rose in large plumes as the small bat-serpent form took to hovering over the pit. Finally, they spoke of what they were seeing. “Darkness looms over the future for one of you, and with it will come terror and destruction. Greatness follows another, a coming day where you will become a great hero. But, not without great loss of those who you love and believe to be close friends. And one of you will assist to break open the earth, and free The Titans from Tartarus. The Future is filled with bloodshed.”

With the final declaration from The Oracle, the fire suddenly is extinguished, leaving all to be shrouded in the darkness of night. The Prophecy held very few good omens it seemed. An unnerving silence filled the air as the small eyeball-bat disappeared into the star-filled sky, swiftly blending in and vanishing from the scene. Soon hushed whispers filled the area as uncertainty and fright began to grow. Kaykrea was quick to initiate the ending statements for the night and sent the campers back to their designated cabins to rest. Although, it would best be assumed that not many got much rest, whether if it was discussing the words of the Oracle, concerns on the upcoming trial, finishing unpacking, or ponderings on how the summer may be more interesting than at first predicted.

Kaykrea stood at the shoreline straddling the camp, nearby was The Oracle’s abode, where the small creature was resting. She didn’t want the others to see, but the prophecy frightened her. She knew that the lives of gods and demi-gods could get dangerous, but… bloodshed… terror… The Titans. What would this mean? Was everyone here doomed right as they crossed the threshold? Perhaps even before they arrived? Not only that, but nothing said that The Oracle was safe either. It appears that maybe She has bitten more than she could chew. But she would do anything for the camp, anything for The Oracle.

Next chapter

Previous chapter

First chapter

Please watch the original Origins of Olympus series, while this story does make major changes; the series made by the Origins MCRP crew is important to understanding the Reimagining, and it's good to support the original material if you can. It's free on YouTube with multiple perspectives. If you see any way that I can improve my writing, or any grammar/spelling mistakes please let me know!

[cypherdecypher]

Animal of the Day!

Indian Hog Deer (Axis porcinus)

(Photo in public domain)

Conservation Status- Least Concern

Habitat- Southeastern Asia; India

Size (Weight/Length)- 40 kg; 45 cm

Diet- Grasses; Leaves; Fruits

Cool Facts- The Indian hog deer cares not for your insults about its short stature. Named for its pig-like running habit of crashing directly into foliage rather than jumping over it like other deer, these little dudes are short but stocky. Indian hog deer are generally solitary animals outside of the mating season or periods of intense rain. When threatened, the deer releases a shrill whistle and runs in a random direction. They prefer meadow or marshy areas as territory but aren’t afraid to try their luck in the jungle. Indian hog deer are hunted by a variety of predators ranging from tigers to pythons to humans, resulting in declining numbers and local extinction in multiple places.

Rating- 12/10 (Dog-sized deer.)

[calabria-mediterranea]

Lamezia Terme, Calabria, Italy

Lamezia Terme is located on the eastern border of the coastal plain commonly called Piana di Sant'Eufemia, which was created by drying a wide marshy area. It is the third largest city in Calabria by number of inhabitants and has a relatively recent history.

Established in 1968 from the fusion of three pre-existing towns: Nicastro, Sambiase, and Sant'Eufemia Lamezia, it is not only an important regional and national hub due to its strategic location in the centre of the region, but also a crucial business hub for the region's economy. These three towns have contributed to the city's diverse cultural heritage and historical significance.

Lamezia Terme is most famous for its international airport which is situated a few kilometres outside the town.

The Baths of Charon

Despite its modern origins, the name is much older: it derives from the first political community attested on this territory, the Lametìnoi, dating back to protohistoric times.

The Baths, on the other hand, refers to one of the main resources of the area, the Terme di Caronte, known since Roman times as Aque Angae. These four springs are located on the slopes of the Reventino mountain massif and, combined with the current of the Bagni river, give rise to different degrees of temperature: the highest reaches 39°C, hence the name Charon.

The secrets of ancient Terina

The first human settlements in what is now modern Lamezia Terme were discovered in 1865, when jewellery was found in the area of Sant'Eufemia Vetere, which was later sold to the British Museum in London, which still preserves it today.

This discovery, known as the Treasure of St Euphemia, was the first in a long series, which during the 20th century confirmed the ancient settlement of Terina. It was not until 1997, however, that it was decided to initiate a systematic search that identified a well-structured urban layout, of which we now know a living quarter built with parallel axes that define a regular urban grid. According to the most widely accepted hypothesis, this would be the extension of a pre-existing structure dating back to the 5th century BC.

Two rooms of the Lametino Archaeological Museum are dedicated to ancient Terina. Lametino Archaeological Museum housed in the Monumental Complex of San Domenico. Divided into three sections: Prehistoric, Classical and Medieval, will give you an insight into the history of this area, from the earliest times. There is, for instance, a hydria, which is a vase, dated between 380 and 370 BC, as well as everyday objects.

The ruins of the medieval castle

There is still much to discover in Lamezia Terme, especially in the historic city centre. On Hill of San Teodoro, stands the Norman castle of Nicastro about whose origins there is some dispute. Built on the hillside, a unique strategic position to control the surrounding plain all the way to the sea, according to some dates back to Byzantine era, according to others Svevo-Normana.

All that remains of the original structure are four towers, the ramparts, walls and a buttress with a small loggia; the earthquake of 1638 caused great damage to the structure, but at the same time contributed to the legends that populate it.

Photos by Pino Elia

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[mithrilandvilya]

The Loneliness of Kings

I decided to write this for @chicotfp as a small thank you for all your beautiful art creations. I hope many will enjoy this short tale.

Trade with Lake Town, or whatever other unimaginative name it went by now, was important for the Woodland Elves.  The forest had limited material resources, and if he wanted better armor for his fighters, it was not to be found in the trees, but deep in the mountains.  His people had long had minimal interactions with the dwarves, distrust built between them over generations of unresolved grievances.  Dwarves held long grudges, and elves had long memories. But the Lake Town men eagerly remained the neutral trade intermediaries for metal from the mountains as well as what they could grow and hunt at the lake shores that didn’t thrive in the forest, in exchange for wood, wine, and intricate, high-quality crafts and wares fashioned through centuries of skilled practice that the artisan villagers couldn’t hope to approach in their short lifespans.   

However, the king’s thoughts of Lake Town were bitter.  He had nothing against the pitifully short-lived men there, but the lake itself was to him blacker than the Dead Marshes.  When he closed his eyes, the grayed, gangrenous corpse of his father with blood-stained, angry pupils stared up at him from beneath liver-colored wind-swept waters, bony fingers pointing to him accusingly from the marshy waters, his father’s whispered voice, full of disgust and disappointment, chastising him for failing to bring him home.  But from the Lake, nothing.  It was dark, deep and silent.  And the unbearable weight of that silence said more to him than all the cruel whispers of his father’s ghost ever did.   

He had risked his diminished people two years hence in a secretly desperate measure to do some small thing toward relieving himself and all in his realm from the lingering evil that engulfed the lake as a suffocating mist, just as it spread through the edges of the forest and utterly overpowered the southlands.  It was growing. The people of Lake Town and even the nearby dwarves held no memory or record of the dark events of the earliest days of his reign upon return from the south with so many fewer than had set out.   No relief met them at home, and rather than recovery and rebuilding, his earliest rule at home was instead marked by more defeat, more loss, and more tragedy.  He immediately lost all aspiration of ever living up to his father’s legacy or of setting any bold future for his son.  The body of Legolas’s mother lay as irretrievable as Oropher’s, on hard, cold lifeless bedrock, crushed under the weight of nearly a kilometer of black water at the lake’s deepest part, her mortal wounds unseen and untended.  Never did he see her in any vision or dream, and to his heart it was the harshest judgment of his rule that she made herself lost to him forever.  If she would haunt him like his father, he would fall to his knees in gratitude, but the lake remained dark, deep and silent. 

So he endured.  And his kingdom endured.  It was all he could do. 

--- 

Bard had, he thought, found an ally and friend in the king in the course of the Battle of the Five Armies.  He was thrust into a position of responsibility he had never desired or imagined in its outcome, and had naively expected guidance from his far more experienced and seasoned elven counterpart.  

Each day when he awoke, the faces of Bard’s children looked at him expectantly for instructions for the day, but he did not want to instruct anyone.  He didn’t want to give orders, listen to annoying officials, or make another decision with consequences he could only vainly hope to foresee.  He did his best to serve his people well regardless of his insecurity and self-doubt, but the way his children looked at him, as if they believed he knew what he was doing, kept him awake at night more than anything else.  

He remembered their mother looking at him the same way each day he came home to her with some new remedy for her illness, gathered with little optimism from a different witchy old woman in the market.  She expected every remedy to be the last, but for a different reason than he.  She was cheerful and grateful to the end, and sang soft, sweet lullabies to the youngest even on her last night. At every dawn she would comment about feeling a little better in the fresh light and she would list off chores she planned to accomplish that day with her newly returned vigor, but he knew they would remain undone.  He knew she was dying and felt the sting of failure and hopelessness, unable to hide his despair even to spare her or his children from his dark mood, contrary to the jovial spirit he was usually known for.  As she finally, after months of wasting, drew her last breath, a grimace of surprise at death’s arrival froze upon her face.  He was haunted by her unwarranted faith in him and the dawning realization of its betrayal as her final expression was seared into his memory. 

His letters to Thranduil for advice piled upon his cluttered and dusty desk, unsent.  He had sent only one, the invitation to his ceremony which was replied to quickly by staff with nothing more than a yes, the King would attend. There had been no other communication or visit between them since the King’s departure at battle end.  Aid had come from the elves in generous measure, but it still took two years to rebuild to a semblance of normalcy.   

The thusly long-delayed autumn ceremony was held on the great dock over the blackest side of the lake, where the waters quickly plunged to unmeasured depths, the cedar posts decorated with purple asters, yellow ribbons, and shiny copper pennies hung from strings gently bowing between them.  The elf-king had stood erectly, two heads taller than all the residents of the town, on the shore by the dock, arms held down in front of him, right hand over left. He was dressed in beautifully woven shimmery green and red robes, yet peculiarly in his battle crown rather than the expected autumn Rosehip and Aster. He stared into the distance with a hard-set jaw and hardly paid attention to the proceedings.  He had congratulated Bard with a warm handshake at the event’s conclusion, but his smile had been weak and he and his party were nowhere to be found when the later noise of festive fiddle, drink, and dance by firelight carried to all shores of the lake in the unseasonably warm and starry night.   

At first opportunity to make excuse, Bard sought out the companionship of the last chirping crickets of fall while morose thoughts of the king grabbed his mind and wouldn’t let go.  He analyzed and counter-analyzed every memory he had of Thranduil.  Where had he misjudged?  Was he reading too much into nothing, his own insecurities tainting his vision? Surely he was.  He imagined Thranduil stepping out of the darkness in front of him, shining eyes and mirthful expression with a quick, clever joke about Bard’s foolishness.  But then he felt ice-cold as he recalled the king’s distant expression at the ceremony.  The image of the regal elf’s face gazing over the water and his wife’s dead stare were all too similar , and they confirmed his self-reckoning as a great imposter, unfit to rule. 

 His lifespan and its mark in the depths of time, no matter what he did or did not accomplish as leader or father or husband, could amount to nothing but a drop in the oceans of memory of the eons-aged Thranduil.  Bard and his imposterous legacy would be gone before an elf-king could hardly even notice.  It would be a waste of time for Thranduil to bother at all with Bard.  Indeed, how silly he had been to send that invitation.   

He felt his cheeks redden with shame now at wanting more from him.  He was selfish in his desire for friendship and guidance from the ever-graceful king.  In truth, he was deeply lonely without his wife and greatly felt the burden of now finding himself in a position where everyone looked to him.  Who could he himself look to?  In his fanciful daydreams, he had looked to Thranduil and felt himself secure in his embrace.  It gave him comfort and hope, but if such fantasies had any reality, had he not considered what it would be like for his Comforter?  He knew but rumors of the great losses in the long life of Thranduil Oropherion, but he had seen enough in his eyes to know there was some truth in those rumors.  How could there not be for anyone so long-lived?  How could any ellon or elleth’s life be anything but a long string of grief after grief, especially if they entangled their hearts in kinship with short-lived humanity?  Bard well knew the tortures of memory from just decades of existence, but the thought of the weight of eons of memory nearly broke him then and there, and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. 

--- 

It was almost unbearable to stand on the shore over her resting place.  Indeed, when he received the invitation, he had no hesitation in accepting it, but he resolved to wear his battle crown to give him strength to bear it. Today he battled memory. A cool breeze wafted off the lake, competing with an unseasonably warm afternoon haze.  In his peripheral vision, a small cabbage white butterfly flopped around between purple asters that were hung along the dock while Bard officially rose to the station he deserved.  

 Without turning his head, he turned his eyes to the butterfly only for it to vanish. Unbidden, a memory of his beloved, smiling broadly and laughing as a white butterfly landed on the aster crown upon her head took over his consciousness.  He could sense every aspect of that moment – the fluttering of dusty white wings, the sparkling low-angled sunlight illuminating her smile and making her hair shine like starlight, the lilting musicality of her laughter over the sound of leaves being gently rustled by the breeze.  It was a hallucination as vivid as reality, but as soon as he tried to grasp it for even more detail, it, like the butterfly, vanished suddenly, replaced by cold black waters.  He steeled his jaw and told himself to “Endure, Thranduil, as you must.”    

He willed his mind to turn to Bard.  He was most pleased to see him rising in position.  He was a man of good quality, and this bode well for the future in this part of the world, if little else did.  He greatly enjoyed Bard’s down-to-earth forthrightness and light-hearted humor.  He was saddened to think of him growing old before his eyes, but in the short time he had interacted with Bard, the man had a way of keeping him in the present, living in the moment. Staying in the present was something Thranduil needed.  No matter how much time he had to live, spending it all in memory was spending it all unwholly alive. Memory was a half-death. Despite his age, he wanted to live.  

Bard’s chestnut eyes and stride were full of youth even though his dark hair was frosted at its edges with a touch of gray, and the quick recalling of his smile and laugh made Thranduil wistful.  His reverie was stalled when he saw it was time to offer his congratulations and he did so sincerely, but his heart continued to tug him back and forth between now and Then , so he set off on his own down the shoreline, lost in his thoughts.  

The butterfly came back to his mind. Butterflies were a symbol of hope, and his wife’s name had meant hope.  Was she speaking to him at long last? He barely dared to entertain the idea. He reasoned that convincing himself so was merely his own will fabricating a construct to justify what he wanted but did not deserve. The Silvan elves, he knew, deeply revered and trusted their King, but he knew better his own unworthiness, reminded constantly by the haunting and the lack of haunting of Oropher and Hope. He had let them down, and he had merely wrought survival and endurance, but not thriving, for the people who counted on him. He tried to make long life merry for his people, making great efforts in the seasonal festivals for their enjoyment, but it was all thinly veiling the darkness barely kept at bay.  

His people deserved more, but without Hope, he could barely imagine there being better days in their future. Thranduil was amazed at the general optimism of men, who died barely beyond birth. Perhaps their brevity allowed it, being unburdened with the full knowledge of the endless onslaught of evil . Indeed, Bard epitomized the hope in men. He was born to no station, beaten down by poverty, corruption and plague, yet shot straight the arrow to a seemingly impossible victory, the full impact of which would unfold fully over decades to come. Thranduil desired to ride that arrow, to soar and strike the heart of darkness. 

The sky had long since changed from light blue to brilliant copper and deep purple, now to a sea of ink teeming with brilliant pinpoints of varying size and hue arrayed in artful asterisms. He beheld the butterfly constellation, with a large white star at its head, slowly rising in the East. Yes, it did so every fall, but tonight he decided to heed its rising as a call to action. He turned back along the rocky shore he had traveled down for miles, a decision made, a soft smile on his lips. 

--- 

“My friend, tonight is a night for celebration, not tears. Let us enjoy the present. Set aside your grief of the past and your worries of the future. I will help you.” 

The sonorous voice rose from the darkness right in front of Bard and he raised his head to find Thranduil’s hand outstretched before him.  Bard gingerly put his hand in his, and felt himself instantly being lifted both in spirit and body into the arms of the Elven King.  He took a deep breath, inhaling the wintergreen scent of the King’s cloak. His weight was born by Thranduil for a moment as he gained his footing, and in that moment the Kng carried him, he felt relieved and refreshed, as if he had slept well after many long sleepless nights. His tears formerly of despair transformed their chemistry to those of unexpected joy.  

 “I have longed for you,” he dared to whisper into his friend’s ear, with a tinge of fear in his voice.  Thranduil’s action was small, a gentle word and an outreached hand, but it had changed everything. His fear was in making too much of the action, but surely it was a gift of elven magic that had so instantly transformed his mood. A soft chuckle rose in the King’s throat, and Bard’s fear was quelled. 

“You are forthright and brave to bare your heart to me. So I will bare mine to you to tell you that I seek you as a salve for the loneliness of kings. In so doing, perhaps I can spare you some of that loneliness as well.   So, come with me, and let us enjoy the present together.”   

The pair walked away from the shore together, into a finger of the forest that concealed them from view of any passersby, and soon joined together in a bed of moss on the forest floor. When lightness split the eastern horizon, they emerged as the pair that went in, together.  

---

Over the years, many people remarked about the strength of the bond between the King of the Woodland Realm and Bard of Lake Town, and happily recounted how the deepened alliance had improved the futures of both realms for centuries. The story of their bond became an oft-related tale crafted to say that true companionship had the power to change the fates of many. 

Thranduil had just heard report of one of the latest versions of this tale as part of a recounting of the news gathered on the latest rounds. As he changed into evening robes, the Butterfly 's bright head and fluttering body rising in the eastern night sky filled his view. Bard had been gone for generations now, but he counted the wisdom of the tales as true, for many fates had changed, including his. He cherished the memory of Bard, his companion against the loneliness of kings.   

[whencyclopedia]

The Sweet Track

The Sweet Track is a Neolithic timber walkway, located in the Somerset Levels, England. It was originally part of a network of tracks built to provide a dry path across the marshy ground. The Sweet Track ran between what was then an island at Westhay to a ridge of high ground, close to the River Bruce. The remains of mounds have also been found at Westhay, indicating the remains of a settlement.

About 1.6 kilometres (1 mile) long, the Sweet Track was discovered in the 1970s CE during a peat excavation by Ray Sweet, (who also gave the track its name). Using dendrochronology (tree-ring dating) the track has been dated 3807/3806 BCE. For many years it was thought to be the oldest trackway in Northern Europe, until 2009 CE when a slightly older one was discovered in Plumstead, London.

The Somerset Levels are an area of wetlands and peats. The conditions of such areas can naturally lead to the preservation of organic materials. Materials become encased in a wet and airless environment, thus preventing, to a degree, decomposition. Wooden artefacts and structures have been recovered from the Levels, as well as the two well-preserved Iron Age villages of Glastonbury and Meare.

The track would have been built by a community of Neolithic farmers living in small settlements. Farming had spread from the Middle East and by this point was firmly established in Britain. According to pollen evidence, the whole of Britain would have been covered in forests at this time. The Neolithic peoples would have burnt and cleared the forests to have the land on which to grow their crops, mostly grains. A fair degree of organization is evident in the stockpiling of wood and construction of the tracks, and some members of the community would have had to have skills in woodworking. Using stone and flint axes, the trees for the track were cut on dry land with different cutting techniques used, depending on their age. Older oaks were cut vertically whilst younger trees tangentially. Modern research has been carried out using replica axes and the cut marks have also been studied to establish the methods of cutting used. The planks of wood were put together in the marsh, the final construction taking about a day to complete. Long poles were driven slantwise into the ground and then planks were laid in between, held in place by vertical pegs. The planks were made of oak, ash and lime. The poles and pegs were made mainly of hazel and alder. There are also remains of another track, known as the “Post Track”, which dates 30 years earlier than the Sweet Track, 3838 BCE. It ran roughly parallel to the Sweet Track, possibly used by the builders of the Sweet Track as an access route.

Artefacts have been found beside the track, among them, pottery and axe heads including one made of jadeite. Whether they had been deliberately buried, perhaps as an offering, or just lost, remains unknown. There have been many Prehistoric trackways found in England, but more than half reside in Somerset. Included in these are the Abbot's Way, Eclipse, Honeygore, Meare Health and Garvins tracks. They were constructed using varying styles, such as corduroy - laying short logs parallel to each other and side by side. The Sweet Track is the most well-known of these. It has been declared a scheduled monument (of national importance). Most of it remains in its original location and requires constant conservation to keep the wood in its damp condition. There are reproductions and a donated section now resides in the British Museum, London.

Continue reading...

[sjsmith56]

The Way Station

Summary: Bucky waits out a heavy fog at gas station restaurant where he is confronted by a man with an agenda.

Length: 3.5 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Dorothy (OFC server), Red (OMC trucker), assorted bystanders.

Warnings: Implied homophobic and racist slurs by one character, bullying, supernatural vibes.

Author's notes:  Something a little spooky. I've been fooling around with the idea behind the Way Station, as an original short story, for some time but was never satisfied with it.  Thought it might fit with Bucky Barnes as the main character, so I adapted it and changed it to fit him.  A way station typically referred to a station on the railroad where a slower train could pull off to allow a faster train to pass, or was at a junction where transfers of passenger or freight could be made.  Image of Bucky on a motorcycle was created by the author on Microsoft Copilot app in Designer mode.

🌫️ 🏍️ 🥧

At the time Bucky thought it was a good idea to ride his motorcycle from New York to Delacroix. Hitting the open road, going at his own pace and stopping where he wanted, when he wanted, sounded like a recipe for an enjoyable time. He could listen to his favourite music playlist without anyone (Sam) asking why it always had to be 1940s music. Now on the third day, it was getting close to sunset, and he still had an hour before his destination. After texting Sam with his ETA, he knew a cold beer would be waiting and probably some jambalaya. Then the fog drifted in, accumulating in some of the lower marshy areas and ditches at first. Slowly it spread its tentacles across the road, making it harder and harder to see. Not only that but there had been a few close calls with vehicles going the other way passing others in his lane, and barely missing him, even though he steered his motorcycle as far to the right as he dared. When the last pass got too close for comfort Bucky decided that enough was enough and he pulled in at the next rest stop, a gas station with a small restaurant attached in a place called False River.

Pulling up to the restaurant, he parked his motorcycle, took off his helmet and looked at where he was before taking his cell phone to text Sam that he was going to be late. Noting the no cell service message, he sighed then stepped inside the restaurant, to ask if they had a pay phone. They did, but it was out of order. He asked to use their business phone but when he called Sam, the connection was poor, and he gave up in frustration.

The waitress, sorry, they were called servers now, a matronly woman with dyed hair and a name tag on her uniform that said Dorothy, looked at him with sympathy.

"It gets like that sometimes," she drawled, in a thick southern accent. "Especially when the fog comes in. Don't know why it does that honey, but it does. So, sit a spell, have some coffee and a piece of pie. You'll feel better."

With a nod, Bucky sat at the counter, ordered a black coffee and a piece of apple pie. It arrived in moments, and he took the first bite, then smiled at Dorothy.

"That's good pie," he stated.

"I know, honey, that's why I recommended it," she replied. "Where you headed?"

"Delacroix. Staying with a friend for a while."

"If he's a good friend he'll understand. I'm sure they get their share of fog there as well."

The door opened to a senior citizen couple, who commented about the thick fog and almost getting sideswiped by a semi. Dorothy was just as sympathetic to them as she was to Bucky and offered them the same thing, coffee and pie, before asking where their destination was. As more people came in to wait out the fog, Bucky began wondering how many apple pies she had in the back. They all came out warm and tasty, while the coffee was hot and plentiful, as she continually topped up the cups. After about an hour, the number of people entering seemed to slow down, until a woman and her young daughter arrived, followed by a trucker with a company shirt on and the embroidered name tag "Red" prominently displayed over the left front pocket of his shirt. No one came in after him. He took his hat off when he sat at the counter.

"Dorothy," he said curtly. "Got any apple pie left?"

"You know it, Red," she replied, her usual cheerfulness dimmed a bit. "Coffee, too?"

"Yup. Going to be a long night. Haven't seen fog this thick in a while. I'm sure by morning we'll be hearing of a few accidents."

"Well, we'll see," she replied, looking out the window in a worried manner. "Hope it's not too many."

"You know how it is, Dorothy," answered Red, sipping his coffee first. "People in a hurry never seem to watch where they're going."

She didn't look convinced. Bucky finished his apple pie, then looked up at Dorothy as she approached with a coffee pot.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked politely.

"$5 but why don't you keep your tab open in case you get hungry? You could be here for a while."

"I like to pay my debts," he smiled. "It's just the way I am."

"Fair enough," she winked back.

Taking the twenty he gave her; she rang it up on the till and brought back $15. In his wallet, Bucky had a dollar bill, and he gave her that for a tip, earning himself another wink, as she tucked it down the front of her uniform and into her bra. Several other people asked to pay, and she said the same thing to them. About half decided not to pay until later, ordering some French fries or beignets, with a refill of their coffee for the latter. Someone put some money in the jukebox and some lively Cajun music started playing.

Red, the trucker, finished his apple pie and carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking all around at the various people before settling on Bucky.

"I know your face," he said. "You're that fellow that helped Captain America in New York with those Flag Smashers. What's your name, son?"

Sighing, Bucky answered, keeping his voice lowered so as not to attract attention.

"Bucky Barnes."

"You used to be that Winter Soldier, too, didn't you?"

He could feel the warmth on his face, when several others looked at him, feeling their eyes assessing him, perhaps passing judgement on him.

"Yes, but I'm not him anymore. I'm James "Bucky" Barnes and I received a pardon, plus I made amends to the families of my victims. I don't kill anymore."

"Hmph," grunted Red. "How do we know you're telling the truth? Why, I bet if you wanted, you could kill everyone of these fine people without building up a sweat."

"Red, leave the man alone," warned Dorothy. "He hasn't done anything untoward since he got here. He paid for his actions."

Smiling slightly at Dorothy for her intervention, Bucky turned his attention back to Red.

"I don't kill anymore. I never wanted to be that person. It was forced on me."

"So, you say. How many of you good people in here believe that?" Several people raised their hands. "Hmph. Looks like you have fans."

"Red, I'm warning you. Play nice or you're out the door." Dorothy frowned at him, as she poured Bucky another coffee. "Pay him no mind. He's always been grumpy, for as long as I've known him."

Red raised his hands in surrender and turned his attention away from Bucky. The wife of the senior couple had pulled some cards out of her purse and was dealing the cards for some game, Hearts maybe. Red watched them for a while, making a suggestion or two. But the couple ignored him, and he got bored, and moved along, looking at what others were doing. Another woman was playing solitaire and he made suggestions again which earned him a frown. Once again, he put his hands up in supplication. Bucky didn't turn to watch him, but he was listening, and he made himself very aware of where the man was, wondering what his problem was.

"Damn," muttered Dorothy, shaking her head. "He's bothering that lady with the little girl now."

"Well, sweetheart, what might your name be?" he asked, in a syrupy sweet voice that set Bucky's nerves on edge.

"Pansy," she replied, in a shy voice.

"Like the flower?" he asked. "Or like the little boys that were scared of their shadows?"

"Hey, don't say that to my daughter," responded her mother. Bucky turned around, ready to intervene. "She's named after my grandmother, okay? I happen to like pansies. They're happy flowers."

"If you say so," answered Red, stepping back with his hands up again.

Bucky looked the man in the eye. "Hey mister, why don't you leave people alone?"

"Or what, you'll go all Winter Soldier on me?" joked Red. "I'm sure all these people would like to see that."

"No, but I will pick you up and take you outside. No one's bothering you but you sure seem intent on bothering them."

"Oooh, I'm scared. I'm just bored, Soldier Boy. Speaking of boys ...." Red turned to see an Afro American family sitting together in a booth. "Why don't you give us a little song and dance while we're waiting."

"Say what?" asked the man who was obviously the father. "You're way out of line, mister."

Red mimicked the man, looking like a spoiled child as he did it, while Dorothy shook her head in disgust.

"If you want to bully someone, bully me," said Bucky, standing up now, and looking directly at Red. "Don't pick on kids or anyone else. Give it your best shot."

The man grinned and came over to Bucky looking up at him as he was several inches shorter.

"You couldn't take what I want to say to you."

"Try me."

"Okay." Red put his hands on his hips. "I think you liked killing. How many people did they say?"

"They didn't because even I don't know for sure. At least 60 that I do remember."

The trucker nodded. "Kids, too?"

"Sometimes, and women. I couldn't disobey. Not proud of it, but I'm trying to reconcile it and several of my victim's families have forgiven me."

"But not all of them. Tell me how you did it."

"No, not to you, not to anyone. That's my horror to live and I'll take that to my grave."

"Coward."

"If that's what you believe, nothing I say will change your mind. I'm no coward. I'll help anyone who needs it, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else."

"You try to help those Flag Smasher people?"

"I tried to talk them out of it, but their leader had already gone too far and wasn't ready to turn away from what she started. She made her decision, and it killed her."

"Well, I think you're a liar," sneered Red. "I think you should be shot for what you did."

"You're entitled to your opinion," answered Bucky. "The people that decide those things disagree."

"And what do you think, really, deep down? You think you deserve that pardon? You think you deserve to live? All those innocent people that you killed, with their blood on your hands, you think you're better than them?"

Bucky looked at Red for a long time, not feeling angry or disgusted really by his line of questioning. The man's hate oozed out of him like sludge, and it seemed like everything he was saying was meant for Bucky to react in a negative way, tempting him to lash out. The thing was, that Bucky had already gone through that process. How many walls had he punched in despair? How many times had he woken up screaming in the night after a nightmare? How often had he had a flashback in the middle of a happy occasion, because some small detail reminded him of one of the victims?

"I'm no better than anyone else." His voice was calm. "I was captured by HYDRA, tortured until I didn't know who I was, and forced to be their killer. Since I broke away from them, I haven't killed anyone because it's not in my nature. Everything HYDRA did to me was undone, except for the deaths that they were responsible for, their targets. I will never forget the people I killed and even if they had no one else to remember them, they have me."

The man scowled and turned away. Bucky glanced at the people around him, seeing respect in their eyes as he returned to the counter. Dorothy smiled at him and topped up his coffee. Red was looking outside, then came over to the counter and threw some money on it. Taking his cap, he jammed it on his head and headed for the door.

"The fog is letting up and I've got a shipment that has to be in New Orleans in an hour. If anyone wants to convoy with me, you're welcome to do it."

Then he was out the door. Several people got up and came to pay their tab. Dorothy tried to caution them about listening to Red but none of them hesitated and after paying her, they headed out the door. It was definitely quieter in there after the man and the others left. After almost an hour, someone else stepped outside and came back in.

"Sky's visible," he said. "Looks like the fog has moved on."

The people lined up to pay their bill. The woman with the little girl spoke up.

"My car broke down a bit north of here. Can anyone help?"

"I can," said Bucky. "If you're okay with it."

She smiled and he waited for her to pay her bill. They headed towards the door, but Dorothy called out to him.

"You're a good man, Bucky Barnes," she pronounced. "Don't let anyone say otherwise. Red's always itching for a fight, and you stood up to his nonsense very well."

With a wave, Bucky, the woman and her daughter headed out into the dark together and walked north.

"Thank you for standing up to that man," she said, along the way. "He gave off a lot of bad energy." She looked at Bucky. "You don't."

"Thanks," he replied. "I don't like bullies. My friend had to deal with them as a kid and I always backed him up."

"You mean Captain America?" she asked. "We saw the display at the Smithsonian."

"Yeah? They changed my part, now that they know I'm alive."

"I'm glad you are," she said. "To come through what you suffered is a testament to your real character. That's how I see it."

"Thank you."

They arrived at the car, and she popped the hood, both of them activating the flashlights on their cell phones. Bucky checked all the connecting wires, then saw her one battery connection was loose. Using his metal hand, he tightened it, ignoring the strong electrical shock he could feel.

"Try it now," he said, stepping back.

She got in, put the key in the slot and turned it, smiling as it started right away.

"Thank you, I'll give you a ride back," she said, as she belted her daughter into the car seat in the back.

Sitting in the front with her, he buckled up and she drove towards False Creek, but it was gone. His motorcycle was on a bare patch of ground next to the road, but the gas station and restaurant weren't there. They both stepped out.

"Where did it go?" she asked. "You were parked right in front of the restaurant, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was."

He walked past his motorcycle towards the bushes that were there, using the flashlight function on his cell phone to illuminate beyond them. There were only more bushes and trees. Scratching his head he turned back to her.

"Okay, that's spooky. Why don't you wait until I start up my bike and I'll tandem with you, just to make sure there's nothing else spooky going on."

She nodded, returning to her car and getting inside. When he pulled up behind her, she put her car into gear and led the way. About 10 minutes later they saw the tell-tale red and blue flashes of emergency lights as an accident had blocked the road. All of the cars of people who had just left from the restaurant were ahead of them, as they had been stopped by a deputy. Bucky stopped his motorcycle and put the kickstand down, then walked towards the lights, stopping at the car with the woman.

"Stay here," he advised, before moving on.

The next car's driver rolled his window down and stuck his head out.

"Looks like a bad one."

"Yeah," replied Bucky. "I'm going to check it out."

He got to the front of the line, recognizing every one of the drivers as patrons in the restaurant that waited. Approaching the deputy who kept them there he nodded towards the tangled mess.

"Looks bad. Anyone killed?"

"Most of them. Happened during the fog more than an hour ago. What they were doing driving is beyond me. This part of the highway is bad for it and most people just wait for it to pass but these guys must have been in a hurry to get to New Orleans, or something. It's going to be a while, so stay put and we'll let you through once we clear one side of the road."

Bucky nodded and headed back, telling everyone what he had found out. As he sat on his motorcycle he took his phone out and saw he had a signal. He dialled Sam.

"Well, we were wondering what happened to you," came his friend's response.

"Yeah, there's a big accident on the highway south of False River," said Bucky. "Waited out the fog in a restaurant there but several people headed out with a trucker to get to New Orleans. They didn't make it, although I didn't notice the truck, come to think of it. I don't know when I'm getting there."

There was silence on the other end for a while. "You said False River? Bucky, there hasn't been a town called False River since the 1850s. There's no restaurant near where it used to be, either. Are you sure of your location?"

"Hold on," said Bucky, as he checked his map app. There was no False River. "You know, it's the damnedest thing. A lady needed help getting her car started, a bit north of the restaurant. I left my motorcycle there while we walked to her car. When she brought me back, the gas station and restaurant were gone. It was just bush."

"Wait a second," said Sam. Bucky could hear a muffled conversation, presumably with Sarah. "Buck, was there a waitress there named Dorothy and the trucker was Red?"

"Yeah, those were their names," exclaimed Bucky. "She was nice but he was a major asshole. Tried to goad me into reacting but I kept my cool. That's when he convinced people to convoy with him to New Orleans."

Sam passed that on to Sarah, who shrieked in response.

"Damn, you were at the Way Station," said Sam. "It's a local legend, that says the Devil and one of God's angels have an encounter. People are brought in, including someone who will face judgement on the day of their death. If that person defends themself righteously, the Devil loses but it's said he often tries to convince people to trust him and leave with him, to make up for not getting the big fish. Those that do, don't make it. Those that don't leave, live and get to go on their way."

"And the person being judged?" asked Bucky.

"They'll go to heaven," stated Sam. "They'll be pronounced a good person who has earned the right to pass through the Pearly Gates. Sounds like you faced the Devil and won."

"You know I'm not a believer anymore."

"Doesn't matter. Someone up there believes in you. We'll talk tomorrow about it. I'll make sure the door is open. The couch is ready and waiting."

"Thanks, Sam. See you when I see you."

He hung up and sat there for the longest time, not noticing when the car ahead of him began to move until the vehicle behind beeped its horn. With a wave, he put his helmet on and started up his motorcycle for the final hour of his trip. Even with that time he found it hard to believe that he had faced the evil one himself. Yet, the proof was there. The restaurant and gas station had disappeared into thin air, followed by the fatal accident on the way to New Orleans, not 10 minutes away from where he sat out the fog. Then he thought of Dorothy's words that he was a good man. Maybe, just maybe there was something to the legend of the Way Station.

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